When I was twelve, my father took me to see a little film called Evil Under the Sun-- the last in a trio of tony Agatha Christie whodunit films that somewhat shaped the person I am today. The first, Murder on the Orient Express, cemented my passion for train travel and smart suits; the second, Death on the Nile, ignited a fondness for women in floppy sun hats and beautiful, wee handguns. It was Evil Under the Sun, however, that really stayed with me. Some would understandably think the reason was Diana Rigg having a field day being a classic, haughty, soon-to-be-murdered bitch, or getting to see Roddy McDowall in a never-ending series of sailor suits, but they would be wrong. Not too far off, but wrong, all the same.

It was Maggie Smith. Maggie Smith and her cocktail parties. I don't think my father had any idea what he was getting me into when he took me to see that picture.

It was a simple scene, really-- almost a throw-away, apart from firming up the tension between Diana Rigg's Arlena Marshall and just about everyone else residing at an exclusive, Mediterranean island resort. While passing around a tray of hors d'oeuvres to her guests, Smith asks the world-famous detective Hercule Poirot (Peter Ustinov) if he would care for a cocktail. "Care for a cocktail, Monsieur Poirot? A White Lady, Sidecar, Mainbrace, or Between the Sheets?" Poirot rejects them all and asks instead for either crème de cassis or sirop de banane. With a bit of a sigh, she acquiesces, only to move on to offering Diana Rigg a sausage-- the one thing of which one would think she had had enough, given her proclivities.

And that was it. I followed the murder well enough, and the inevitable, intricate unveiling of who-done-what. But I kept thinking about those cocktails. As I sat in that theater, I decided that I was going to be the sort of chap who drank Sidecars and Between the Sheets while Cole Porter tunes were played somewhere out of sight on a piano. I filed their names away in my memory and bided my time.

When the appropriately legal time finally came nine years later, I unleashed my inner Maggie Smith, marched into a very (to me) upper, upper lounge in Los Angeles, and ordered a Between the Sheets from the bartender.

"I'm sorry," he said, "You're going to have to tell me what's in it." When I recovered sufficiently from the shock, I next asked for a Sidecar. "Can you tell me what's in a Sidecar? Maybe if you knew what you were asking for, I could help you." Devastated, I settled for a martini to drown my nine years-worth of disappointment. How on earth could a bartender at the Atlas Bar & Grille-- a place decorated in the luxe fashion of a 1930's Supper Club, a venue that showed old films from that era on a giant screen, no less-- not know how to make a Between the Sheets? Given its Hollywood location, I should have realized that everything, maybe even my beloved fantasy cocktail, was an illusion.

Perhaps he was right-- I should have done a little research. I bought a book of classic cocktail recipes, just to make sure the screenwriters hadn't made up the names.

They did not.

Very much relieved and filled with renewed hope, I made my way back to the bar the following week-- this time armed with the recipe. I called out the ingredients in a voice that was only vaguely Smith-like, and finally got what I'd been waiting for. I got my Between the Sheets.

Between the Sheets

Like most cocktails, the origin of the Between the Sheets is murky. Some people believe it was created at Harry's New York Bar in Paris (the place, incidentally, where George Gershwin partly composed An American in Paris) in the 1930's. Others hold fast to the notion that it was the brainchild of a bartender at the Berkeley Hotel in London in 1921. It doesn't matter much to me. I'm just grateful that someone created it.

The Between the Sheets is a very close cousin to the Sidecar-- a drink most bartenders now know, thanks to the surge of interest in classic cocktails. Made of white rum, brandy, and Cointreau, it even comes with a sugared rim. It is a tart, refreshing member of the sour family of alcoholic beverages.

The following recipe is not the classic one. While white rum is well and good in its place, I think it has a bit of trouble competing with the brandy and other flavorings. I have substituted my favorite dark rum instead, which makes its own, indelible impression without overpowering the other players.

Not unlike Dame Maggie Smith herself, if you ask me. I know you didn't ask me, but if you did, that is what I would tell you.

Ingredients

1 ounce dark rum. My personal preference is Zaya (thank you, Shannon).

1 ounce brandy

1/2 ounce Cointreau

1/2 ounce lemon juice

1/2 ounce simple syrup

Ice

A twist of lemon or orange peel for garnish, which is purely optional. Or sausage, if you are feeling saucy enough and think you can pull it off.

