Rockin’ the Hausfraus

This is what a $1 drink looks like

 Once again we bring back our semi-regular TBIAW feature where we ignore our premise of making a Mr. Boston drink each day and instead review a drink from a local establishment.  This feature probably needs a shorter name because “semi-regular TBIAW feature where we ignore our premise of making a Mr. Boston drink each day and instead review a drink from a local establishment” doesn’t really roll off the tongue.

This time we went to Howl at the Moon, a dueling piano bar in Uptown Charlotte.  We were there because a friend of ours won a VIP happy hour party there and invited us.  They must be using the term “VIP” pretty loosely. I use the term “won” just as loosely, because something tells me that winning one of these parties is akin to winning a prize in a box of Cracker Jack.   We weighed our options of (A) stay in, watch Smallville, and go to bed at 9:15 like we normally do on Friday or (2) go out drinking with friends.  I fought hard for option A, but somehow we ended up going with (2).



This is kind of a big deal for me, because I rarely leave the Bottle Wonderland estate.  I spent days planning my wardrobe and decided to go with the calculated casual look of the untucked dress shirt with a sweater. This would say to everyone else there, “Hey I have nice clothes, but I am too relaxed to tuck in my shirt. I am virile and sensitive.”  This would surely be a turn-on to all of the housewives with whom I would be partying.  Mrs. Bottle would have to work hard to keep me to herself. As departure time neared, I laid out the sweater on the bed giddy with anticipation.  Finally the time arrived to get dressed and I pulled on the sweater. Unfortunately, I looked like a casual overstuffed sausage because the shirt was too puffy and I had to go with a different look.  Next time, ladies.

Lucille's Sweet Tea and a Pom-Lemonata

Our first drinks were a gin & tonic for me and a vodka tonic for Mrs. Bottle.  Nothing too remarkable about them, really.  The main characteristic was “cheap” since as VIPs our first drinks were $1 each.  More remarkable was the negotiations between our party and our waitress as to what constitutes a well drink.  The ladies all wanted something flavored and were repeatedly shot down.  “NO FLAVORS!” the waitress screamed, wishing everyone would just order already so she could wait on the rest of the cheapasses who were there for the $1 drinks.  I’m positive working the VIP parties is sure to generate massive tips. Of course she then told us that although you couldn’t have flavors you could have flavored vodka, so everyone ended up happy and we decided to double her tip.  How much is 30% of $1?



Bubble Bomb don't care 'bout presentation



After we used our $1 drink tickets, we decided to go for some more interesting drinks to honor both the letter of and the intent of our blog.  Luckily Howl at the Moon has an impressive menu of girly drinks.  I chose the Bubble Bomb and Mrs. Bottle got the Pom-Lemonato.  The Bubble Bomb is Three Olives Bubblegum vodka and Red Bull.  I can’t think of a single reason to make bubblegum flavored vodka other than to give teenage girls something to drink.  It was pretty good, though, but I had a sudden urge to go see Justin Bieber: Never Say Never in 3D.  The Pom-Lemonato is UV Pink Lemonade vodka, PAMA pomegranate liqueur, sour mix, and Sprite.  Mrs. Bottle really liked it but I didn’t think the pomegranate and sour went well together. 

The hook at Howl at the Moon is, of course, the dueling pianos (frequently augmented by real instruments). The concept sounded a little cheesy to me but it was surprisingly fun.   Of course it helped me that as a middle aged man I was not close to the oldest person there.  Our group seemed in the middle of the age demographic.  The fact that it was 6:00 on Friday might have had something to do with that but I’m not 100% sure.  The band was good and would play anything requested.  There were a lot of 80’s songs and some country tunes that got the crowd singing along. We requested Rockin’ the Suburbs by the great Ben Folds and it brought the house down.  And by down, I mean subdued. The only people who appreciated it were one piano player, Mrs. Bottle, and me.  Maybe it hit too close to home?  Next time we will stick with Free Bird.

As this entry is already triple the length of a normal one I don’t even have time to get into my failed photobomb attempt, the guy next to us in the shirt four sizes too small, the so-called buffet, the rendition of What’s Up that was probably the must crowd-pleasing song of the night followed by our friend saying “the singer sucked”, or our second waitress arguing about closing our tab and then finding out later she overcharged us.

I wonder what happened on Smallville?

Enso Many Words



Does this picture look weird to you?



Even though there is no demand for it, we bring back our semi-regular TBIAW feature where we ignore our premise of making a Mr. Boston drink each day and instead review a drink from a local establishment.  This time we went to Enso, a relatively new Asian restaurant located in downtown Uptown Charlotte, NC.

