Propeller Skies

After eating some tasty food at JCT Kitchen, the hardcore partiers moved on to Top Floor. Strangely, despite being located in Atlanta, Top Floor is not an Atlanta bar. The bar ambiance is similar to something one might find in the PGH, or the northeast in general. Top Floor reminded me of The Grille on Seventh.

fail

Being an aspiring mixologist, I always scope out the liquors and liqueurs on the top shelf to ascertain the mojo of the bar. Top Floor had a bottle of Lillet Blanc, so I asked for a Vesper. I did not see the bartender pull the Lillet off the top shelf, so I was surprised when he put a drink down in front of me. The drink was most certainly not a Vesper, but it was citrusy and rather tasty, so I did not knife the bastard.

pass

Later in the evening, Bartender Number Two showed up and The Apple Fanboy ordered me another Vesper. Bartender Number Two hooked a cracka up with a proper Vesper. He also stated, wrongly, I might add, that the Vesper was a fictional drink. In truth, the Vesper was created by a bartender patronized regularly by Ian Fleming. Apparently, Mr. Fleming enjoyed the drink so much he included it in his novel.

Towards the end of the night, I observed Bartender Number Two squeezing fresh limes. Any bar that uses fresh fruit is top notch, and a rarity indeed.

Top Floor is a great neighborhood bar and was the highlight of the evening. Too bad the joint is not in my neighborhood.

I attended a birthday party at JCT Kitchen over the weekend. I walked in with an attitude problem because I had been looking forward to eating at Ecco - mostly because I could pregame, MARTA up there, drink all I wanted, and MARTA back home. Also, Ecco is ranked number 46 on the Jizzabel 100 best Atlanta restaurants list*, whereas JCT Kitchen is nowhere to be found in the top 100. Unfortunately, someone is popular, so the party was too large for Ecco to handle.

the upstairs bar

Prior to eating, we met in the bar for a few drinks. I liked the bar better in its previous incarnation as the Onyx Bar. However, this version is better than the thankfully defunct Suzy Wong’s Lounge.

A key issue is the weak sauce beer list. The brews on offer are reasonable, however the list is far too short. Some North Coast Brewing India Pale Ale would improve it, for starters.

A sorry beer list could be mitigated by a decent cocktail selection and bartenders with solid mixing skills. Cocktails were not being shaken long enough to chill them properly, so I ordered from the truncated beer list. Additionally, the top shelf liquor and liqueur display lacked anything interesting or rare. Seriously, how fucking hard is it to hire some decent bartenders and stock a few obscure liqueurs? Come up with a signature drink, or clever twist on a classic, using the aforementioned difficult to find liqueurs and I would be impressed.

the dining room

In the interest of being fair and balanced like Fox News, I need to mention now that I fucking hate southern food. The only acceptable item I found on the menu was pork tenderloin served with bleu cheese scalloped potatoes.

One of the more irritating features of the menu was the bogus side selections. I was interested in the rainbow trout wrapped in bacon, because anything wrapped in pork is fucking awesome, but the side disgusted me. Seriously, what the fuck kind of side is vidalia onion puree, sweet corn, pickled shallots, spiced pecans and arugula? Am I supposed to eat that shit? Way to ruin a perfectly good dish, fucktards. A dope side would have been french fries and macaroni and cheese. Leave it to southerners to fuck up the inherent excellence of anything wrapped in bacon.

Fortunately, the pork tenderloin was off the chain. Otherwise, I would have had to cut some fools. The pork was incredibly tender - before I tasted it I thought someone fucked up because it flaked apart like fish. The bleu cheese scalloped potatoes were also delicious, although diced would be a more accurate term.

obligatory waitress review

While our waitress was a reasonably attractive brunette, the folks one table away got a much better deal. Their waitress was [1] blonde, and [2] had bigger knockers - with her shirt unbuttoned just enough to show some delicious cleavage.

waffling like a democratic presidential candidate

While I would never go back, JCT Kitchen is recommended for those who like [1] southern food, and [2] a Buckhead crowd. I enjoyed my entree, but it was the only thing on the menu that I was interested in, so there is no point in returning. Finally, the men’s bathroom inexplicably lacked urinals. If I wanted to piss in a toilet, I would stay home.

notes:

* Not that I give a fuck about what Jizzabel thinks, bunch of bourgeoisie bitches anyway.

For this installment of Sunday Sours, we be getting our exotic on up in this bitch and mixing with a South American joie de vivre as the base spirit. As an aside, bored Prizzo Skeezy readers may want to pay a visit to the days of way back and see a previous Pisco Sour review.

The Pisco Sour pours yellow with a bit of pink from Angostura Bitters. On the first sip, tart lemon hits the palate like LT sacking a quarterback. Next comes the fire of the Pisco. Finally, a bitter, but pleasant aftertaste lingers. The Pisco Sour is a sharp light libation that is highly recommended.

While the internet is littered with arguments over the origination of Pisco and the sour, one point of consensus is that the cocktail was originally concocted as a daring alternative to the common place (at the time) Whiskey Sour. While the beverage is fairly minimalist, it is also quite potent - drink enough of these and looking for ends on an infinite line will seem like a good idea.

