My chica and I have this hilarious The Honeymooners sketch that goes like this: I invite her to go eat with me somewhere; she refuses. A friend of our enthuses about a restaurant; my chica gets mad at me for not taking her there. I tell her I offered before, but she refused my offer then; now, she now wants to go. One of these days, Alice...HA!
If you like this story, consider signing up for our email newsletters.
SHOW ME HOW
You have successfully signed up for your selected newsletter(s) - please keep an eye on your mailbox, we're movin' in!
Anyoo, that's what happened with Juliette Kitchen+Bar, that fine establishment just off the 73 in Newport Beach. We weren't able to have a full meal there when I finally took her, so we stuck with what mattered: booze. She had the Mexican Firing Squad, a tart flight of fancy; I had the fabulous Cocktel de la Louisiane.
It sounds like a cliché in a glass: Rittenhouse rye, Contratto Rosso, Benedictine, Peychaud's bitters, and Vieux Pontarlier absinthe. But there is nothing hackneyed about it: think of it as a particularly fragrant Manhattan, with the Benedictine wrestling down the rye, only to get a chair to the back by the Vieux Pontarlier. And then, out of nowhere, the Contratto vermouth makes an appearance and steals the show with a flash of zing. I could've drunk three of these--but there was more restaurants for me to invite my woman to, for her to reject, for her to hear about...and so forth. Ah, married life...