Category: Distilled alchohol

Lucky Strike ~

For those of you who know me, you know that I am a pleasure seeker. I love lushness in my surroundings, my fragrance, my food and my drinks. Well, once, I got this lucky, Lucky Strike that is.

Lucky Strike is a small lush place serving stunning Sichuan food. Dark brown walls, lipstick red chandeliers, plush purple chairs that invite you to sink into their plushness. The art is oversized and encourages you to stare. And the food… well, is hot!

We had Dan Dan noodles thick and chewy with a layer of ground pork, peanuts and scallions.

The pork filled pot stickers had a heavy yet silky wrapper and were plump, barely fitting into the pot filled with mouth watering deliciousness.

We also ordered the green beans dotted liberally with red chilies and Sichuan peppercorns that slowly exploded in our mouths leading first with citrus, then flower blossoms and then a tongue and lip tingling sensation, leaving us numb and helpless, begging for more.

Do you like chilies? Why, yes I do.

The pineapple rice is not meant as an entree and is pretty bland. The sazerac was too sweet and it took the bartender at least a half hour to make our drinks. I can sit peacefully for an hour waiting for my food if I have a gorgeous sazerac in my hand. Our pleasure was only interrupted by his inattention.

But all in all, I was fully satisfied and left exhausted with pleasure.

When the doors were open.

Unlucky for you, this incredibly decadent restaurant’s doors are permanently closed. And unlucky for me because I only had the pleasure of indulging my desires there once. Lastima!

Can a restaurant be described as sensual, sexy? Yes. Yes it can.

Photos courtesy of Zomato

Death and Strange Elixers at the Altabier.

I went for drinks with friends last night at the Altabier Restaurant and Bar. I like going there, alot. I can ask for a pizza that suits my strange tastes.

First, I had a drink called the Cloven Hoof. I should have known better but it started out with a lovely smooth scotch and some other tantalizing ingredients. I tried sipping it but it lured me into slamming it. Down the hatch!

My second drink was an Old Fashioned. Four Roses bourbon, smooth and golden and heavy, laced with just enough ice in a crystal glass. It sparkled like a deep amber elixir with the Mosca cherry hiding half way down. Though I wanted to dive for the cherry, I sipped and chatted about death with my friends. The sky went black and the lights of the city came on and the voices in the bar grew louder, candles were glowing and flickering and time slipped by.

Todd talked candidly about his wife dying just a month or so ago. Noelle, remembering how her husband and she were driving cross country to move to Portland with their two cats, got in a terrible accident that killed her husband and the male kitty, while she and the female kitty survived, was drinking a strange concoction called, “Making Brandy Great Again”.

When I met Noelle, 15 years ago, the scar that slashed across her forehead and between her eyes was red and angry, still. Her scar now, is still clearly visible but “no longer angry nor red”, I commented. She’s tiny and her face is beautiful in the soft candlelight. For her second drink, she ordered the “Santa Muerte”. As we do, she slid the glass across the table for me to try. I immediately tasted the essence of a very old, Victorian house filled with stuffed antique furniture and gilded picture frames and China vases holding wilted roses. Todd took a sip and agreed that it aroused a sense of old stuffed chairs and sofas. Noelle called for a Manhattan, as she said, “I’m passing this on” and slid the drink back over to me.

There I was with my Old Fashioned to my right and my Santa Muerte to my left. By this time I was slowly sipping, enjoying both drinks and the company, immensely. I loved the mysterious Santa Muerte and the ever familiar Old Fashioned. They seemed to fit perfectly together. I was interjecting, into the conversation, stories of the soft passing of Mom and the violent parting of Kristi and Dad. Death hung in the air, as did the joy of sharing holiday gifts and spirits together.

Dolores dropped me off at my door and I drank a glass of bicarbonate of soda and fell into bed after tearing my clothes off. It was a fantastic night.