Preparation:

In a cocktail shaker, insert ice. Pour all liquid ingredient over ice. Close lid of shaker. Shake vigorously and pour into an awaiting martini glass. Garnish, if that pleases you.

10:30 a.m. on a weekday morning is not my usual cocktail hour. But with a cheerful SF Chefs. Food. Wine volunteer saying "Breakfast is served!" as he placed a cute pink drink in front of me, well, what could I do?

It was, after all, educational. The drink was a raspberry rum daisy, made with white rum, lemon, and raspberries, an olden-days cocktail made artisanally up-to-date through the use of small-batch Caribbean-style Baptiste rum and a locally made fruit syrup sweetened with raw cane sugar and thickened with gum arabic, that secret weapon of molecular gastronomy. And the occasion was Cocktails Get Into the Mix , an exploration of the past and present state of West Coast cocktail culture, moderated by Alcademics editor Camper English. In conversation with English was Duggan McDonnell of Cantina and Thad Vogler of the upcoming Bar Agricole.

Drawing a contrast between the technique-obsessed, traditionalist, authenticity-driven New York style of places like Milk and Honey, Death & Co. and the more free-wheeling, flavor-inspired California vibe, Duggan laughed, admitting, "We're more of a hot mess behind the bar." But both Vogler and McDonnell gave New York City its props, saying they'd both learned a tremendous amount about how even the simplest decisions--what sort of ice to use, whether to double-strain (using a cocktail strainer first, a fine tea strainer second)--can make a dramatic difference in the final result.

But, much like our restaurants, the current West Coast cocktail scene is driven by the extensive, year-round availability of amazing produce. "We eat and drink incredibly well here, we're tasting things constantly," noted McDonnell, who connects this vibrant, terrior-driven food culture with the rise in inventive, market-driven cocktail menus.

These drinks may look simple, but much of the work happens after hours, with bartenders simmering their own herb- or spice-infused syrups, amassing collections of quirky amari (the bitter digestive liqueurs beloved by true cocktail geeks), even growing (or bartering for) herbs, fruits, or seasonings. For bartenders less interested in getting in touch with their inner chef, there's Small Hand Foods run by Jennifer Colliau, a bartender at the Slanted Door, whose Berkeley-based company creates "classic ingredients for pre-prohibition cocktails," including grenadine, gum syrup, orgeat, and pineapple and raspberry syrups. All are made in small batches using raw cane sugar (no corn syrup) and no artificial ingredients.

As the group of us sipped our rosy daisies (flavored with Colliau's raspberry gum syrup), Vogler pointed out the difficulty of sourcing spirits that haven't come though the big industrial distillers. Even small-batch labels often buy their base spirit--neutral alcohols usually derived from grain--from big producers, then redistill, infuse and flavor it to their own specifications. This, he noted, was behind the simple but surprisingly inflammatory decision of Oakland's Camino restaurant to yank vodka from their bar menu, instead carrying only a small selection of spirits and seasonal ingredients. (They've since found a small distillery that meets their standards.) When California-grown limes weren't available, the bar used lemons. This caused quite a stir in the press and blogosphere around town, as diners happy to dig into free-range rabbit and sustainable sardines were incensed at not being able to order their usual vodka tonic.

"You have to throw out a lot of stuff if you decide not use anything with artificial flavors or colors, or high-fructose corn syrup," said Vogler, who worked on Camino's cocktail program. That meant no Campari, no maraschino cherries, almost none of the usual fizzy mixers. It's annoying sometimes, admits Vogler, but also fun, more like being a pastry chef with 5 or 6 creations a day than a typical bartender.

Another difference in the East Coast/West Coast throwdown: the pervasive Latin and Asian influences here, and the predominance of tequila, sake, soju and other similar liquors here in lieu of the whiskeys, bourbons, port and sherries more popular in New York. At Cantina, McDonnell noted, the two most popular cocktails are Asian-Latin mashups: the 5-Spice Margarita, and the Latin Buddha, which blends Buddha's Hand citrus vodka with serrano chiles and ginger beer.

A lengthy cocktail competition during the midday food-and-wine tasting seemed to prove nearly all these points. In an Iron-Chef-styled move, the 3 bartenders had to whip up, on the spot, an original cocktail featuring a secret ingredient. The ingredient? Fresh herbs, from dill and rosemary to purple basil and fennel flowers and sage. The winner, Nick Varacalli's "Pass me the lemon, honey" matched lemon thyme with honey-sweetened bourbon, a bit of Canton ginger liqueur, fresh lemon, sweet vermouth, and bitters. A little fresh, a little sweet, a little bitter, and some herb to top it off: what could be more Californian?