I recommend searching for and obtaining Peruvian Pisco - Chile exports substantially more, but Peruvian is the original and best. In Atlanta, the genuine product from Peru can be found at Green’s on Ponce.

notes:

Leave it to the fucking wankers in Los Angeles to fuck up perfectly good cocktail recipes with a shit ton of extraneous fruit. The best day of my life is going to be when the San Andreas fault cracks completely and dumps the whole god forsaken state of California into the ocean. Seriously, the last good thing to come out of there was The Doors - in fucking 1960.

The Man was keeping me down in downtown Atlanta today. While there, I witnessed the following stupidity.

the dumbass

Courtland Street is a one way street comprised of five southbound lanes. While moseying down the sidewalk, I observed a fucktard from Missouri in a Pontiac Vibe who was clearly lost. He was attempting to cut across three lanes of traffic to enter the Sheraton parking lot. Unfortunately, he was slowing down while attempting this maneuver. When he got to the second to left lane, he abruptly came to a complete stop. An Infiniti G35 driver behind the fucktard locked his brakes and barely avoided a rear end collision.

the woman

Behind the Infiniti G35 was a hot brunette with glasses driving a Honda Accord. As documented previously, I dig the hot librarian look. After being stopped for a few seconds, a look of great anger passed across her face and she mashed her horn. I felt my heart leap. As her window was down, I decided to say something, but a dense fog had descended on my brain. The best I could come up with was nice anger, want to fuck - so I said nothing.

Because of the cocksucking Baptists, it is against the law to sell liquor, beer, and wine on Sundays in Georgia at grocery and package stores. Strangely, residents of the Peach State can order all the overpriced beers, wines, or cocktails they want at restaurants. Since I firmly believe in sticking it to Big Brother, we here at the Prizzo Skeezy will now be drinking every Sunday and writing about it. More specifically, I will be drinking sours. At their most basic, sours are a base liquor (e.g. whiskey), sugar (generally in the form of simple syrup), and citrus (usually lemon). The first sour I am reporting on smashes that simple template to pieces, but I had a hankering to use the Marie Brizard Peach Liqueur I scored at Tower* in Buckhead**

First up on our new Sunday Sours feature is the Delicious Sour. My father has a theory that advertisers play up the weaknesses of a product (e.g. handwriting recognition of the Apple Newton or reliability of Chrysler products) to trick suckers the public into purchasing them. So I was expecting the Delicious Sour to be anything but.

Unlike most sours, the Delicious Sour adds a generous slug of peach brandy to the base spirit, which is Applejack. The Delicious Sour starts with sharp notes of lime. Then the peach takes control and fades to apple, with some peach overtones remaining. This is a very pleasing drink, with the sweetness of peach brandy nicely balanced by the lime. I would not recommend substituting Calvados in place of the Applejack in this concoction, as the more mellow French eau-de-vie would be destroyed by the peach brandy and lime.

notes:

* While Green’s is my go to liquor store, they have been pissing me off recently. Their first offense is stocking crap beers like Duck Rabbit’s Ass or some such nonsense instead of devoting shelf space to quality brews like Hooker IPA. The second offense, and the one relevant to this post, is their current lack of Luxardo Maraschino Liqueur, which precipitated my trip to Tower.
** Buckhead is by far the most dangerous section of Atlanta. I live in the motherfuckin’ SWATS and when I venture to Buckhead, I roll with an Uzi toting homeboy riding shotgun and a couple of maleantes with AK-47s in the back seat. Even with that much firepower, I always feel lucky to make it out of Buckhead alive.

Looking for things to do with my shiny new bottle of apricot brandy, I came across the Pendennis. As a bonus, the Pendennis provides something to do with Peychaud Bitters besides make Sazeracs.

The cocktail is named after the Pendennis Club, which still exists today in Louisville, Kentucky. However, I have no idea if the Pendennis can still be ordered at the club.

The first impression from the Pendennis is tart lime. Next comes overtones of apricot from the brandy, which is balanced nicely by the Peychaud Bitters.

Like the Pegu, which showcases Angostura Bitters, the Pendennis provides a nice stage for Peychaud Bitters. Unlike the Pegu, the Pendennis is somewhat sweet.

The Pendennis is recommended. Try one today, if you have the means.

While at Green’s picking up Creme de Violette, I also scored a bottle of apricot brandy. This find allowed me to mix up the Golden Dawn, another drink from Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails. The Golden Dawn is a rather strange drink - instead of being composed of a base spirit, liqueur, and a bitter element (e.g. lemon juice or bitters), it includes two different brandies along with Cointreau*, gin and orange juice. The first brandy is Calvados, an eau-de-vie made from apples. Second is apricot brandy**.

The first taste is oranges mixed with apricots. In the middle comes a hint of apple from the Calvados. The aftertaste is ripe with the herbal flavor imparted by botanicals in the gin.

