Learning From A Maestra

You would probably never guess it, and both Jess and I were quite surprised when we found out, but one of the nation's premier mixologists is a 30 year old, ever-smiling, energy bomb named Ariana living right here in San Diego.

I've sampled refreshments at many different establishments in town and have found the range to be quite broad, from gutter water to the truly sublime. I've never had the opportunity to actually sit down with the bartender and chat about their craft in the moment...

Until now (or at least 6 days ago)

In the final phase of my 32nd birthday festivities, I arranged a Mixology class at a fantastic bar/restaurant in town called Modus. We had been there before, and the drinks were quite good, but Ariana, whose reputation got us there in the first place, was off that night.

A few days after my birthday; however, we were able to not only have drinks that she made, but enjoy cocktails that she first explained then brought us behind the bar to make ourselves!

What a blast! I have my bartending license, but had never been behind a bar like this, muddling limes, handling the soda gun, and working the shaker with my massive guns (HaHa)
We worked our way through several different potations, each one more interesting than the next. Captain Sizzle joined me behind the bar and the three of us went to work-actually Ariana broke down the theory, ratios, techniques, etc with the execution left to Sizzle and I.

The real breakthrough of the night came through the use of radishes. Normally this is one tuber I can't get far enough away from, but after a bit of muddling, some sugar and good booze, that previously noxious flavor became quite a standout! I don't want to publish the names and ingredients of the drinks, you'll need to go to Modus' website; these are her drinks, I'm not taking any credit.

As we all enjoyed the craftsmanship and subsequent fruits of our labor, Ariana delivered some high level theory our way; inventing new drinks, pairing various foods with cocktails, interesting under-the radar sips (I'm talking black walnut liqueur here, people), and why the Long Island Iced Tea is every bartenders' worst nightmare.

Just like anyone at the top of their game, Ariana is a font of information, and shares it with great enthusiasm. Make your way to Modus, my friends, our time there could not have been more interesting, exciting and delicious.

Lovely Tennis Writing

I really am committed to presenting original prose on my blog, but there must be room to share pieces that fit into the overall theme of this space. I just found this missive by Michael Kimmelmann from the NY Times during the 2006 US Open (Sept 8th 2006, to be exact), and it helps expand on some of the themes I wrote about in my previous posting about tennis (though he's quite an exceptional writer and I'm basically working with crayons here). Activate your imagination and read on, but slowly, and allow yourself to be enthralled...
"So what is the art of tennis?
I bumped into the New York artist Holly Hughes at the Open. Many artists are obsessed with tennis. Holly, a painter, is one of them. She spent the day scouring the grounds, dashing between matches. She had that glazed look fans get here in the early rounds, the look of a glutton mid-banquet.
Tennis points, she said, are problem-solving equations for line drawings in space.
Translation: the beauty of the game is seeing, then trying to remember, the way a ball travels around the court during a point. Its path makes lines that arch, zig, move diagonally, straight, back and forth. The court is like a sheet of paper, with its own lines already drawn on it. Strategy entails mapping out and resolving combinations of lines — patterns — just as an artist maps a drawing.
Picture Federer. He hits a sliced serve to the deuce court. The ball makes a curving line down the middle that jogs at impact from left to right. His opponent’s return arches toward Federer’s backhand (the line now goes back, from right to left, but differently). Federer, charging the net, volleys cross court (left to right, again differently). Point Federer.
The fan’s pleasure comes in redrawing the lines as a memory. Every point, like every mark drawn on a page, is a little different. Topspin makes a line different from a slice. A smart, strategic, virtuosic player (Federer) conceives more varied and elegant points, whose resolution, like the resolution of a particularly complex drawing, can be profoundly satisfying.
This is why sitting at a certain height behind either baseline is better than sitting in the middle of the court or courtside. From the side, the game is a jumble of movements. From higher up and behind the baseline (where the television cameras like to be), the court is easier to read as a page, and the lines are clear to follow. Patterns present themselves.
Within sameness there can be endless variety. Artists have proved this over centuries. It’s the art of tennis, too — or part of the art, because there is beauty to the sound of the game and to its passage through time. Call it the music of the sport. Which is to say nothing of its drama, offcourt and on, or of the ballet of Federer’s footwork ..."
The complete article can be found by clicking here.

