There has always been a special place in my heart for the Negroni. Not always. I stayed away from them in elementary school, naturally. I don't think I even tried my first until well into my twenties. And I'm not quite certain I liked it then.

But I liked the idea of the Negroni. It was and is a sophisticated, world-weary drink-- one with Italian origins and bitter complexity, yet remarkably, charmingly straight forward. It is not a drink that should be knocked back like whiskey, nor can it be co-opted or diluted with other ingredients and still be called by its proper name. It is the sum of its equal, co-dependent parts: gin, sweet vermouth, and Campari. It must be savored and considered.

If a person could model one's self after a cocktail, I knew that the Negroni was exactly what I wanted to be when I grew up, so I kept trying. So far, so good, and with minimal damage to my liver.

The Negroni doesn't have the wide appeal of the Martini or even the Manhattan, which is, in my case, precisely the point. It isn't necessarily an exclusive drink, but it does attract discriminating drinkers. They know who they are.

Or, at least, quickly find out who they are not.

For example, several years ago, some co-workers and I took a new server out one afternoon for a drink at a place around the corner from our restaurant. It was a warm day, so we decided to sit outside at some little tables on the sidewalk, have a smoke, and get to know our new little friend over a drink or two.

My friend Greg was managing that day, so he came around to have a chat and took our drink order while he was at it. We, all of us, called for Negronis. When he asked the new girl if she would like one as well, she spoke these precious words:

"Um, sure. I'll have a nigg--oni, too."

Then came the long, extremely uncomfortable silence made all the worse by the fact that she said this to a black man. If looks were hunting knives, she would have been flayed alive by everyone present. What made it all the more surprising was that she hadn't the slightest idea what she had just said. Greg generously attributed her utterance to poor Italian pronunciation, which is more than the rest of us allowed her.

And, after all that discomfort, she told us she didn't like her Negroni and sent it back to be replaced by a sweet, vodka-based drink. When she got up to use the restroom, one of our party re-christened her "Chili's" because he felt she might be much more at home working there than with us. The name stuck around for about as long as she did. That drink we bought her as a welcome ended up being her departing gift, too, since that's precisely what she did shortly after.

Apart from its cachet of clique, what I love most about the Negroni is that it is deliciously louche. It hints at danger and moral decay more precisely than any other drink, save Absinthe. Just ask Tennessee Williams. Or don't, since he's dead. Rather, watch Lotte Lenya*, Warren Beatty, and Vivien Leigh drink them in The Roman Spring of Mrs. Stone and enjoy the ensuing destruction. They weren't exactly good for Mrs. Stone, nor were they especially good for Mr. Beatty's awful Italian accent, but they certainly helped to lubricate the plot. (*After searching for a video clip from the film, I stumbled upon an article by Toby Cecchini in the New York Times referring to Lotte Lenya as, well, louche. It must be true. For a wonderful description of the drink and its components, read the article Shaken And Stirred; Dressing Italian.)

There is a time and a place for the Negroni. Swank apartments at midnight, dimly lit trysting places at any time of day, on the sly in a toney sanitarium-- appropriate situations, all of them. Never, under any circumstances are they to be drunk over a quick lunch with your parents or-- and I speak from personal experience-- are they to be ordered in the jungle borderlands between Brazil and Argentina. Especially if there is a strong language barrier between you and the bartender who only knows caipirinhas. I don't care if there is a casino on the premises, it is to be avoided.

The Classic Negroni

The cocktail owes its name and its existence to one Count Camillo Negroni of Florence, Italy. According to Eric Felten's enjoyable read, How's Your Drink?, Negroni's preferred drink at the Caffé Casoni was the Americano, an admixture of Campari, Cinzano, and club soda. One day, he asked the bartender, Fosco Scarselli, to fortify his drink with gin. The cocktail was an unqualified success and its intake spread first around the city, then the world.

Ingredients:

Makes one Negroni

1 ounce good gin. Please do not stint.

1 ounce Cinzano Rosso vermouth

1 ounce Campari.

Ice cubes, preferably made from Italian spring water. Or tap, depending.

