You can find Sean and I (as well as our better halves) working the kalimotxo booth at the Gooding Basque Picnic on July 17. 

Our Goitia family version of the kalimotxos was carried to the Americas by my brother, who had spent a drunken year in the Basque provinces circa late ’90s.  According to my brother, the kalimotxos was not a formal drink made in the bars, but rather was a bastardized version of a sangria that would be made at large festivals.  My brother’s tale went that they—he and other younger Basques—would empty out half the contents of a liter bottle of Coke and fill in with cheap red wine. This Basque ingenuity represented a tasty, large quantity cheap drunk they could carry around.

Upon his triumphant return to the States, my brother shared with me this brilliant Basque concoction.  Many camping trips to the cabin later, and after much analysis and drunken discussion, a quasi-perfect version of the Goitia kalimotxos bloomed.  The fresh and luscious version produced regularly for Basquo and gringo alike nowadays is true to the old-country version utilizing cheap wine, but with the edition of fruits, juices and ice.

It is named in honor of our grandfather Patxi Goitia. Patxi came to the States in 1921, and spent the next two decades herding sheep before opening a boardinghouse in downtown Boise around 1940.  Gramps was five foot nothing, but was armed with a big smile, an even bigger laugh, the best comb-over hairdo in town, and the tallest dress shoes that could be found.  He was a Basquo man about town who loved a cup of wine and a cheap cigar.  My brother and I think he would have approved of our kalimotxos.

AKA Flying Garbanzo Punch is another story entirely.  One of Patxi’s boys, Lui, taught at a school in the Basque area in the mid-’70s.  His four siblings back in Idaho got together and took a picture of themselves and their father all wearing the big-nose/bushy eyebrows/glasses/Hitler mustache mask.  They blew this photo up and had The Flying Garbanzos printed across the bottom.  They then sent this to Lui for Xmas.  Perhaps this is one of those things ya “had to be there for” and see through the eyes of a dysfunctional 1st generation Basque family.

Patxi Goitia’s Deluxe Boardinghouse Kalimotxos (a.k.a. Flying Garbanzo Punch)

Carlo Rossi Paisano wine
Royal Crown Cola
Fresh lemon and lime juice
Thinly sliced quarter- to half-sections of lemons and limes
Ice
Any size glass

Pour a 3-to-1 ratio of vino fino to refreshing Royal Crown Cola (don’t want it too sweet). Squeeze a couple of lemon and lime sections in. Plop in a few fresh and luscious lime and lemon slices. Drop in a few ice cubes. Stir lovingly as you ponder how cool Basque folks are. Wah-la!

A couple of weeks ago we went on a trip through Oregon: Portland, Eugene, Corvallis, and along the coast into Astoria. Greg booked two nights in Astoria because he’s always wanted to see where the mouth of the Columbia meets the Pacific. I wanted to see the “Goonies” house. We both saw what we wanted.

I could write an entire post about Astoria — the beautiful Queen Anne houses, the ghostly burned pier along the waterfront, the unpredictable river, the crumbling Astor Hotel — but I’ll keep it instead to one topic: the “fresh-squeezed” Yucca from Mary Todd’s Workers Bar & Grill.

If there were a threatened species list for dive bars (and there should be), Mary Todd’s would be on it. Unlike its older, famous sister to the south, Mo’s, Mary Todd’s has not been expanded or gentrified or capitalized upon. It’s dark and doesn’t have a view, but it does have a large backyard and a firepit where Mary Todd herself holds court. It has really great food for really cheap. Inexplicably, they serve fry sauce. But the star of the show is the Yucca.

Our poor bartender had a paper cut, so every time she made one it was like she was slogging through the Bataan Death March. But she delivered them to our table wrapped in washcloths and instructed us to shake until the glass was frosty. She told us not to drink too fast, lest we wind up like the guy adjacent to us with his head on the bar.

You would think that much vodka would make a terrible drink. You would be wrong. It tastes like the best, freshest lemonade you’ve ever had, followed by a chaser of boundless camaraderie. We had talked to half the bar by the time we left.

Fresh-squeezed Yucca from Mary Todd’s Workers Bar & Grill

One ice-packed Mason jar with a lid
One lemon and its juice
About an ounce of simple syrup
2 1/2 shots of vodka
One washcloth
One straw

Add all ingredients to the Mason jar; cap with lid. Wrap in washcloth and shake until frosty. Serve with straw.

After running out of my trusty Beefeater the only gin I was left with was the remnants of a bottle of New Amsterdam. It’s a little bit sweet and floral (not so good for my standard Gibson), so I turned to the Bar Aid and landed on the Bee’s Knees: gin, lemon juice and honey.

Where you been all my life, Bee’s Knees? This thing is easy to drink (maybe a little too easy) and dead simple to make, especially the old-timey version. I searched for some updated recipes that seem pretty amazing, substituting rum for the gin and honey syrup for the straight honey. I bet it would also be awesome with orange instead of lemon; the key thing is the honey.

It’s a perfect drink for summer: light, sweet and tart.

The Bee’s Knees
1 jigger gin
1 teaspoon honey
Juice of 1/4 lemon

Shake well with ice and strain into glass.

Middle Brother is a side project for John McCauley of Deer Tick, Taylor Goldsmith of Dawes and Matt Vasquez of Delta Spirit. Lead singers and guitarists all, they set out to write the record in two weeks and record it in another two. But it doesn’t sound hurried or unplanned; what you get out of it is an admiration for their collaborative instincts and the respect they have for each other. (And a deep sense of low-burning resentment because they all appear to be about 25.)