"Do you have a cocktail list?" is one of the first questions I am often asked as a waiter in an upscale restaurant. It is one of the few questions I get to cheerfully answer with a big "no."

"You should really have one," is sometimes the response that follows. "Don't you have a signature cocktail or something?"

No, we really, really shouldn't and no, we do not.

And then I get to say something along the lines of "Well, we thought about it for a while, but Greeks don't really drink cocktails-- they drink wine, and beer, and ouzo. I suppose we could mix them all together for you, if you like."

More often than not, they will need a moment to get the imaginary taste of that concoction out of their mouths and regroup. Quite often, their drink of choice ends up something depressing, like a Cosmopolitan, or something perfectly respectable but equally unimaginative, like a martini. And the martini that is ordered is often done so incorrectly.

On one hand, I do see the point of cocktail lists. People seem to need help with their drinking. The thought of facing a full bar stocked with hundreds of liquors blended into thousands of different combinations is enough to pickle anyone's brain, even before it has become clouded with alcohol and a little printed instruction can often help a drinker narrow his choices to those that the list-offering establishment feels it does best.

On the other, heavier hand, I am tired of the fact that nearly every watering hole seems to have a menu of "signature cocktails." There are a few places around town (Alembic, Aziza, and Clock Bar, to name a few good ones) that offer up delicious, inventive cocktails that are, in fact, unique and they rightly highlight them in menu form. It's all the others I take issue with. The So-and-so Martini (made with Ketel One and a splash of cranberry!). That is not a signature cocktail, that's called pushing premium liquor. It's also called a Cape Cod in a Martini glass.

I am also tired of the general lack of creative naming. So many venues have several (insert noun here)-tinis: The Saketini, The Mangotini, The Weenytini. Or The (insert name of venue) Cosmo.

Enough already.

If one is going to create a signature cocktail, I say make it memorable. Make a statement. Create a drink philosophy and apply it to your inventions. I have currently been looking for a way to help alcoholics get more nutritional bang out of their cocktails by creating a series of meals-in-a-glass.

When discussing this idea the other night over dinner, my friend Jen stared at her beer for a moment and declared, "You know what I like about beer? It's like there's a sandwich in every glass."

And so the idea took off. All sorts of cocktail ideas poured out of my friends as quickly as the beer was being poured into them, all mocking the "tini" trend: The BLTini, The Pork n' Beanitini, the super-spicy TNTini. And then, when discussing Nabokov, somebody came up with the Tweeni. I don't even want to think about what might go into one of those.

So today, I leave you with a future, classic drink-- my first "signature cocktail." It's much more than a drink, it's an entire meal unto itself. A perfect little lunchtime tipple. And, to keep Jen happy, there's a sandwich in every glass.

The Martuna

Serves one. It will most likely be the only one.

Ingredients:

3 parts vodka
1 part canned spring water from your favorite can of tuna. Do not use oil-packed.
Ice
Mayonnaise
Ruffles potato chips, crushed. Whichever flavor you prefer
Cornichons

Preparation:

1. In a mortar and pestle, crush potato chips until fine, but not too fine-- you still want a hint of their ridges to show. Empty the crushed chips onto a small, round plate in an even layer.

2. Smooth about 2 tablespoons of mayonnaise across the bottom of a similar plate. Gently coat the rim of the glass with the mayonnaise, then roll the now-wet rim into the crushed chips to create an even, attractive coating.

3. In a cocktail shaker, place ice, vodka, and tuna water. Shake vigorously.

4. Pour cocktail into the awaiting glass and garnish with cornichons.

Serve immediately.

Variations:

There are two classic twists on this All-American cocktail:

For a Martuna-on-Rye, replace the vodka with Akvavit.

For a Martuna Melt, simply swap out the mayonnaise for melted Velveeta cheese.

Good morning, brunchers! What's in your glass? Let's see: mimosa, mimosa, bloody Mary, screwdriver, mimosa, Calistoga with lime, bloody Mary, and just coffee for you, thanks.

Oh, has it come to this? Can we not break out of the orange-juice rut, spread our wings and flap a little, veer a little to the right or left in our quest for a morning pick-me-up that lets you down easy. Personally, I like to be able to recall my name and address (and yours) post-frittata, rather than ending up in the Jacuzzi at 5pm with three pairs of new shoes and no idea how I got there.