What prompted this rare journey to a restaurant located more than 5 miles from the Bottle Wonderland Estate?  Charlotte Restaurant Week, also known as Queen’s Feast.  This is where a bunch of restaurants offer three course meals for a fixed price of $30. You have to be careful when selecting your restaurant, though, because in some places you really aren’t getting any kind of a deal for $30.  Since we went to Enso during last year’s Queen’s Feast we knew what we were getting into.  Plus it was fun to reunite with all the other cheapskates who only dine out once a year.

Mrs. Bottle ordered wine with her meal, but I took one for the team and ordered a cocktail.  I tried the Pear Lychee Martini, a mixture of Grey Goose La Poire, lychee juice, and sour mix.  When I ordered it, I pronounced lychee as “lie-chee”, but when the waiter repeated the order he pronounced it “lee-chee”.   Stupid smug waiter.  I’m not even sure his is the correct pronunciation.   I think when paying $14 for a drink, the waiter should just go with whatever I said. 

Hard to drink

$14 for a drink is kind of ridiculous in my opinion, but the Pear Lychee Martini was almost worth it because it was delicious.  Delicious that is, if you like pears.  It was like drinking a pear in a glass.  Other than the price, the only other complaint I can make is that ordering this drink isn’t very manly.  I love to drink girlie drinks, but I have trouble ordering them. The martini glass is a bit of a problem.  Your pinky almost reflexively points out when using one.  That’s not manly.  Solution: Serve the drinks in mason jars. Tougher sounding names would really help, too.  I have trouble ordering a Flirtini, but I would have less trouble ordering a Monster Truck or a Laser Shark.  I ran this idea past Mrs. Bottle and she suggested that Sasquatch Scrotum would be a good name. 

I don’t think I would feel too manly ordering that.

Note: The "Pear in a Glass" image comes from the blog of artist Jeffrey Hayes. 

"My God, it's full of bubbles"

Back by popular demand, we continue our semi-regular TBIAW feature where we ignore our premise of making a Mr. Boston drink each day and instead review a drink (or two) from a local establishment.  And by “popular demand” I mean “Mrs. Bottle demands we actually do something outside the house.”  I was willing to bow to the will of the people.

You may recall that last week we went to a local Mexican restaurant.  We wanted to mix it up this week, so instead of going to a local Mexican restaurant, we went to a chain Mexican restaurant.  I am looking forward to next week when we go to Taco Bell.

I have friends who decry chain restaurants as soulless pits of mediocre food that cater to the lowest common denominator.  To those friends I say, “oh yeah?” I probably need to improve my retorts.  Regardless, we enjoy their food and there happens to be one near the Bottle Wonderland estate so it is quite convenient as well.  We enjoy eating at the bar for enhanced people watching.  One area where On the Border is definitely above average is the margarita menu.  They have around a dozen different selections and several are very good.

His and Hers



Mrs. Bottle chose the Perfect Patrón Margarita, which is a mixture of Patrón Silver, Patrón Citrónage, and angel tears.  It is sweeter than a “classic” margarita, but not overly so.  It really is the baby bear of sweetness and it is the standard by which we measure all other margaritas.  It comes in at around $10 but it is worth it.  If you eat four or five bowls of the free chips and salsa you are actually getting quite a bargain.   



Artist's Rendition

I usually order the Perfect Patrón as well but I went a different way and got the Mexican Mojito instead.  According to the menu it is 1800 Silver Tequila, Cointreau, mint, agave nectar, and a splash of soda.  In other words, it is a margarita with mint and fizz.  I felt like kind of a tool ordering a mojito but, like any great scientist, I was willing to risk my reputation in the name of research.  The risk was worthwhile as the drink actually turned out to be quite good.  The mint was noticeable but subtle and the carbonation was a nice touch.  As an aside, I cannot emphasize enough how much I love carbonation. Carbonation makes everything taste better, much like deep frying does. I recently learned that there are taste receptors for carbonation and my tongue must be loaded with them. 

So now that you are thinking about my tongue, I bid you adieu.



Wait, Wait, Don’t Seat Me

Welcome to our new semi-regular TBIAW feature where we ignore our premise of making a Mr. Boston drink each day and instead review a drink from a local establishment.  Mrs. Bottle and I both believe that drinking should be done in moderation, so having a drink from the guide and a drink out might be a bit excessive.  Especially on those occasions where we have 2 or 3 drinks while out.

