Post-Prom Cocktails

It was The Best of Times.  Literally.  As in, Styx.  That was the theme song when my pal Ed Marsh took me to his prom in 1989.  My hair was large, as was my dress.  He had a mullet.  The good news is that we’ve aged well and evolved from our Jersey Prom Look.  Thank God.

Ed and I fell out of touch for many years but resolved that through Facebook and Twitter once I joined modern society last year.  Turns out, he has been busy since the prom.  A musician, technical writer (yes, one of those annoying right AND left brain people), a home beer brewer, a foodie (often gluten and dairy free, no less), a racing fan and a blogger.  And one of the wittiest people I know.

I tend to gravitate toward the parenting/mom blogger crowd a lot for obvious reasons, so I thought it would be fun to get a totally different perspective at Fordeville today. I’m so happy he agreed to be the token male writer this week. I’m even happier that, despite his best efforts, he could not locate said prom photo.  

Pssst.  It’s also my six-month bloggerversary today.  No biggie, I know — especially when you’ve got folks like Ed who have been doing this for years — but I’m the gal who also likes to see a half-birthday acknowledged (mine, specifically).  Anyway.  Be sure to go give Ed’s blog some love — where he may begin accepting blackmail payments for the withholding of the prom picture — and follow him on Twitter @edmarsh.

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So, our friend Fordeville gives me, me an open forum to embarrass her, including that fateful prom with big hair and taffeta — and that was just me. Thankfully, we both made it out of high school alive, and still friends, though admittedly since those days she has turned out much better in quantity of hair category.

On the matter of alcoholic beverage consumption, let’s call it a draw.

Speaking of beverages, I consider myself somewhat of a connoisseur. I had a process for coffee at a prior job that involved grinding my own coffee at home, and at work a hotpot, French press, thermos, and one of those cup warmers that actually never do shit other than make the bottom of the mug searingly untouchable.

It took me a bit longer to warm up to beer. Now, don’t get me wrong, I ran with the wrong crowd in high school – the drummers – so I learned early on about the sweet, sweet demon alcohol, and the inevitable consequences that come with unsupervised drinking of excessive amounts when you’re 13. However, I could never handle the taste of cheap beer; clearly a precursor of things to come. So for most of my high school career, I drank the manliest of drinks… the Fuzzy Navel.

Fast-forward a few years to a kinder, gentler time when drinking (very) good beer makes not only good economic sense, but there is actual appreciation of the various flavors and styles. A time when you are serious enough about the beverage to brew your own.

Then forget it.

Because if there’s one thing that women generally don’t go for on vacation, it’s beer. And since I’m not entirely sure of the Fordeville’s vacation destination, it is hard to recommend a local, seasonal beer to drink, no matter the climate. For example, if you’re drinking Guinness in July and Sierra Nevada Pale Ale in February, you’re doing it wrong.

With that in mind, I suggest a drink that I love, though has more than once called into question my masculinity. It is a drink that, without one simple addition, is nothing but two kinds of booze. That drink is the White Russian. Three simple ingredients – Kahlua, vodka, and cream – is a potent cocktail and acceptable in any temperature. And it is often created, but not often done well.

Now that I’ve established my credentials as a man of culture and maturity, allow me to suggest, at Fordeville’s request, a show that she absolutely must Tivo/DVR while she’s away… Outsourced.

At this point it should be obvious that I’ve consumed several Delicious Beverages™.

But seriously folks, Anthony Bourdain is a chef, world traveler, and fantastic writer, though often consumed with too many superlatives. I’ve read most of his books, which confirmed for me that as much as I love making restaurant-quality food, the professional kitchen is not for me. However, his show No Reservations on the Travel Channel has only whetted my appetite for traveling to good food destinations. As the son of a Vietnam War vet, I’ve wanted to travel there for different reasons, but Tony has convinced me it’s someplace that I simply must go, if only to taste the alluring noodle soup pho.

{Courtesy www.cookingpanda.com}

I’ve had pho in New York’s Chinatown, replete with testicles (they weren’t kidding on the menu that said beef balls), but I want, no need, to travel to Vietnam at some point in my life to taste the authentic thing.

So there you have it, Fordeville’s requests fulfilled. A drink (or four) to enjoy while she’s de-stressing on vacation, and a show to come home and enjoy on the Tivo.