The LA Coffee Mill, très chic in Silverlake, does a very fabulous morning mojito, made with muddled mint and lime in a a base of chilled green tea, topped with a splash of soda water. It's tangy and refreshing, very post-Pilates. But what if you want something a little more lush, a little more beignet-friendly? Welcome to your new favorite brunch drink: white peach Meyer lemonade.

Now Meyer lemons, which really should be growing in your backyard if you have one, and in your friends' backyards if not, make the most flagrantly, fragrantly delicious lemonade.

But with white peaches and nectarines in full sugary swing now, you can one-up even Meyer lemonade by adding a little pale and luscious peach puree, turning your lemonade into a coral-colored quaff even better than a Bellini.

Anytime you buy white-fleshed stone fruit, you know a few of these dainty little princesses are going to get bruised on the way home. But hard knocks don't matter to a puree. Pit your peaches and throw them in the blender or food processor. (Or just thwap the heck out of them with a potato masher.) Drip the puree through a fine-mesh strainer into your lemonade, so you get all the lovely tequila-sunrise color with none of the skin.

A very good trick, when you have the time, is to skin off all that aromatic rind and infuse it into a sugar-water syrup. Use this lemony-sweet syrup to sweeten fresh lemon juice to taste. Finish with just enough water, sparkling or still, to make it drinkable over ice.

Even better, try rubbing a few heads of fresh lavender into your sugar, or infuse the blossoms into your lemon-rind syrup. If you're really lucky, all this—Meyer lemons, lavender, white peaches—could come from your own garden right now. Lavender white peach Meyer lemonade: effete, yes, but oh, oh, so good.

White Peach Lemonade

Ingredients:

2/3 cup water
1/3 cup sugar, or to taste
1 tablespoon lavender flowers, optional
1 tablespoon honey, or to taste
3 to 4 lemons
2 to 3 white peaches or nectarines, pitted and chopped
Water

Preparation:

1. Peel off the rind of your lemons in long strips. In a small saucepan over medium heat, dissolve sugar in water. When sugar is dissolved, add lemon rinds and lavender flowers, if using. Bring to a slow simmer and let bubble gently for 5 minutes.

2. Remove from heat and let cool. Meanwhile, juice your lemons. When syrup is cool, strain and add 3 tablespoons to lemon juice. (You can always add more later).

3. Puree peach chunks, honey, and lemon juice mixture in a food processor or blender. Pour through a fine-mesh strainer into a pitcher.

4. Add water until it's dilute enough to drink. Add more honey or lemon syrup as needed. Serve over ice.

At gala events you expect to see top chefs preparing bite-sized nibbles for guests. But at StarChefs events working chefs are not just preparing the food, they are the ones being celebrated. StarChefs is all about the chefs of today, and the rising star events are a great way to get a taste of what's hot at the moment.

If you're not a chef, it's possible you've never visited StarChefs. The web site offers recipes, community features, publications and articles that are geared for the restaurant professional. Roughly every other year, they also hold an event in our neck of the woods. For the first time, this year they held a Rising Stars Revueâ„¢ in Napa and toasted the up and coming chefs of Napa and Sonoma at the historic Charles Krug winery in St. Helena.

Fifteen chefs, sommeliers and a mixologist were honored with food, wine and prizes to boot. Interestingly there were several husband and wife teams, one of whom had to close their restaurant in order to attend. Some favorite dishes from the evening were:

Ubuntu Fregola in Caramelized Vegetable Juices with Salsa Maro from Jeremy Fox of Ubuntu

Poached Poussin with Summer Vegetables from Christopher Kostow of The Restaurant At Meadowood

Ricotta Gnocchi, Salsa di Pomodoro della Nonna and Pecorino from Nick Ritchie of Bottega

Chicken Fried Sweetbreads with Green Bean and Mushroom Casserole from Matt Spector of Jolē

Sauteed Maryland Wild Striped Bass, Ragout of Salsify, Black Trumpet Mushrooms, Bloomsdale Spinach and Spinach Vin Blanc from Restaurateur Award winner John Toulze the girl & the fig, fig café, Estate

Lemon Verbena Parfait with Summer Stone Fruit from Pastry Chef Deanie Hickox-Fox of Ubuntu

Long Ranch Goat Two Ways: Grilled and Braised with Rancho Gordo Beans and Salsa Verde from Host Chef Richard Haake of Winery Chefs

At the event guests got a chance to vote for their favorite dish. I had a hard time choosing between intensely herbal and fragrant fregola dish and the delicate yet crisp striped bass but in the end, the winner was Matt Spector and his decadent sweetbread dish. Looking at the recipes that were in the program, it's clear why we love eating out. With complicated techniques, multiple preparations and long ingredient lists, these were not dishes you would likely make at home!