The Wonderful Paradox of Tennis

Ruminations on tennis, starting with a bold statement: there is no more intense single competition between athletes in the world of sports. No coaching, no time limits, no quarter given or received. Conditioning must be optimal, equipment just right, gameplan tuned, and mentally you've got to be razor-sharp.

There is just nothing like it anywhere; two athletes pushing each other in every way imaginable, incorporating drama of the highest order, skill beyond parallel, and brute strength of will. Best of all, it's unbelievably fun, and has the adaptability to be enjoyed by anyone at any level.
In the center of all of this energy, there lies a paradox which gives tennis such an unbelievably addictive and motivating quality...
Only through strict adherence to structure, form, technique and discipline will tennis allow an outpouring of creativity, craftsmanship, and art. But without this rigid foundation, the creative process is thwarted and will remain untapped below the surface.
Disagree? Watch the masters of the game, Sharapova, Federer, Graf, Agassi, and try to find the flaws in their fundamentals as they work their magic. Of course they have preternatural gifts we can only dream of, but they also have impeccable footwork, first class fitness, and reliable shots, all of which only come through endless hours of practice and persistence.
One might think that this means that tennis can only be truly enjoyed when someone is at the highest levels, but quite the opposite is true! What this paradox distills down to is that whatever you put into your game, you get tenfold back; as you improve and expand your repertoire, you get to be evermore creative, innovative, and crafty with your game.

Tennis has been a huge part of my life since I was a little kid flailing around with my Prince Jr. From the start, the game jibed beautifully with my meticulous nature and desire for competition. It also gave me a creative outlet that was hard to find otherwise. I was never much for drawing, painting, or modeling on any consistent basis, though each had their crack. Looking back, as soon as I got serious about my tennis, my artistic jones was satified.
As I learned footwork and gained fitness, I could make my body get into any number of postures while on the full run. Footwork led to shoulder-turn, into backswing, which became weight transfer and hip rotation, thus generating racket head acceleration through the ball, and voila! another ball flew against the fence, or bounced into the next, or just casually missed my racket completely.
So things have changed a bit since those first wild cuts, and it's the endless repetition that makes the game so sweet. That dogma of body movements allows for spins (topspin, slice, flat), pace (heavy, slow), net clearance (high, low, down the line, crosscourt) and placements too numerous to count. As that central dogma is practiced, more of these intrinsic variables become accessible, and suddenly you realize "hey, I'm playing tennis here!"
Now, when I'm feeling creative, I can try putting more topspin and depth on a short ball, or pronate my wrist a bit more on my serve to see if I can kick my second serve up to someone's shoulder. I get to enjoy the same process of exploration as any painter or sculptor.
Given that my schedule is a bit erratic, I've recently splurged on a serious indulgence, I bought a tennis ball machine! Now I can get out and paint just about anytime I want, and when there's a photographer in the family, well...
It's all about footwork, footwork, footwork!
and watching the ball!
One of the best parts of the creative process of being a tennis player has got to be the facial expressions. Even though I've never watched myself play, I can only imagine some of the remarkable, plasticine poses my face twists into. If you look closely below, you'll see quite a nice example; notice how the left corner of my mouth seems to be chasing my racket during the followthrough on my backhand
Of course, that shot tore over the net and plowed into an unreachable corner of the opposite court, demonstrating once again that amidst great mutilation there can lie great beauty.

Roasting Coffee at Home - A Gustatory Triumph!

First off, an explanation from the Tipsy Historian; though there has been a spate of posts over the past week, close observation will show that there was an abrupt cessation of writing here in late January. Though life has undergone a dramatic change with some wild ups and downs, my wife and teammate Jess and I have continued to build our repertoire of hobbies, experiences, and activities. Many, if not all, fit within the purview of this blog, so with a three month gap in writing, you, dear reader, may rightfully assume that there is something of a backlog of things to write about.
This assumption would be correct, so I will immediately commence bringing you into the Tipsy Historian's world, for as my blog subtitle shows, much has gone on in the world of beverages, sports, and the always engaging and edifying study of the Civil War.
We begin, my friends, with a taste experience that has changed the way I experience and enjoy my only daily vice, coffee drinking. I do not have a coffee shop or special brew to refer you to, no, no. I want to take you back to what I now regard as the first principle of coffee.