Last night we went with some friends to a local Mexican restaurant, Cantina 1511. * WARNING * WARNING * LINK CONTAINS MUSIC * WARNING * WARNING *   As we arrived we availed ourselves of the complementary valet parking (more on this later).  There wasn’t really a choice since the limited do-it-yourself parking was already full.  Car safely stowed, we approached the hostess and humbly requested a table for four.  She humbly replied that it would be a 45-60 minute wait.  No big deal so we headed to the bar to have a drink.  Ah yes, a drink, the reason for this post.



All that and a basket of chips (and salsa)

I started with the El Mayor, which features El Mayor Tequila, Gran Gala, blood orange puree, lime and sour mix.  Mrs. Bottle had a Tijuana Taxi, which is made of Hornitos Silver, Gran Gala, orange juice, lime, and sour mix.  Both margaritas were good, although I don’t know if I would call mine a margarita since the primary flavor was blood orange.  Mrs. Bottle’s was excellent with a nice amount of sweetness.  I think we each liked the other’s drink better than our own. In any case, we were both able to somehow suffer through and finish our drinks while longingly staring at our partner's.

The Friday special is a flight of margaritas for $15. Our dining companions tried this.  A fun idea, even though the bartender got the salt / no salt /sugar rimming wrong on three out of  three of their drinks.  I would make a bad rimming joke here if I didn’t make two yesterday.

We demurely sipped our drinks while the one-man band sang a number of songs at a high volume level.  High enough that we couldn’t even converse.  I confess that I am not a youngster, but is it really necessary to have the music so loud that you can’t have a conversation?  Is it wrong to want to talk without shouting? Do I sound like Andy Rooney now?  My companions were disappointed that they missed several of my wry observations.

In fairness, the singer wasn’t bad, but the song selection was a bit predictable.  He played Oye Como Va, Black Magic Woman, and Smooth.  Having exhausted the Santana catalog, he moved on to surprises Tequila (which led to all of us doing the Pee Wee Herman dance), Margaritaville, and La Bamba.  The poor guy is probably pretty tired of playing those songs.  The one surprise was Last Kiss, which is an oldie that was covered by Pearl Jam in 2003.  In case you aren't familiar, the song is about a violent car crash that kills the singer’s girlfriend. Example verse:

I couldn’t stop, so I swerved to the right

I’ll never forget the sound that night

The screamin’ tires, the bustin’ glass

The painful scream that I heard last

That really sets a festive tone for a night out with friends!  So festive that we ordered another round.



Sometimes you feel like a lime, sometimes you don't

For round 2, Mrs. Bottle and I both got the 1511, which is made of Herradura Reposado, Cointreau, lime juice, orange juice and sour mix.  The drinks were a little syrup-y in my opinion, coating my throat in a mucus-like film.  The flavor was nice, though.  I think after my super-sweet El Mayor, I should have gone with a more traditional margarita with a little less sweetness than these.  In any case, the bartender wasn’t stingy on the pours, as I could definitely tell that I had consumed a couple of drinks at this point. 

Eventually our little coaster pager lit up, signaling that our table was ready.  That pager lighting up is one of life’s small pleasures.  I think I might get one of them and use it to signal other things.  Maybe Mrs. Bottle could use it to tell me dinner is ready. That would be pretty sweet.

By now we had been at the increasingly crowded bar for about 75 minutes. You may recall, dear reader, that the hostess estimated our wait at 45-60 minutes.  Those extra 15 minutes are now lost forever.  When we finally made our way to the hostess stand, flashing pager in hand, our table wasn’t actually ready.  After a little more waiting, they seated us.  They did comp us with a free appetizer for the unexpectedly long wait, though.  So we had that going for us, which was nice.  At least the wait was not in vain, as our meal was quite good.  I recommend the Tacos al Pastor which feature pork, pineapple, and habenero crema.  It was like a Polynesian party in my mouth.

As our epic story draws to close, there was one last problem:  The valet lost our friend’s car keys.  They didn’t tell us at first as we waited and waited and they frantically searched and called the previous shift’s valet.  Eventually they owned up to having misplaced the keys.  It got a little tense when the valet wouldn’t let my friend look for the keys himself, but eventually he took matters into his own hands and located them.  They were on a peg with another set and his keys didn’t even have the retrieval tag.  I’ve never been a valet, but it seems like a pretty simple job:  Take keys, park car, HANG KEYS WHERE YOU CAN FIND THEM.  They got two of three of those steps correct.  Of course when you fail at step three, it makes the remaining steps of retrieving keys and returning the car much more difficult.  I guess we got what we paid for.