Orange peel or slice for garnish

Preparation:

Into a cocktail shaker, add all ingredients except the orange. Shake or stir, according to your own preference. Strain into chilled cocktail class. Garnish with orange.

Sit back, and enjoy the ensuing existential train wreck.

As an added bonus, while I'm on the topic of train wrecks, enjoy a clip from a famous television personality I would never in a million years expect to see drinking a Negroni. In my opinion, she doesn't get it quite right, just pouring everything over the rocks without proper mixing as she does. Then again, she does only have 30 minutes to make an entire meal.

Enjoy.

I hate black licorice. I don't drink pastis or ouzo or sambuca, so why the hell was I standing outside Hangar One-St. George Spirits on a December morning in a thin jacket waiting for them to throw open the doors to Absinthe Verte, the nation's first absinthe? If you had asked me at 10:30, my wind-numbed lips wouldn't have issued anything more intelligent beyond, "...'cuz?" At 12:30, my absinthe-numbed lips told a very different story, "Frabjous! Refulgent! EUDEMONIA!" Quite frankly, if the Jabberwocky had a signature drink, Absinthe Verte would be it.

With the doors set to open at 11:00 on a Friday morning on December 21st, we thought we were playing it safe by arriving in Alameda at 10:30. However, as there were about 160 people in line ahead of us, clearly others were playing it safer. We were in line not even 20 minutes when the line behind us snaked and bulged exponentially. When the doors did finally open at 11:00, the news came out that they were allowing in groups of 10.

St. George Spirits made 3600 bottles and after they distributed to their choice stores and bar and other accounts, they had 1600-ish bottles left to sell to those of us who showed up on this chill December morn. Given that they weren't restricting the amount each customer could carry off, it was going to be tight for some.

Once inside, we smiled at those buying up cases of four, secured our single bottle for $75.00*, and headed to the tasting room for our $10 sip of liquid envy. Sporting green shirts announcing, "Green is the new black," St. George Spirits' alchemists slithered bright green, one ounce-pours into elegant and keepable glasses and slipped a small shard of ice on top. We were advised to taste quickly before the ice melted and blanched the clear cheeks a pearly green. Happily complying, I felt my lips go numb and my tongue tingle. I tasted not the dreaded intensity of black jelly beans, but a gossamer haze of fennel, lemon balm, and mint.

Clean and herbaceous, Absinthe Verte is unlike other varieties that often summon up a traditional sugar cube filter to mitigate their bitter edge. Alone or with the tiniest splash of cold water, Absinthe Verte blew my muse to a brillig place of spongy clouds, buzzing with emerald bees. As I swam through my happy mist that also warbled about stinging nettles, basil, tarragon, hyssop, wormwood, meadowsweet, and star anise, it hit me: absinthe does make the heart grow fonder, the meaning of life is easy to find if you just look for it, and St. George Spirits has lusted up one happily wicked drink.

While I have absolutely no desire to profane this blithe spirit with anything beyond ice or water, I spoke with Dave Smith, Assistant Distiller, about cocktail ideas. His eyes glowing, he told me about a cocktail his friend whipped up: simply shake some citron vodka (I think Hangar One's Buddha's Hand might do well) with ice and pour it into an absinthe-rinsed cocktail glass. (Rinsed right into your mouth, I would think!) However, at this celebratory time of year, Hemingway's famous Death in the Afternoon might get your party started (or ended) with just champagne and absinthe. Finally, you can try this historic and area-appropriate tipple from the Stork Club.

Earthquake Cocktail

1 ounce gin
1 ounce bourbon
3/4 ounce absinthe

Shake with ice and serve in a cocktail glass.

All over the city Bay Area bartenders are rushing to create absinthe-based cocktails, because for the near future, absinthe definitely replaces St. Germain as the new It spirit.

For any unfortunates who didn't manage to wrap their cold fists around any of the first 3600 bottles, don't despair. Dave said that while Absinthe Verte is their "most complicated product" that they "can't just make on the fly," they do hope to have their next batch bottled by the end of January. Get in line now.

*(In the interest of full disclosure, I did pay the full amount for my bottle of Absinthe Verte and my $10 taste. I also didn't muscle through the patient crowd, flashing my KQED press badge, and jump the queue. Nope. I stood there and waited my turn with everyone else and I'm proud of it.)

