Russians really mangle tea, too… They get an itty bitty teapot, what we would consider a “one cup” teapot, and fill it halfway up with loose tea. Then they add water. They let this sit and become “tea concentrate” (and VERY BITTER). They then poor a little concentrate into a teacup and add hot water and kompot. The worst part is that they leave the tea leaves in the teapot for days and days and days, sometimes adding a fresh spoonful of loose tea to make it last longer.

And Starbucks thinks we’re having it so bad that we need their instant coffee. Nyuk nyuk.

From the outside, the restaurant looks very modern and trendy. The inside is far, far warmer. Lots of wood, and soft lighting due to massive circular shades. The interiors are still bright; this isn’t like P.F. Chang’s where you can barely see your food.

We started off with calamari and buffalo chicken tenders. Pricing is similar to comparable places but the appetizer servings live up to the name. While not as small as, say, the single (or double, if you’re dainty) bite of an amuse bouche, they are smaller than your typical chain restaurant portions.

Appetizers: Calamari and Buffalo Chicken Tenders

We had ordered what we wanted at the same time as the appetizers, so the kitchen had plenty of opportunity to pace our meal properly. They didn’t fail there: once we were done, our entrees were served immediately. Pacing was important for my choice. I ordered fish tacos, and those need to be served quite soon after preparation to prevent sogginess. My friend got the Southwest chicken wrap. I also ordered the Tuscan side salad: white beans, tomatoes, rosemary, and field greens.

Fish tacos

Southwest Chicken Wrap

Tuscan side salad

The presentation of the food was delightful. The flavors were clear and distinct when needed, like in the tacos, or excellently blended, like in the salad. The way the meal came together had me bobbing in my seat. My friend had to point out that I have never, ever, been this delighted over a meal before, and I think, in the four years we’ve known each other, have I come close to ecstatic over a restaurant meal. This didn’t happen when I went to the Old Ebbit in DC, nor in Clyde’s of Columbia, or Fogo De Chao, or Joss Cafe in Annapolis. I had my first experience going gaga at a restaurant and it was at a chain.

Perhaps the best part of the Houlihan’s experience is the fact that I was able to have a full meal, practically wipe my plate clean, and still have room for dessert. And loaded coffee, which they serve separately with your choice of liquor. I had the Grilled Smores Envelope, he had Snickers Crunch Ice Cream Dome.

Grilled S'mores Envelope

Snickers Crunch Ice Cream Dome

I don’t quite have a rating system here with my reviews, but for what it’s worth, I’ve gone back to Houlihan’s since then and have recommended it to a few friends.

So I stick to American lagers. Beer snobs all over don’t have much to say about this variant. Too light, too watered down, tasteless, whatever. I like it. I like it better when I mix it with something. I’ve written before of an apple shandy (Although I don’t think any self-respecting human being would be caught dead mumbling that word. Like “mauve” or “ecru” or “taupe” or “panache” or “violet.”) that I would have now and again. Venomous Kate responded to that post with a suggestion for tomatoe juice and beer.

So tonight I finally tried it out. Now take note that I’ve always held tomatoe juice with some kind of suspicion, particularly with regards to its very nature. Neither sauce nor the water from canned tomatoes, not is it merely a puree or syrup of tomatoe. I just don’t know what it is. To be honest this is my first date not just with a V8 mix of beer, but with V8 itself. I mixed equal parts and took a swig.

The taste was not bad. I like my beers tart, which explains the apple juice or the squeeze of lime. The texture was, to use the most double-edged adjective in the English language, interesting. It was like a stout: thick but not sticky, robust but not excessively so. It felt a lot like drinking a Naked fruit smoothie. All together, it felt like one of those things worth doing once, with the calculated risk that it might turn into something more.

Like any polite date, I drank all eight ounces of this foreign concoction. Then, I quietly led it to its front door, gave it a kiss on its cheek, and walked away. I did not give my number.

But when I do want to get my drink on with the no-longer-so-American beer brand that is at hand and readily available, it gets better when mixed with some really cold apple juice. That’s right. Apple juice and beer.

Give it a try. Get a beer you wouldn’t disgrace yourself with drinking, pour it into a glass halfway and fill the rest with apple juice.

Many are aware of the value that store-bought, bottled tomato-based pasta sauce may have towards reaching your desired pasta experience sooner. I have, however, never really gotten into the habit of simply heating the goop and serving it over a bowl of noodles as a side to something. Always, there is the need to make something more of these sauces.

