I made the mistake of going to South Coast Plaza for my holiday shopping. The crowds! The parking! The endless Christmas cheer (I make Ebenezer Scrooge seem as jovial as Howdy Doody). But it was worth it–it was for the wifey, after all. And after we were done, we relaxed with lunch at Marché Moderne.
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We hadn't visited in years, if only because new restaurants always beckon. But this infernal rag rightfully praises it time and time again. And not only was my beet salad superb, but the Vieux Carre from the bar just might ween me off my Manhattan habit.
Regular readers know I'm a fan of stiff, yet sweet, drinks, which makes me a fan of Manhattans, bourbon, and rye (Old-Fashioneds, on the other hand, I find too saccharine). Surprisingly, I had never had this New Orleans staple, even though it seems Jesus made it for me and only me. Bourbon, cognac, sweet vermouth, and bitters–sweet start, bitter finish, strong countenance, magnificent. I drank a couple that day, liquid courage for the madness that was the Williams-Sonoma checkout line…
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