Thou shalt roast thine own beans in the sanctity of thine own abode, and thou shalt eschew beans roasted in any other venue, save for the abode of thy friends and kinspeople.

Why should it be so? Because home coffee roasting brings a level of freshness, complexity, and sheer joy that cannot be captured in any other way of getting coffee. Coffee is at its peak 24-48 hours after it's roasted, and within a week of roasting, it has already undergone a marked decline. Beyond 10-14 days, you're wasting your money.
It all starts in Oakland, which is (I was surprised to learn) the biggest coffee importation point in the United States. Just near the port itself is a warehouse with a robust company called Sweet Maria's. From this company and its website springs all you need to know about this wonderful hobby. Before I provide the link, be warned it is very dense and not so easy to navigate, but your persistence will be amply rewarded. That said, here it is.
Now, how does this process work? Well the green beans come from Sweet Maria's and are stable in a ziplock bag for up to a year. They're also much cheaper than roasted coffee, coming in at about $4 per pound.
Not only that, but they have names like Brazilian Coromandel Fazenda Sao Joao, Peru FTO Cuzco Ccochapampa, and Ethiopia Dry-Process Golocha. Best yet, when you buy them, you can select organic and Free-Trade Certified beans.
Now, there is a tremendous amount of science behind this, which the website covers in tremendous detail. Though I have learned quite a bit about it...
...there is always more to be gleaned. Suffice it to say, "first crack" and second crack" are becoming a powerful part of my coffee lexicon.
The machine is the next part. Any hot air blowing device will work, and there is a huge market for old school popcorn poppers. I opted for a more professional choice, which was a great investment; the iRoast 2. This has made the process so quick and easy; from selecting my beans to everything cleaned up and put away is about 30 minutes. Can't beat it I tell you.
The roasting process itself is a total treat, with smells evolving rapidly, colors changing before your eyes, and sounds emanating from the beans as the heat and the sugars interact. Without stealing too much fun from those of you who are convinced you must go down this road, here is a picture of beans approaching 1st crack.
The best part of this machine is the ease of cleanup, as I mentioned, no more than a few minutes. Why? Well, all the stuff that flies off the beans as they roast, called the chaff, gets collected in an easy to clean receptacle at the top of the roaster. It's also pretty cool to look at...
Anyway, as the roast goes on, I usually water the plants, chat with Jess, or stand on the porch and watch birds. Most importantly, after 1st crack, my eyes turn to the roasting chamber, because there is a wide range of "doneness" in the roast once 1st crack is completed. Initially I liked it a bit darker, but find the lighter finishing points more interesting currently.

There is a final phase of the roasting process that we must discuss before we get into what this stuff actually tastes like, and that is the roasting uniform. Any good activity has the appropriate apparel (check out my tennis gear in posts to come) and coffee roasting is no different. To that end, I give you The Espresso Monkey!
Now for the reason you've all kept reading this far; the taste. The best way to describe it is to think about profound tasting experiences you've had with wine, and how the sophisticated, complex bottle gives much to think about, as well as enjoy. A bottle of 2-buck Chuck will get the job done in a pinch, but there is another level to be achieved as well.
This process of roasting at home is that other level. These coffees are unbelievably interesting and absolutely delicious, with spices, chocolates, toffees, and fruits all there for the savoring. I invite you to look at the tasting notes at Sweet Maria's for the batch I've just finished drinking, and, even for a beginner, these flavor patterns just leap out at your taste buds.
This is one of the most rewarding and enjoyable hobbies out there, each day starts with not only a nice caffeine lift, but an intellectual stimulation that gets both the brain and palate ready to enjoy another day.