The restaurant list for the 7th Annual Dine About Town has been announced. Dine About Town (DAT) was designed seven years ago to allow customers to try out new restaurants around the city at a reasonable deal. Modeled after restaurant weeks in cities such as New York, DAT features a fixed price lunch and dinner at over 100 restaurants throughout San Francisco. This year, DAT will take place from January 15 - 31.

For a three-course, preset meal, you will pay $21.95 for lunch and $31.95 for dinner at any of the participating restaurants.

Food enthusiasts around the city make a sport out of trying to find the best deals and the best meals that can be had during Dine About Town. While restaurants will continue to be added to the DAT list until opening day on January 15, the current restaurant list features some participants that seem to be good deals or to have interesting menus:

Absinthe (lunch)
Aziza (dinner)
Bacar (dinner)
Big 4 (lunch/dinner)
One Market (lunch/dinner)
Sens (lunch/dinner)

Chowhounds warn of spending more on a DAT meal than you would normally spend at a restaurant for a comparable meal. Examples of this are Chou Chou, Scott Howard, 1550 Hyde and Le Charm -- many of which have year-round prix fixe meals for slightly less than the DAT price. An additional tip: when finding DAT deals, check out the actual prix fixe menu. Some restaurants relegate their most boring, pedestrian dishes to the DAT menu, unfortunately.

The rules of Dine About Town:

* You must pay with Visa.
* You must tell the server that you'd like the Dine About Town deal when you arrive.
* The best DAT deals fill up quickly so make a reservation.
* All meals are preset and three courses.

This pages of this week's Entertainment Weekly are sprinkled with their holiday gift ideas. (Dear Amazon: No matter how many mags, blogs, or reps flog your new Kindle, I'm never going to use it. While I don't love the space my biblio excesses take up, I love the smell, touch, and heft of real books way too much. Another thing I love too much? Spending $399 in far more worthy places. Love, Stephanie) As a television obsessive, a few EW foodie gifts stood out for me. There's the old-new hamburger phone from the new It-Movie, Juno $19.99 (wards.com), the Hung knife that will allow you to "chop like the champ" $210 (korin.com), and the wine, 2002 Conti Sertoli Salis Sforzato, that might make you feel dirty, sexy, and monied for $55 (vinositeshop.com).

That's all fine and dandy, but if you want to spread some San Francisco love across the country, try dousing your loved ones with these local gift ideas.

June Taylor Foodstuffs: Aside from her usual delectable pots of jams and jellies, at this time of year June Taylor also has port-soaked fruitcake and vegetarian mincemeat. Note to the ex-pats and Anglophiles out there: grab these while the going's good. She also has candied citrus peels (blood orange, Seville orange, Rangpur lime, Meyer lemon), fruit paste, and pears preserved in cassis. (Cake: $30; Mincemeat: $26; Pears: $36/$18; Fruit Paste: $15; Candied Citrus Peel: $14)

Alice Waters' The Art of Simple Food: This new cookbook from the famed Bay Area chef is a must for those of us who collect cookbooks, meals, and menus from Chez Panisse. Far more simple and straightforward than her other cookbooks, The Art of Simple Food, not only takes individual ingredients and breaks them down into uncomplicated, delicious dishes but Waters teaches the salivator about pots and pans, menu planning, and how to stock your pantry and choose your ingredients. ($35)

Anything from Kermit Lynch: The man carries some wines as low as $11.00, okay? I mean, honestly, with Kermit Lynch vetting your wine, can you really go wrong here? I didn't think so. Bonus: you don't need your own globe-trotting Nick George/Darling to know it's going to be good.

Cocoa Bella Chocolates: If you opened a box of chocolates in my grandma's house, chances were good you'd be in for an unpleasant surprise. While she didn't bite into each chocolate to see if she was going to like it, she did jab a fingernail into the bottom, thus allowing the contents to ooze onto the frilled paper. With their custom box builder, Cocoa Bella ensures you never have to poke, prod, or bite a chocolate to determine its stomach worthiness. ($40 for 20 pieces, $75 for 40 pieces)

DeLessio's Chocolate Bubble Wrap: You use bubblewrap to pad your presents, why not eat it? As addictive as popping the bubbles themselves, DeLessio offers six different flavors for $16.50 a pound.