Take, for example, what I did today: Having heated a wide but shallow saucepan, I placed five slices of bacon which I have cut into inch-long segments. There I browned them until most of their fat has been rendered, with a nice fond sticking on the bottom of the pan, waiting to impart the best of flavors to the sauce. A pound of crimini mushrooms—”baby bellas,” as some packages call them—sliced rather thick goes into the pan next. They have enough water to sweat out and deglaze the pan, especially with the help of a few pinches of salt. Once the mushrooms have cooked down, your jar of store-bought tomato sauce comes in next. Once mixed completely and all that, allow the whole mess—and I don’t lie, it looks like a mess—to simmer, uncovered, for at least fifteen minutes. Through this step the sauce will thicken and the flavors will all meld.

Serve the sauce with some wider noodles, like fettucine or linguini, as this sauce can be hearty. Enjoy while watching Doctor Who, preferably David Tennant, although Tom Baker will do, if you’re in a histrionic kind of mood.

I have almost always been a purist with fish: I like most of my fish cleaned well and deep fried, head-on, in deep oil. And no batter. It’s fun to pick at bones and just relish every moment of actually eating a fish. That doesn’t mean, however, that I have fully ruled out fish fillets from my diet—heck, here I am talking about mahi-mahi tonight—but most of the time, a fillet just doesn’t have the same experiential value to the meal.

Grilling may be the best thing mahi-mahi may be for, but sometimes it’s best so simply salt the fish and grill it and enjoy it for what it’s worth: without the unnecessary help from fruit or spices that simply kill its essence in the first place.

Take tonight’s meal: roast pork loin and fried rice, which the family—except myself; I was preoccupied—had for lunch; shrimp wonton soup, freshly nuked from the freezer; and sushi I picked up from Safeway. I put away the pork loin quite quickly; but as the morsels dwindle in number the conflict I am faced with is simply, with which dish would I grace my palate for the last bite?

Tonight I picked the sushi. Is there anyone out there who even has meals with this kind of lucidity?

I may have met the brie I want from President, which they sell at Costco (in Costco-size portions, natch!). It’s a very mild cheese without the reek of ammonia that I got from the first few little samples of brie that I got from both the local supermarket and whole foods.

This is really good cheese. Nor do I find myself adulterating it in any way, with brown sugar or fruit or jam or whatever. However, my midnight snack involves brie, dark chocolate, and some white wine. What a way to end a night.

I was at Wal-Mart last night satisfying a candy craving when I found the Dove Organic Citrus Spice Dark Chocolate bar. My curiosity got me this time and for three bucks I had in my hands a chocolate bar with very small segments—and for good reason.

Every bit has the strong persuasion of cinnamon and a hint of black pepper as I swallowed, followed by a lingering heat that is hard to describe. Quite good, but very foreign on the first pass.

Luna di Luna 60/40 Chardonnay and Pinot Grigio Venetian table wine.

I have always been suspicious of blended wines. I know of two types: those made separately and bottled together, and those made of a blend of two (or more) varietals fermented together. I know the latter is more commonplace and the former I have only heard of as an Australian thing (with horrendous results).

It was with this pensiveness that I approached the bottle of 2003 Luna Di Luna 60/40 Chardonnay and Pinot Grigio: a wine picked out in a rush at the store by a lady friend of mine, primarily because of the cool looking cobalt blue bottle and the garishly dressed woman on the label.

It has nary a bouquet to speak of, just an overwhelming sense of cleanness and sharpness without dryness, like a swimming pool in the morning before the chlorine gets thrown in. Searching for some sort of substance (dammit, the Pinot Grigio should at least have given it something) I took my first sip.

Like most white wines, alas, it was predictably… white. It was quite dry; lovers of even the drier Rieslings may not like this. Still, the experience of it in my mouth was just strange. I thought to myself, too clean; there has got to be a catch.

The swallow came with the biggest surprise. As it left my mouth, there was a flourish—a flourish—of salty saliva building in my mouth. It was weird, mainly because I’ve always associated salty spit buildup with impending vomiting. After a few hurried and curious gulps, and after passing it on to a few other friends of mine, the feedback has been consistent: it comes in clean and almost innocuous, and has a salty finish.

In a more cynical period in my life I would have recommended the 2003 Luna Di Luna 60/40 Chardonnay and Pinot Grigio Venetian table wine to anyone curious about the experience of drinking urine. Instead I’ll just say that it is quite reminiscent of seawater, like a morning on a windswept beach. This wine is, ultimately, a mystery I might never understand; I have no intention of shelling out nine dollars for it again.