Overall, I found the Golden Dawn too sweet. I also dislike how the Calvados is buried under the other ingredients - this expensive brandy is better used in a drink that allows it to shine, like an Apple Cart. However, the Golden Dawn is by no means a bad concoction and I would serve it to guests who like their cocktails less savory.

notes:

* Don’t even think about using generic triple sec, it will make this drink cloyingly sweet.
** Not apricot flavored brandy. Spend the money on the good stuff, I used Rothman & Winter Orchard Apricot. Hint - if the bottle says eau-de-vie, it’s probably the good shit.

While looking for a drink to make that resulted in me trying The Communist, I came across several recipes that required an obscure liqueur not in my collection - Creme de Violette. After some searching on the internet, I discovered a local Atlanta liquor store might carry it. So I set off to get me some.

While roaming the internet searching for Creme de Violette, I noticed there was more dispute over the Aviation recipe than I had previously known. Several Aviation recipes called for Creme de Violette. The modern Aviation, as described in Cocktail: The Drinks Bible for the 21st Century, is a pretty fucking good drink. Add Creme de Violette, long gone from these shores, but now available in Atlanta at Green’s*, and, well, I said GODDAMN! Creme de Violette adds enough complexity to elevate the modern Aviation to the stratosphere. The tres dope and unique blue color adds to the ambiance of the drink. Goes well with Envie.

notes

* I almost missed it, as it is not on the front shelf with the premium shit - I found it hiding on the opposite side by the cheap liqueurs.

I had a shit ton of lemons left over from doing a few practice rounds with The Photographer prior to heading to Star. So I thumbed through my copy of Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails, a generous Christmas present from Homecracka Ed G, looking for something involving lemons. I came across the recipe for The Communist, which also required gin and since I love gin like Rick James loves Mary Jane, this was a cocktail begging to be tried.

The flavor of The Communist is very crisp and citrus. I especially enjoy the delightfully bitter finish, which saves this drink from being a sweet shooter favored by amateur drinkers. While The Communist is delicious in its own right, the drink is somewhat similar to the Singapore Sling.

Ingredients of The Communist include: gin, cherry brandy, lemon juice, and orange juice. Since I was fresh out of cherry brandy, I substituted Cherry Heering - the internet is inconclusive on whether this liqueur is cherry brandy or not. For the gin component, I used Tanqueray No. Ten, a strongly flavored gin that stands up to the fruit explosion of the other ingredients.

A few nights ago, recurring Propeller Skies character The Photographer and I ate at Star, located in Ghettoberry Hood. When we arrived, the bartender was busy, but he quickly acknowledged us and stated he would be right with us. That pissed me off, I was looking forward to carping about poor service. Unfortunately for my love of whinging, the service at Star was spectacular the entire evening.

a brief history lesson

Star is a blues joint and restaurant in the space formerly occupied by the overpriced and underwhelming Studio Grille. A few months after the Studio Grille condignly went out of business, Star opened. Star is a marked improvement over the prior tenant.

a dry gin martini with a twist

Unlike the usual Atlanta bartenders, the bartender looked like he might have some experience and be capable of mixing a decent drink. I asked for a dry Sapphire Martini with a twist. The bartender reported Star had no Bombay* Sapphire. Fucking finally, something to complain about. I specified Tanqueray instead. The bartender properly chilled a glass with ice and water and mixed my drink.

The Martini was excellent and contained the proper amount of vermouth. This is not always the case, as Atlanta is a trendy sort of town and a substantial percentage of bartenders here think dry Martini actually means Naked Martini. Because the Martini was Smoove as hell, I ordered another.

the food

I ordered Jumbo Shrimp Alfredo and a side of Italian Macaroni and Cheese. As for the macaroni and cheese, I have no idea what the fuck made it Italian, as opposed to regular ass, macaroni and cheese, since it tasted like perfectly normal macaroni and cheese. Besides, is not macaroni and cheese inherently of Italian descent? Despite the odd nomenclature, the biggest issue with the dish was The Photographer kept bogarting my macaroni and cheese. The Italian Macaroni and Cheese was delicious.

The entree I consumed, Jumbo Shrimp Alfredo, was also mighty tasty. The shrimp was nicely grilled, the pasta was cooked perfectly, and the sauce was appropriately creamy. There were a few guerrilla vegetables staging an uprising in the dish, but they were minimal and did not detract from my enjoyment of it. Star is highly recommended for both food and drinks.

ambiance

This section is completely pointless, as shit food tastes asstastic no matter how nice the decor is or what bourgeoisie architecture studio designed the turd station. However, it is included because all high falutin’ august publications such as the Atlanta Urinal Constipation**, go on about ambiance, so I will too. In contrast to the previously disparaged Studio Grille, the ambiance of Star is top notch.

notes:

* In following the dumbass trend of referring to colonial cities by their native names, I suppose this should be renamed Mumbai Sapphire. However, I refuse to participate in this stupidity.
** Alert Prizzo Skeezy readers will recall the aformentioned bastion of journalistic excellence managed to completely miss not one, but two coffee shops on their trip to Castleberry Hill to review Star.