One of the most beautiful dishes was this plated dessert from Deanie Hickox-Fox. Basically an unconstructed tart, it featured a bit of crunchy crust, sweet apricot with lemon verbena cream accented with a fruit puree, and garnished with edible flowers and a thin wafer cookie.

To make at home, I'd recommend the cocktail presented by Scott Beattie, the Bella Ruffina, a pretty rose colored cocktail perfect for warm Summer days or nights...

Bella Ruffina
4 ounces Braquetto di Aqui
1 ounce Carpano Antico Vermouth
1 dash orange bitters
1 Amarena cherry, for garnish

Combine the sparkling wine, vermouth and bitters in a champagne flute and stir gently. Drop the cherry in the bottom of the glass to serve.

Recipe reprinted from Artisanal Cocktails by Scott Beattie, published by Tenspeed.

I really only have one requirement for ginger beer. I have to feel it.

To wit: "...the ginger beer has to sting, burn, and fire up the back of your throat. You have to feel it in your nose and down your gullet."

I found such a ginger beer in Boston -- made by Goya -- and we used it in all our Black Gosling Dark and Stormys. It was spicy, opaque perfection. Once we moved out here and couldn't find hide nor hair of Goya, I quested for the perfect ginger beer. Nothing served. Not Bundaberg, not Blenheim, not anything you can possibly name. Believe me. I've tried them. ALL of them.

In Andronico's British food section, I finally found a ginger beer made by Belvoir, and it was good. It burned my nose and tingled my throat, and I was so happy with that sought-after sensation that I ignored the slight tinge of chlorine in the taste that became decidedly pronounced the more I drank.

When I met Tim Warilow of Fever-Tree to sample his newest flavors, I pestered him about ginger beer. Fever-Tree, I argued, was the ideal company to make my favorite type of ginger beer. (Because it's all about me, right?) Tim just smiled and talked up the merits of their ginger ale. (And, as I've noted before, he ain't just whistling dixie on that one. Fever-Tree makes a killer ginger ale.)

However, a year later, Fever-Tree is now making ginger beer. I got two precious sample bottles in the mail and chilled them both immediately. One I drank as soon as it was cold, but the other is in safekeeping for another month.

In order to best appreciate it, I sipped it neat and not as a mixer. I've come to realize that the best mixers are the ones that can be fully enjoyed without alcohol or other things tarting it up. Fever-Tree's ginger beer is perfection. With each luscious swallow, I feel it trace a satisfyingly fiery path up my nose and down my throat.

And the flavor? Well, it was just ginger. I'm not denigrating the flavor with my "just," there, I'm elevating it. That's the flavor, "just ginger," which is as it should be. There was no chlorine aftertaste, no overt sweetness detracting from what ended up being pure ginger in liquid form.

Fever-Tree's ginger beer mixes two kinds of ginger: hot Nigerian ginger and fresh green Ecuadorian ginger. Just like all their other products, Fever-Tree's ginger beer is all natural, which explains the slightly cloudy appearance. For me, that cloudy, opaque look is key when layering up that most perfect of New England summer sips, the Dark and Stormy.

Oh, right -- guess what that reserved sample bottle is for? That's right. As soon as I'm allowed, post-delivery, that cold little bottle is going onto my deck and into my first decent Dark and Stormy in years.

I decided to start my mocktail quest off with that simplest of drinks, the gin and tonic. With multiple nuances brought on by using different gins, it's probably my favorite cocktail -- biting, tart, and tinged with bitterness, it reminds me of myself on my best days.

Now, the main problem with the gin and tonic mocktail is the complete lack of, well, gin, so it is key that the tonic be the shining star for once. Have I bludgeoned you to death with my opinions on tonic? Yes, I know I have, so I will skip all that, because you now KNOW that Fever-Tree is the only way to go, and head right to the gin conundrum.

