It has gone on about five years now, since that fateful trip to Rio: I just can’t get the caipirinha out of my mind. I can barely get it out of my bloodstream. I so love that tingly mix of cachaça (pronounced kuh-SHA-suh, a Brazilian spirit not unlike white rum), muddled lime pieces, sugar and ice, I will drink it in any season, any mood, any bar, any glass.
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Some of the red wines of the world, in their home regions…are normally drunk chilled…especially if the home regions are caliente. The U.S. this week is muy caliente…and I’ll be sitting outdoors, on a terrace, advising you on which wines to chill…and giving you my best, most efficient method for chilling them!
Without doubt, it was the painting in my hotel room that got to me most of all. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that no single detail in a hotel room, in recent memory, has affected me this much.
In recent years, only one new bottle of booze has earned a spot on the shelf behind my bar: Aperol, an orange-red Italian aperitif. Get used to this name…it is Italy’s hot new cocktail mixer. I had an “Aperol Spritz” in Modena about two years ago, and I was hooked instantly; it has become de rigueur at the start of my Italian dinner parties. The comparison to Campari makes the case. I love Campari, but many of my co-Americans find it too bitter.
Originally published in The Rosengarten Report
I have always given as much respect to beer as I’ve given to wine–because beer is another primal product that results from artists working with nature, artists who are hoping to produce something aesthetically pleasing for human beings. But I have lots of friends who, perhaps influenced by one too many cheap and foul kegs at the frat, don’t share that opinion. “Don’t like beer,” they say. “Can’t imagine why I would drink that.”