St. George Absinthe Verte: Last week, Lance Winters of St. George's Spirits in Alameda got the news that he could start selling his newly concocted Absinthe Verte. Banned in the U.S. since 1912, cocktailians can finally wrap their lips and brain cells around the anisette-flavored green beverage that reputedly made madmen out of some of history's most celebrated artists and writers. San Francisco's Green Fairy goes on sale December 21st and supplies are limited, so I shouldn't really be telling you about this if I want any left for myself. ($75)

I went, I drank, I conquered.

Although the reservation and password hoop-jumping smacks of exclusivity and a certain snobbishness, when you see the neighborhood you see why it might be practical. Right on the corner of O'Farrell and Jones, Bourbon & Branch is firmly in the Tenderloin. I haven't exactly been taking advantage of restaurants, bars, shops, and cafes that are apparently turning this neighborhood into the Trendyloin, and now I know why. Maybe it's my Twin Cities upbringing, but I don't exactly relish walking down blocks that smell of urine and having local denizens spit at me and growl crazily as I try to look like I know where I'm going. Given that sort of thing, I understand why Bourbon & Branch might not want to have their unmarked door thrown wide to the general public.

Davina and I stood under the Anti-Saloon League sign while I grappled for the buzzer and croaked my password. The door swung open to reveal a smiling face and we were welcomed and ushered to our table. Inside, Bourbon & Branch is dark and darling. Spiky frosted glass chandeliers swing and toss their gentle cotton balls of light against mottled mirrors and the hammered copper ceiling. The cute little wooden booths have cute little wooden tables that are just wide enough to hold your drinks and just narrow enough remind you that this is not a restaurant.

After many trips to Absinthe, I have finally drunk myself to a point where I had effectively sampled all the cocktails that interested me and could leave the rest. Faced with Bourbon & Branch's massive cocktail menu, I was back at square one. I'd light on a cocktail that I was definitely going to order and I'd be all, "Check it out, this one has THYME in it!" and then a few pages and a dozen cocktail descriptions later and I'd totally forget what that original cocktail was because, "Ooh, hang on -- THIS one has pimento dram in it. Wait, what's pimento dram? I'm getting that one. No, but hang on..." and so on and so forth. I'll tell you what, I really could have used those shameless shopping stickies Lucky Magazine is so proud of.

For some reason I was expecting all the cocktails to be upwards of fifteen dollars, but there were far more ten-dollar cocktails than anything else, and since that shruggingly seems to be the average price of cocktails in the Bay Area, I wasn't bothered. The drinks are pure and clean and inventive. After the delightful Prosecco-based amuse bouche cocktail they offered us -- a cocktail amuse bouche? I'm loving this idea! -- I started out with a delicious and refreshing Cracked Thumb (gin, lemon oil, elderflower syrup, mint). Given that I'm a gin girl and elderflower really crushes my ice, it was sort of a safe bet for me. What wasn't a safe bet was my order of an Aperol Spritz. Davina, who likes Campari, encouraged me, who does not like Campari, to give it a whirl. I did and I liked. Maybe it's the gentian and rhubarb, but I found the Aperol to be a kinder, gentler version of its bitter, angry spinster aunt.

My one complaint is that when Davina asked our server if the bartender could concoct something using gin and falernum, the server was clearly rattled. Bartenders do this all the time -- hello? It's pretty much their job description -- so this shouldn't have been a big deal. It's not like Davina asked for something bizarre like hot chocolate, benedictine, and Cynar. I don't blame the bartender, who did pour out something delicious, I just don't think the server should have acted as though it was a weird or inconvenient request.

Some out there are already sneering that B&B "ripped off" Milk and Honey's concept. Well, but see, Milk and Honey is in New York, and I'm in San Francisco and B&B is in San Francisco, so I say rip away! I mean really, isn't the country large enough for several of these speakeasies? I would certainly hope so.