Whiskey Soaked Campfire Jerky

How was your Christmas? Mine was deliciously quiet with my husband our little Pilgrim. We exchanged gifts, grilled steaks at home and went to see American Hustle (tremendously amusing & fantastic costuming!). There were a few things that I had planned to pick-up for his holiday haul, that I didn't pin down: new-to-him bottle of bourbon and beef jerky. Those two worlds collided in my Feedly this morning with a feature of Whiskey Soaked Campfire Jerky from Manready. The beef is marinated in Bulleit bourbon and  slow smoked with Texas pecan wood. I'll be filing this under gift ideas for future events!

Cooking with bourbon

I decided to get a jump on this evening's dinner by prepping the chicken last night. I wasn't really sure what I was doing, but decided to rally over the fridge and spice cabinet to throw together a marinade.

Light bulb: bourbon.

Depending on how well this turns out, I may need to invest in Schmid's Kentucky Bourbon Cook Book for guided recipes. (Wishlisted!)

Things I had and added:
1 lb Chicken Breast tenders
3 large chorizo sausages (sliced)
1 lemon (thinly sliced)
1 lime (thinly sliced)
2 tbsp olive oil
3 tbsp coarse ground mustard
1 tsp coarse freshly cracked pepper.
1 tsp Hungarian Paprika
1 tbsp Louisiana hot sauce
1 tsp sea salt
2 tbsp capers
3 Crimini mushrooms thinly sliced
1 large scallion
***1 shot Kentucky bourbon***



I plan to bake at 350- covered.

a dinner at Char No. 4

(bar, via Char No. 4)

Well, I'm in love. I had a torrid affair with Char No. 4 on Cinco De Mayo (a worthly trade for margaritas). Located in Brooklyn's Cobble Hill, the bourbon-centric venue wraps you in a smokey warm scent of bacon as you enter. With over 300 bourbons to sample in one or two ounce pours- and a Southern inspired menu- it's not difficult to develop an affection. We sipped on Bulliet with a side of ice, while waiting for a table to open up.

(pork nuggets, via TONY)

To indulge, we decided to share small plates, rather than select entrees. We ordered a bottle of Zinfandel and discussed our interests. A few servers pushed the Cinco De Mayo menu (pork belly tacos, a Pacifico and shot of tequila). With a polite decline, we commenced with a half dozen oysters from Washington. They were quite excellent, aside from the chef's inability to properly shuck them-- I found myself choking on shells with each slurp. For our second course, we dressed our plates with the thick cut bacon charred and served over sauteed mushrooms. Absolutely divine, though the mushrooms distracted from the superior quality of the meat.

Per the suggestion of food critiques, we selected the cheese curds- breaded and deep fried with house made pimento sauce and pork nuggets with from scratch chili sauce. The cheese curds tasted about how you'd expect them- slightly average, but satisfying in contrast to the spicy zinfandel. The pork nuggets were are another story. Luscious pork belly and and fat deep fried- they were buttery, well-textured and a bit addicting.

(pastrami, via Gothamist)

The ingenue came next: lamb pastrami (voted best pastrami New York, 2009!). Sliced paper thin, ruffled over coriander aioli and dressed with coriander seeds and buttered toast- the dish taunted, teased and begged to be consumed.

Against our better judgment, we declined dessert and punctuated our meal with a few more bourbons on the rocks. Maker's Mark being the go-to.

an evening at Vintry

Motivation to slop through yesterday's blizzard proved bleak as I settled into a nap. Several text message beeps and a bleating roommate later, I pulled on my wellies and scarf. Trudging through the mess, I settled into Stone Street's new hot spot, Vintry, for wine and nibbles. A host approached immediately and negotiated a five minute wait for a table. He brought water and glasses of Pecorino il Feuduccio Colline Teatine Marche (2008) for sipping, while we pealed off our coats.

I took in the setting: perhaps the sexiest (collective) group of patrons I have ever encountered in the Financial District: saavy attire, sharp features and nibbling shamelessly on tapas between calculated sips of wine and bourbon. The venue is cozy- and quite packed. One who speaks with their hands will likely swat a fellow patron, or server. Small plates are served to match the 200+ list of bourbon/whiskey and impressive wine scroll.


A bottle of Caposaldo Prosecco (brut veneto, Italy) was ordered, as well the Lobster Stuffed Mushrooms and Tuna Tartar. The server brought the Lobster first: carefully dividing portions of separate plates. Tender and a bit hardy, the dish matched the dry and crisp bubbles of the Prosecco. The tartar came in a neat cylinder topped with creme fraiche and black caviar. Served with thin crustini and lightly dressed greens, the plate punctuated the meal quite well.


Image: Gothamist

Occidental Cigar Club

It's difficult to not feel sexy when you're slowly reveling in a bourbon on the rocks. Albeit old-boys atmosphere at San Francisco's Occidental Cigar Club, the thick air and warm owner lends a jovial atmosphere. The pours were generous as was the bar keep as he called out to me, "Look at you!" he cupped my hands in his own, "The Lord made you, he sure did." Setting aside my pounding head and scratchy cigar throat the next morning: I highly recommend tucking yourself into this spot (fall asleep with water and Advil;)

image: via

take some bourbon, scotch: in Shoolbreds

After warming up with a few cocktails at the Cherry Tavern in the East Village, we headed to Shoolbreds for a night cap. The easy Toille on the walls, cognac colored leather chairs and fireplace suit the good selection of bourbon and scotch.


We managed to snag the four chairs adjacent the fire and selected our drinks. I sipped a Booker's, others had IPA, or Eagle Rare bourbon.


While we offered conversation, a clearly intoxicated boy began to break dance, or rather put on a show that could be compared to break dancing: sort of. A bus boy brought us homemade warm potato chips to nibble on. Light, pleasantly crispy and moderately salty. These chips were made to be crunched on with bourbon, I am certain: this is their purpose.

I've been a few times before, and I'm certain that I will return to Shoolbreds.

197 Second Ave.

the three b's: bainbridge>boat>bourbon

jetBlue sent me packing early, I hopped on the 6:30 boat to Seattle. As I rose my head to pay the cashier for my glass of wine: John Paul. "Sit together?" "Yea, grab one." As per usual, the ferries promise random reconnects, which shake up plans, shape the hours nicely. We caught up a bit. The boat docked. A voice behind me interrupted, "Keisha?"

Dan. Let's get a drink
John Paul says, ok sure.
Yea I have time.
Erin and Randi are picking me to take me to SeaTac. I'll call them to meet us under the viaduct. Owl & Thistle? Yea, let's watch the fight.

John Paul suggested: bourbon shots, beer backs. Dan rose, returned. We slung our heads back, then snagged our Pacific Northwest Microbrews. I miss beer like this. Dry hopped, unfiltered. Earthy.

"That was bottom shelf," John Paul raised a brow and threw a chuckle, "I respect you for doing that, Kee- not many girls or people- Let me get the next round. "

"She's always been so pure to me," Dan interjected.


Randi showed up, we hugged it out. A few more sips, the running jokes, tales. Food. Sushi? Do we have time?



The drop off. At which point I venture to the counter where the jetBlue staff basically tells me not to lose my bag by checking it- and my Tivoli model One tidal waves security.