Bloody mary season is nigh. Personally, I’d drink a spiked meal in a glass any time of year, but there’s nothing quite like sipping a bloody mary in the warm spring sunshine. So when Few, one of my favorite distilleries, offered to send me something called “Breakfast Gin,” I got a bright idea. Why not whip up a batch…
Seltzer is a very good beverage. It’s bubbly, refreshing, flavorful (if you so desire), and a solid alternative when water gets too boring. But like all beverages, it’s a lot better when it’s boozy—so the folks at Wachusett Brewing Company in Massachusetts decided to transform our beloved bubbly water into a malt…
The internet has been my gateway to a lot of confusing, upsetting, and offensive stuff. But lately the thing that’s caused me the most revulsion has been a photoset of someone pouring tequila into a mason jar full of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. “How much do you have to hate yourself to do this,” one of the post’s replies…
The craft beer “revolution” has given us the ability to get drunk while pretending we’re doing something more high-minded. Throw enough flavors or cultural references at a beer, and it’s basically a meal.
I’m a man of simple tastes. A nice cold pale ale is my drink of choice, and when I order a cocktail, it’s usually rye with a couple extra ingredients. My roommate, though, prides himself on obscure and exotic booze. Our liquor cabinet reflects that with astounding vibrance.
We depend on our tap water for almost everything, but what do you do when the taste of it doesn’t quite suit you? We talked to a water sommelier about the taste of tap water—and also got a recipe for a water cocktail.
As we blew straight past spring and into summer this week, I found myself longing for nothing more than to kick back on a porch with a lime margarita. Instead, two nights ago, I sat on my roof eating a tangy, lightly salted jello shot with a plastic spoon. It was a shockingly good alternative.
It’s summer. You’re hot. You’re thirsty. You surreptitiously crack open a Miller High Life tall boy in Central Park—right in front of a cop. Don’t worry. Thanks to new borough-wide policy, you probably won’t get arrested. Cheers!
I like to drink. In fact, I like to drink more than I like to move. As in, move my body. I used those exact words when canceling a gym membership once. They wouldn’t let me cancel over the phone, so when I finally went to the gym and was asked why I wanted to quit I simply said that I liked drinking more than I liked…
The post-antibiotic future sounds terrifying, but here’s one upside you didn’t imagine: swilling Viking crunk juice to stay alive. New research suggests that mead, the vitality drink of gods and berserkers alike, was a potent medicine in ancient times. And with science, we can make it even better.
If you’ve experienced it, you know what I’m talking about, although you might not have known the name for it. It’s when a sound triggers a physiological response from your body—perhaps a slight tingling that starts at the nape of your neck. It feels gooooood. But what is it?
Drunk driving combines two of America’s favorite pastimes: getting absolutely hammered and driving an automobile. But before the invention of the modern breathalyzer in the 1950s, determining if someone was too intoxicated to operate a motor vehicle was incredibly subjective. It took decades for law enforcement…
While the clear intentions of vodka and gin were an easy sell for my cocktail glass, I admit it took me a little longer to dabble in the dark liquors. Mostly because I was confused. Was rye like bourbon? But what the hell was scotch? And apparently they’re all whiskey? If only I’d had this book.
The design associated with smoking weed has heretofore been confined to a room draped in tie-dye tapestries with swirling blown-glass bongs glittering beneath the blacklight glow of a Phish poster. No longer.
Your Thanksgiving guests have departed, leaving you with enough mashed potatoes to feed an army. You’re staring down three weeks worth of turkey sandwiches and feeling slightly ill. Here’s another idea: Turn those leftovers into booze, and drink away your turkey coma until Christmas.
I had to make a tough call the other day when serving drinks on a cold November evening. Every cocktail I considered was fruity and frivolous—not appropriate for dinner guests huddling in depressing post-time-change darkness. Then I remembered: Liquid antibiotics.
I was traipsing around a conifer forest, looking for the perfect white fir. I wasn’t hunting for a Christmas tree. I had just been taught to see the wilderness as my own personal liquor cabinet, and I was searching for ingredients for my next cocktail.