Guilty Pleasures

A couple of years ago, well before Ed and I shambled onto the blog-o-kleinbottle, Paul Clarke of The Cocktail Chronicles founded Mixology Monday -- A monthly gathering of cocktail enthusiasts who used their blogs to come together and share their takes on a set topic. Since I've been following it, the MixMos (as they are affectionately abbreviated) have provided some great reading, and introduced me to more blogs with which I can waste my day. However, Ed and I have yet to participate in one seeing as I have a terrible propensity to forget pretty much everything, and Ed is the only known case of a person born with no capacity to remember anything, ever (to compensate he developed sight beyond sight. Mum-Ra, and the UCSF girls dorm are not pleased.)

The latest MixMo that we missmo'd (comedy!) was guilty pleasures, which I found really interesting, because I like both guilt and pleasure. This one I had actually really wanted to remember, but clearly didn't. However I see no reason why I shouldn't expose you all to my shame anyway. I mean, that's what blogs are for right?

Cheap Beer -- Coming of age in the Pacific Northwest during the micro brew explosion, and being this guy's friend makes it all but impossible for me to not love good beer. More often than not, however, when I'm out and about you'll find me sucking on some classic, shitty, American macrobrew. It pretty much comes down to price, because most of the taps at the places I frequent for my non-cocktail needs pour beers that I've had hundreds of times. They are tasty brews to be sure, but they don't hold any excitement for me, and if a beer isn't going to excite me I'm just gonna grab whatever's the cheapest. You know, to wash down the Jameson. Sorry Rob.

Irish Car Bomb -- This is a double whammy of embarrassment. Not only is the name deplorable, but it is one of the iconic "amateur" drinks in the cannon. The problem is that it is also delicious. The first time I tried one I was resistant, insisting to my friend who wanted me to give it a go that it was a stupid drink for stupid people. Eventually I relented, just get him to shut up. A few messy seconds later, and I was recanting my previous statement. I pretty much only drink these when somebody else proposes a round, and often times I'll front that I'm not really into "those things", but everybody can tell I’m lying.

The "Chill Pill" -- I really shouldn't admit to liking this shot composed of equal parts Green Chartreuse and Peppermint Schnapps. The name alone screams "you have no business being in a bar, much less leaving your dorm room", and the presence of Peppermint Schnapps in anything is generally a sign of a liquid apocalypse. As much as I love Chartreuse and think it can save anything (even the rec. center), this drink seemed all kinds of wrong to me when I was exhorted to try it. In my defense I really resisted trying this one, and it wasn't until my friend Francis placed me under great physical duress that I relented.

Look, I'm not even going to try and defend this, because in name and recipe it is almost impossible to do so, but I will say this. During a recent Thursday Drink Night (a weekly, virtual gathering of cocktail geeks that I highly recommend, and really should write about) I threw this bad boy out to the wolves. It's name was promptly changed to Merde Vert, but there was one brave soul who was willing to try it. You can see in the comments that he declared it tasty! In the chat he also indicated that he wouldn't have to use mouthwash for a week. Obviously the only way to interpret that is positively.

My Own Horrifying Creation -- Recently I was at home thinking that I sure could use a cocktail. I also had that nifty swizzle stick I got from Whiskeyfest that had so far gone unused so a swizzle it would be! Staring at my screwy liquor cabinet (more on that never) I began to assemble a drink kind of willy-nilly. In the end I had a "drink" composed of Plymouth Sloe Gin, Hayman's Old Tom Gin, kumquat gastrique, and a few dashes of Fee Brothers Cherry Bitters. I took a sip and blushed -- It was everything I hate in a cocktail. It was way too sweet, and so fruit forward that the nuances of the liquor had been blasted out of the glass via a monkey navigated rocket car. It tasted like a Wild Shameberry Blast(tm) Jolly Rancher, and it was fucking delicious. To sip upon this drink is to know the exquisite pleasure of evil.

Now -- Why don't you all make me feel better about myself by tossing your guilty pleasures in the comments.

Comments always welcome or feel free to e-mail us at drinkaweek [at] gmail [dot] com.