Every song has something to say, from the Alex Chilton-worthy opener “Daydreaming,” to Goldsmith ripping his heart out in “Blood and Guts” to the utter loser telling his tale in “Middle Brother.” I wouldn’t bother listening if you’re someone who doesn’t pay attention to lyrics. If you do, you’re in for some fun.

The album was released in March and their tour wrapped up long ago, never coming within 700 miles of Boise. However! You can check out Vasquez and the rest of Delta Spirit at the Gem State Jam on June 11 at the Old Pen. Tickets here.

Salt is, with fat, the thing that makes everything you eat worth eating. I promise you: This salt will transform the food that comes out of your kitchen. I use it for everything: On roast chicken, in brownies, in risotto, in chocolate chip cookies. Have you ever had a crunchy piece of salt with gooey chocolate? No? You’re missing out, kid. Get on it.

The French, that’s who. And because they are French they also add cognac to it. Yes. It is truly spectacular on crusty toast with a heaping smear of butter. Here’s the recipe, courtesy of Kathy, who got it from some unidentified jam-making lady on the teevee.

Carrot Preserve

1 pound carrots, sliced
2 cups sugar
Juice of 2 lemons
Zest of 1 lemon
10 almonds, chopped
2 tablespoons cognac

Boil carrots until tender; drain. Run through a food mill or blender to puree. Return to saucepan and add sugar, zest and lemon juice. Cook until sugar is dissolved. Add almonds and cognac. Cool. Yields approximately 20 ounces.

I am a regular consumer of Gibsons. My favorite in Boise is at the venerable Gamekeeper Lounge, which makes an extremely dry (you don’t even have to ask) Beefeater Gibson with three onions (again, no asking). How does the 1940s version compare to the Gamekeeper version?

It’s for drunks! That’s how it compares.

The recipe calls for four jiggers of gin and one jigger of vermouth. For one serving. Yeah. So either one jigger did not equal one shot back then or these people were hammered all the time. I mean, I’m not going to judge. There was a war going on, or a post-war period going on. Either way, it seems like you would need regular lubricant to keep the gears going, you know?

So was vermouth better in the 1940s? Because I’m a fan of it, don’t get me wrong, but a jigger is a lot. I don’t believe in this “whisper of vermouth” tactic that has taken hold for gin drinks since the 1990s. What’s the point? Either add vermouth or don’t. Don’t be a wuss. That said, a full jigger is a commitment. You have to like your vermouth to make that happen. I would suggest the very excellent (there’s a reason it’s the standard) Martini & Rossi dry vermouth. Consistently delicious.

And since we’re talking about consistent, we can’t forget the garnish. There is nothing worse in cocktail world than a cocktail onion without crunch. There’s a local bar that pickles their own onions. How do I know they do that? Because they taste awful and are limp. Don’t be that gal. Top your Gibson off with a crunchy, pungent onion that would make Roger Sterling proud. I like two brands: Mezetta, which makes really tasty and inexpensive cocktail onions, and Sable and Rosenfeld’s Vermouth Tipsy Onions. The latter is more sweet than the former, so pick whichever you prefer.

You can’t go wrong with a Gibson. Unless you drink all five jiggers of alcohol in one sitting. That’s just crazy talk. Or a challenge, take your pick.

Our friends Brian and Kathleen have long been in the business of keeping us shnockered. They persuaded us to register for crystal Hefeweizen glasses. Their wedding present to us was a beautiful cabinet bar. This year, on our anniversary, they gave us this 1940s bartender’s friend.

You can clearly see that it is awesome. Each drink is numbered; you just dial up what you want. The recipes, being about 65 years old, are a little different. They say that you can date a martini recipe by its ingredients; this one still calls for a fairly hefty amount of vermouth. And what’s a Mamie Taylor? You ever had one? Me, neither.

Since I’m in the public service business, I’ve decided to feature a drink a week from this handy guide. I’ll include a little history of each cocktail and tell you whether it’s worth your time and effort. And the recipe, of course. I know, I know. You can thank me later.

First up: The Earthquake.

1/3 whiskey

1/3 gin

1/3 Pernod

Shake well with ice and strain into glass.

History: The first drink to go by the name “earthquake” was created by the painter Toulouse-Lautrec (at least that’s what Wikipedia tells me). It was a mix of absinthe and cognac. The more modern cocktail is the one listed above.

Review: Quite possibly the worst drink I’ve ever had. Even worse than that one time I was in Rhode Island and ordered an Old Fashioned and the bartender got mad because he couldn’t find bitters and took it out on me by making the drink half bitters when he finally did locate them. I don’t know what it’s like to go blind from alcohol, but I’m pretty sure that it tastes like this. Looks like Mountain Dew, takes like death.

OK! More next on this topic next week!

I’m sure the Kate Spade Kool-Aid, if it existed, would probably manage to be tri-colored, like neopolitan ice cream in a glass. I’m sure it would also taste of a perfect Pimm’s Cup and sparkles and happiness. Because Kate Spade is all about being vibrant and excited and fun, and I am so falling for all of that right now.

The ad for the company’s new perfume, Twirl, stopped me in my tracks the other day. (That’s it up there.) Maybe it’s because I had just read a great interview with the model who posed as the face of Charlie in the 1970s and 1980s and it reminded me of the same spirit: having fun, being in control, being a woman. What Kate Spade is selling is very American, and it’s certainly refreshing to think about bright colors and being girly and on top of things after two years of negativity and doubt. The brand somehow manages to be preppy without being stuffy and referential without being nostalgic. Every product is practical while also maintaining whimsy, which is a tall order indeed.

There are a lot of things that are going on the birthday and Christmas wish lists this year. Take note, family.