Oh Pappy, My Pappy

Oh Pappy, you old cigar-smoking, whiskey-drinking southern gentleman, you can have my heart any day. And, I'll give you a tip: the way to my heart is through my liver. I don't need diamonds, just a few sparkling ice cubes bathing in the luxury of some of that Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey you crafted so carefully.

Yes, readers, you guessed it. I finally got my gastronomic grip on some Pappy Van Winkle. At the moment I was relishing that first golden sip, I was supposed to be somewhere else entirely--not at a bar with V., but at a coffee shop with a photographically cute and potentially witty internet beau.

Oops, I just dropped melted chocolate on my key board while taking a bite of freshly made cookie. As I sat down to write, I was suffering from terrible cravings for serious comfort food. So, into the kitchen I ventured to make cookies. I used leftover chocolate bark from Pure Dark that M. brought to the Culinary Delights of the Northwest feast a few weeks ago and other goodies lying around my kitchen including dates and pecans. The chocolate had nibs of cacao in it which added great texture. The warm gooey sweet goodness was worth the messy keyboard.

But yes, I know you would rather hear about internet beaus than chocolate chip cookies, no matter how gooey and sweet and good. Last weekend, I received a witty, albeit canned e-mail from a 41-year old photographer. A few e-mails later, we had scheduled a date to meet for coffee at 7:00 on Thursday at Grey Dog on University. Yes, coffee. He listed himself as someone who "does not drink at all."

Now, I know where your minds are going, readers. This lush of a digital girl/urban gastronomer would never make it in a relationship with a non-drinker. And, probably, you are right. However, there is no dating by-law that states a girl who enjoys her martinis can't just have a little fun with the drier sort.

The day before our date, I logged on to show a friend his profile and noticed that he had changed his "about me" description to indicate that he was lying about his age in his profile statistics. He was 47, not 41.

I think lying about your age online to prowl for younger women is skeevy. However, I didn't cancel the date... until Thursday, when Mr. 47 sent me an e-mail that included his phone number and stated he likes to speak before a date. I should "be brave and call." I had already declined to send him my e-mail address telling him I prefer to wait until after a first date to share my contact info. I instituted this policy after receiving a bunch of random texts following a bad date with a guy clearly in need of psychological support a few years ago. (See LT'R Loose in the Digital Girl archives.)

I was rankled. Is it somehow braver to speak on the phone than to show up for an in-person date with someone you don't know? And, really, isn't Thursday afternoon a little late to ask for a pre-date conversation? I do have one of those things called a full time job. I replied telling him I am not interested in dating men 12 years my senior, particularly those who are not upfront about their age in their profile statistics.

Can you believe he actually responded? He told me I was shy and boring. Oh my. Someone's ego was bruised. As V. said, that guy's not even worth a coffee. No kidding! And I would so much rather be out drinking bourbon instead. If Mr. 47 had not turned out to be a loser, I may not have finally discovered Pappy. Now there is one older man who can take me out any day.

V. and I met at Louis 649, a spot on 9th Street just west of Avenue C which V. had recommended because of their extensive liquor offerings, which include 20-year Pappy Van Winkle's Family Reserve. I've been in search of Pappy since M. and a few others told me it was the best bourbon they have ever had. It is not easy to find.

The manufacturer, Old Rip Van Winkle, has several distributors in NYC listed on their web site, but a round of phone calls revealed that no one has it in stock. The gentleman who answered the phone at 67 Wine and Spirits, however, was quite friendly and informative. He indicated they receive the 23- and 20-year bottles in varying quantities. They retail at approximately $225 and $108 respectively, but there is a 15-year bourbon by the same manufacturer which is not Van Winkle that goes for about $65 a bottle. Unfortunately, they receive all varieties randomly and are currently out of stock.

Louis 649 is a small, warm venue with a beautiful bar, a great soundtrack and a good-looking, well-informed bartender. The designer/creator had a keen eye for detail which is illustrated by the photo of bar tile on the menu cover. When the closed menu is on the bar counter, it blends in with artistic style.

Of course, the aforementioned extensive liquor menu is another great attribute. It has multiple pages filled with a variety of vodka, rum, gin, whiskey, brandy, tequila and liqueur as well as wine and beer. The bar is a great place to sit and sip, and the post-work crowd on a Thursday night was small and relatively quiet. I've added Louis 649 it to my list of top five bars and plan to return soon.

The bartender poured my Pappy over two old-fashioned style square ice cubes, and because it was the last of the bottle, I received a tiny extra sip. The menu describes the flavors of Pappy as vanilla, toffee and wheat. Now, my tongue may not be able to pick out specific flavors in a sip of wine, but it sure could taste the vanilla, toffee and wheat in that bourbon. It was fabuliscious.

Following the suggestion of the bartender, who really knew his liquor, V. ordered Angostura's 1919 Aged Rum from Trinidad and Tobago. I'm not much of a straight rum drinker, but it was rather nice.

Though I could have gone for another pour of Pappy, my thinning pocket book and my growling stomach thought it best to go for some food instead. V. suggested Mercadito on Avenue B. There was a 40-minute wait, so we headed down a block to Mercadito Cantina, which is owned by the same folks and has a similar, though smaller, menu. The tradicional guacamole, elote mexicano (Mexican corn on the cob) and the vegetariano tacos were superb. We both rolled out the door stuffed and satisfied. Although my pocket book wasn't saved much by the change of location, my stomach was very happy.

Okay, now that the story of internet beaus and Pappy is told, I should confess the weekend was full of cravings for comfort food. After the cookies, my next indulgence was homemade Grown-Up Mac and Cheese. I started with this recipe by Ina Garten but substituted the cheese varieties with the leftover Beecher's handmade and Rogue Creamery blue cheeses in my fridge. I also used brown rice macaroni to make it whole grain and made a side of kale and mushrooms. It was a cheesy, heavenly delight.

Was it comforting? Yes! Even the leftovers soothed my heart, which needed a little something after picking up my bike from the Lost Artist's abode. And yes, I am over it. But you know, the first time you see any Ex after a break-up has a tendency to be completely fine and totally awful all at the same time. If we can't find comfort in mac-and-cheese and ooey gooey cookies, tell me, what else is there? Thank the gods I have a fast metabolsim, and theoretically, I burned off the mac-and-cheese before I ate it. I had to ride my bike five-and-a-half miles through traffic and over a bridge with a steep incline to get it home.

And with that, one supposes, it's time to sign off. You may wonder how a blog about gastronomy become so personal. But really, isn't eating and drinking all wound up in everything we do? And, how and what we eat and drink says so much about us, doesn't it? I, for one, always want to seek new gastronomic adventures. They truly do make life grand... through relationships, beyond them and all the time in between... in our own homes or out there, in the crazy, mad world.

Speaking of, I am heading off to Argentina for 10 days in mid-April. If any of you fellow foodites have tips for BA or elsewhere, let me know! Stay tuned!