Enter DRY Soda. Well, the DRY Sodas are a bit sweet for me to call myself a big fan, but that doesn't mean I was against trying their newest juniper flavor as a gin stand-in. Nothing could be more simple than to measure out two ounces of Juniper DRY and mix it with Fever-Tree tonic and a wedge of lemon. (Or a lime if your intro to gin and tonics didn't start in a British pub in the late 90s as mine did.)

The result? Well, maybe it's a the taste equivalent of a placebo effect, but I was pretty damn happy with my faux gin and tonic. All I was after was something refreshing with a non-alcoholic edge to it, and the Fever-Tree tonic definitely provides that needed edge.

The only problem with this mocktail is that the lack of alcohol means I suck them down with abandon and then spend the rest of the night wearing down a path between the living room and the bathroom. Oh, well, at least I'm hydrating myself!

2 oz. Juniper Dry Soda
Fever-Tree tonic water
Lemon wedge, for garnish

Combine all ingredients over ice and enjoy.

My life of late has been lubricated by tap water, sparkling water, tonic water, juice, tea, and the occasional Coke or root beer. Much in the way I once chased the best cocktails around town, I now track down whatever can slake my thirst minus the buzz.

I've tasted alcohol-free wines and beers. I've dabbled -- with some success -- in making mocktails and sipping sparkling teas. But now? I've found the world's most perfect water.

I give you: Pink Grapefruit Perrier!

Grapefruit is my favorite citrus fruit. It's also my favorite juice, favorite Izze, favorite Fizzy Lizzy, and favorite lip balm, so when I found grapefruit La Croix sparkling water in Minneapolis, it started a deep craving. Since I found it on the official site, I knew that grapefruit Perrier existed, but I never saw it in stores.

I must've been babbling about it a helluva lot, because the other night Mathra came home from Safeway and with great triumph and excitement voila'd six bottles of Pink Grapefruit Perrier. (Zee labelle, eet iz so so Franche and calls eet "Pamplemousse Rosé")

"Ooooh!" I cooed, stroking the metallic pink label, "You found it!"

Is it weird to describe sparkling water as having a bouquet? Because this one totally does. Without verging into grandma's perfume territory, it's fresh and floral and not as fake smelling as the lemon or lime Perrier flavors. Ditto for the taste. The stringent grapefruit is refreshing, not at all cloying, and it's simply...Perrier perfection. It's the the ideal antidote to hauling 20 extra pounds around in 102° heat.

(For the record, I never found any Perrier flavor to smell or taste fake, but after Pamplemousse Rosé entered the picture, a deep disdain for poor lemon and lime was sadly cultivated.)

Safeway had 750 mL bottles on sale 4 for $10.00, and after downing 6 bottles in two days during the April Hellwave of 2009, we went back and cleaned out the rest of their stock.

I hope they take the hint and reorder.

Pendennis Cocktails, Heaven's Dog

San Francisco is becoming extremely well known for its cocktails. In December, the New York Times said this of San Francisco: "In the San Francisco Bay Area, a growing scene of local distillers and bartenders capable of wielding their elixirs to maximum effect has emerged."

I have a first-hand love of San Francisco's focus on cocktails, having been the unofficial leader of a band of friends who go from bar to bar tasting the best cocktail that the bar has to offer. We've been to 22 bars so far, and there is no end in sight for the excellent cocktails we can continue to have in San Francisco.

So when a town with such a vibrant cocktail scene announces an entire week dedicated to cocktails, I circle that week on my calendar in red. San Francisco Cocktail Week is presented by the Barbary Coast Conservancy of the American Cocktail, which is an organization who is preserving the art of the cocktail in San Francisco. Here is the official schedule, but below are some events that I am especially interested in attending:

US Bartenders' Guild National Competition
Tuesday, May 12, 5.00 pm at Harry Denton's Starlight Room
Admission: Free
This is the competition for the National Champion Title, and is sure to be fun to watch.

Farmers Market Cocktails with CUESA
Wednesday, May 13, 5.30 pm at the Ferry Building
Admission: $30.
This will be the third time that CUESA has hosted a cocktail event which features market ingredients. It's fun to see what bartenders do with the inspiration of the market. This event will focus on cane-based spirits. Admission cost includes two full cocktails and approximately a dozen tastes of other cocktails. Among the confirmed bartenders are some of my favorites in town: Scott Baird, Carlos Yturria, Dominic Venegas and Jackie Patterson. Buy tickets soon, this will probably sell out.