Friedman column

If it is alright with you, dear reader, I'd like to add to the palette of this blog by adding links to columns by Thomas Friedman as the appear in the New York Times. He is a writer who certainly captures a large expanse of my political and social opinions, and he is incredibly well-informed as well as a solid writer. Click here for today's column, and, as with all my posts, comments are always welcome.

How to Botch a Cocktail

There are few tools more powerful in human interaction than good communication. If we're able to openly answer questions, discuss hot-button issues, and explain what we're doing, then we can all make our way in the world smoothly and with much less tsuris.
The beloved wife and I were walking in La Jolla Cove a few weeks ago when we decided to head into a (seemingly) posh and refined spot for a lazy Saturday afternoon refreshment. At the start, things looked quite promising; well-appointed interior, comfy chairs, and an interesting and variegated cocktail menu.
We placed our order, Jess selecting the bartender's interpretation of the margarita, and I opted to try the lychee martini. The menu described a chilled drink made of fresh lychee juice and a brand of gin that I can no longer recall.
In due course the drinks came and, to her credit, our server told me that the bar was "out of lychee fruit for garnish, sorry about that." No problem, I assured her, as I was much more interested to explore the marriage of botanicals and exotic fruit in my glass. After our traditional toast (watch Jess and I carefully the next time our beverages arrive and we clink glasses) we sipped.
Well, instead of a complex mix of flavors and textures in my mouth, I got socked in the taste buds by the fire of pure gin. Even when chilled, straight gin packs a punch, especially if you're not expecting it. I looked at Jess with boggled eyes, who after being assured I was fine, started to laugh at the absurdity of what was happening.
I signaled for our server who came quickly to our table (and rightly so, as we were the only customers in the bar). I told her my concern that the bartender had sent me a glass of firewater instead of the drink I ordered. She promptly took it away to explore the issue further, only to return in just a few moments with this all-time classic...
"Yeah, so the bartender says we're out of lychee juice too. Sorry about that!"
OK, what the hell is this dude's thought process here!? I think the hamster must have been fatigued and the power supply dwindling when he decided to not tell us that my drink was not available, and to push right of a cliff by sending me straight gin instead.
That's just fantastic, and needless to say, Jess and I were reeling with laughter. Certainly no harm done aside from a few scalded taste buds but, bro, bartender to fellow bartender, throw me a freaking bone next time!

32nd Birthday 2nd phase

At times of occasion I've historically been quite quick at getting fully spiffed up: shower, shave, lotion, toothbrush, get dressed, aftershave, door. Over the past few months; however, I've added a new ingredient to this little recipe, the ability to style my hair into a mohawk (or mini-mo, as Jess likes to call it). Needless to say, it took a bit longer to get sorted before my birthday dinner, but everything was in its proper place when we left the house.
A constant source of fun for Jess and I is to try and set up a birthday dinner for the other that is both a multi-sensory carnival and a complete surprise. Though San Diego is full of great restaurants, we both avidly browse foodie websites and discuss what we've found, thus making the element of surprise a tricky proposition.
Well, The Jess both picked a mind-blowing restaurant and kept a veil of secrecy over it that would have made the D-Day planners proud. We even got there early and Jess just drove right past it, pretending we were going somewhere entirely different, then doubled back. A brilliant tactician, that one.
The end-result of all this energy and excitement was a restaurant called Market. Anyway, if you've had a quick look at the cocktail list and restaurant menu, you'll understand how delicious food and drink was. We're trying to focus on eating locally grown or produced meat and veg, and that's what this place was all about. The Brandt Farms tenderloin was an absolute triumph, let me tell you!
I know you're wondering, how was dessert, for goodness sake WHAT WAS FOR DESSERT!!??
Well, we didn't eat dessert at the restaurant, because there was a final surprise for me; a Red Velvet layer cake with sliced strawberries in the center, a scratch-made creamcheese icing, and a strawberry glaze drizzled over the top. Best part, each element was hand-crafted by my lovely wife. There are no extant pictures of this masterpiece, but I assure you, it will live forever in the pantheon of great birthday cakes. And this day will be an exciting, loving place for my mind to go when things are tough.