Day of Education
Thursday, May 14, various locations
Cost: $30-$40 per class
On Thursday, you can attend several classes on topics surrounding cocktails. I'm especially interested in the class about house-made ingredients, and the class about Barbary Coast Cocktails. Check out all the classes and buy tickets here.

Stomping through the Savoy
Sunday, May 17, Alembic, from 6pm on.
Cost: Free with a charge for cocktails
Friend and cocktail master Erik Ellestad will be behind the bar at the Alembic. Approximately once a month, Alembic allows customers to thumb through the Savoy Cocktail Book and choose any cocktail from the book to try. I haven't made it to this event in the past, but hope to do so on the 17th.

Related:
Listen to a Sparkletack podcast about the Cocktail Route of the 1890's.
Commentary on the SF Cocktail Scene on Alcademics.
Watch the official site for additions to the schedule.

Pagan Restaurant with Melanie

Last night, I took a quick cab ride home from Bourbon and Branch, where I had gone to have a drink from the amazing Martin Cate. Cate was the genius behind Forbidden Island in Alameda until a few months ago. He is fighting the good fight -- keeping the tradition of impeccably executed Tiki drinks alive. The cry that you heard around the Bay Area sometime around January was his fans freaking out when we found out that he was leaving Forbidden Island, and we did not know where he would be going next. He is doing a guest stint at Bourbon and Branch and you can try his drinks tonight (March 31) along with the throngs. It's a rare night that I happily wait in line 45 minutes for a drink, but last night I waited (and waited and waited) to try a delicious Port Light -- a drink with bourbon, passionfruit and honey that was originally made at Trader Vic's. If you choose to go tonight, you don't need a reservation -- Cate is set up in the Library (entrance on O'Farrell).

Anyway, back to the cabbie. We got to chatting -- about food, of course -- and I found out that he is Burmese. "I am Burmese and I like Mexican men, I must be honest about that," he said as we giggled. On Sunday night, I had gone to the Burmese Pagan Restaurant in the Richmond for the second time. He corrected my pronunciation of the restaurant (it's like 'Ba-Gone' with a short 'a' sound) and laughed as I told him that I want to eat ginger salad right before I die. "You must like very strong, spicy flavors," he said.

The cabbie went on to describe Burmese food in general and said that it is very influenced by the countries around Burma -- Thailand, India and China. Burmese cuisine has lots of salads, some curry dishes, and features some fermented and sour flavors. More than anything, my exposure to Burmese cuisine has been highlighted by dishes which have many layers of complexity and are delicious in their balance of flavor.

Pagan Restaurant has been open for a little over a year, and has become popular among food lovers for its comfortable space and delicious food. San Francisco is lucky in having several Burmese restaurants, including Burma Superstar, Larkin Express Deli, and Mandalay Restaurant, and Pagan is now being listed in the same breath when talking about great Burmese food.

If you decide to check out Pagan restaurant, consider trying these dishes:

Ginger Salad (Gin Thut). Most people who have been to Burmese food have tried Tea Leaf Salad (Lap Pat Thut), a delicious salad tossed with a mixture of tea leafs -- almost in a pesto-like form. While I like the tea leaf salad, my heart is with its gingery sister. Gin Thut features nuts, garlic, dried shrimp, some legumes, and a pile of dried, pickled ginger. Everything is carefully tossed and each bite is a delicious mix of heat from the ginger, along with salt from the nuts, and acid from the dressing.

Samusa Soup This soup has falafel and samosas in it, along with cabbage and lentils in a complex, spicy dark broth.

Pan-fried okra with prawns. I was surprised by my reaction to this dish. The prawns were frozen and not very good, however that did not detract from my love of the flavors in the rest of the dish. The okra were crunchy and only lightly cooked. And the spicy sauce was fantastically delicious and balanced.

Shwe Taung Kauswer (#43, Coconut Chicken Curry). The curry here is more savory than sweet, but delivers very little heat. I almost thought of it more as a complex gravy than a curry as I have learned to know. This was served with noodles and a generally comforting dish.

Related Links:
A wonderful primer on Burmese cuisine on Chowhound
Pagan review, Chronicle

Bourbon and Branch
501 Jones Street (at O'Farrell)
San Francisco
415.346.1735

Pagan Restaurant
3199 Clement (at 33rd)
San Francisco
415.751.2598