ProTip: A Cup of Kindness -- or Champagne! -- for Auld Lang Syne

"Well, 2015, it's been real.  But as we prepare to bid you a fond farewell and welcome a new year, Team ProTip is doing it the way we do best: with amazing things to eat and drink, of course."


Raise a cup of kindness (and a flute of Champagne) to Auld Lang Syne in Philadelphia, via ProTip...

ALL THE BUBBLES.

ProTip: All About That Baste

"Mom always said, 'Life is uncertain; eat dessert first!'  We like her style, so we're pre-ordering our goodies from Jessica Nolen's brand-new The Little Bird Bakery & Cafe.  She's taking Thanksgiving orders now..."

...and if the pumpkin spice blondie chunks I had for breakfast the other morning (no judgement) are any indication, you're going to want to get your order in now before she's booked through next Thanksgiving.

Check out some more of my Philadelphia favorites that are "all about that baste," via ProTip...

#jiveturkey

11 for 11: What I'm Into for November

Happy 11/11!  I totally meant to wait until today to post my 11 for 11: 11 Things I'm Digging in the 11th Month of 2015.  This is not at all because it wasn't ready on the first of the month.  Nope.  No procrastination here by any means.  So!  In no particular order!  My second month-by-numbers post, 11 for 11!

Veterans' Day

Given that today coincides with Veterans' Day, and I seem to have seen more tributes this year than most, consider this mine: to Grampa, to Papa, and to the many other vets in my life who selflessly served so that the rest of us could post tributes on social media.  And indulge in all of the other fun stuff below.









"On Account of Your Love"

My own relentless band-crush on these guys notwithstanding, Brett's latest effort is fall pop perfection. The multi-layered songs progress seamlessly from one to the next, and the only complaint I care to make is that it's not a full-length album, because I've been listening to it on repeat, and I still can't get enough.  Click here and get hooked (and psst: it's also on Spotify).





Early Mornings

I woke up like this.

The sun set at 4 freaking 41 today.  From now through January, we'll be logging fewer than 10 hours of daylight daily between dawn and dusk.  And rather than succumb to the menacing ogre of Seasonal Affective Disorder that's lurking just outside the window (side note: Seriously?  They actually named it SAD??), I'm taking the twilight bull by his murky horns and making sure that I'm awake for every one of those sun-soaked minutes, even on crummy cloudy mornings like today.

Tompkins Square Park

Hat tip to the boys of Mumford and Sons, who were kind enough to write their last album with me in mind (I think).  I'm especially hooked on the first track, which references one of my favorite places in New York thanks to the weekly farmers' market, the dog run where I could (and do) spend hours watching the puppies play, and its proximity to my current favorite tapas spot (though, sorry, seating is limited, and I'm keeping that one to myself).  Listening to "Tompkins Square Park" blur into "Believe" on the album is a perfect song-to-song transition, but if I had to separate them, it would be the wistfully honest first half for me every time.

Pomanders

Photo courtesy crafthubs.com

T'is the season!  I'm as fed-up with the Starbucks cup controversy as anyone, but it doesn't dampen my festive spirits in the slightest, and pomanders are the ultimate sweet-smelling transition from Halloween pumpkins to Christmas snowflakes.  I picked up a jumbo-sized container of whole cloves and a sack of oranges, and as soon as I get my hands on some decorative ribbon, I'm hanging these suckers all over The Treehouse.  They smell great, and pressing cloves into orange peels is amazingly cathartic after punching away at the keyboard all day.




Thirteen Ways of Looking

I've Tweeted it before, and I'll say it again: having a new Colum McCann book to read, ready and waiting on the kitchen table, makes every night feel like Christmas Eve.  I finally cracked the cover on this one this week, and true to form, I'm nearly through it, though I appreciated the short story format for slowing me down in a way that his novels can't.  For my money, there isn't a writer practicing who uses verbs to better, more vivid effect; reading McCann is like living inside a world so breathtakingly clear that sometimes you have to stop, look around, and just sigh at the gorgeous sight of it.








Philadelphia

My abiding love for The City of Brotherly Love is no secret, but these days, I'm spending more time there than ever and feeling equally nostalgic and satisfied.  (Don't panic; I still don't plan to leave Manhattan permanently in anything other than a body bag or an urn.)  But laughing with colleagues over kung pao wings at Whetstone Tavern, putting together IKEA furniture and celebrating with late-night pizza and beers, slurping a quick bowl of French onion soup at Parc on my lunch break, saying "yes" to a second (and a third!) glass of wine at Tria Fitler Square, waking up to the goofy gallumphing of my best friend's adorably stupid dog...it has been really, really nice.  XOXO, indeed, Philadelphia.


Polenta

Having made fast friends with my 2-burner cooktop, I've moved back into culinary experimentation mode, and none has been more successful than my noodling (see what I did there??) with polenta.  If I had known it was this easy, I'd have been living on the creamy, cheesy stuff for years.  The best batch so far was thanks to a homemade veggie stock that I prepped and froze last winter, but as soon as I get to the grocery store to re-up on mirepoix and Parmesan for grating, you better believe I'm sitting down to a steaming bowl of the good stuff, then saving half to griddle up in a hot pan the next day for lunch.  I also batched and froze a caramelized onion and tomato fra diavolo sauce that goes quite nicely over a polenta cake or two, thankyouverymuch, so if you're interested in sampling the latest of my white-fluffy-carb-and-dairy-fat fiending, invite yourself over.  You supply the wine; I'll whip up the creamy, corn-y goodness.




Jaunty Hats

You're welcome for Colin Farrell and Elmo.

My pixie cut is growing out, thanks in equal parts to my disinclination to pay for regular trims and the surprisingly healthy glow of my natural hair color, fully exposed for the first time in, conservatively, 10 years.  Without a screaming blonde dye job to shadow-box my natural curls into a corner, I'm a few months from lady-like chestnut waves.  Until then, however, it's each strand for itself as the curls grow in, leaving me looking not unlike a holiday holly plant (read: pointy).  To that end, I am taking my hat collection out for a few spins 'round the block, so if you spot a stylish gal in a skullcap, do say hello -- just don't try and steal my hat.  It's a jungle under there.

The Rivers (East and Hudson)

Until the Polar Vortex descends, it's likely that you'll find my be-hatted self biking the fringes of Manhattan island, particularly the gorgeous Hudson River Bike Path, a ribbon of green that hems the island and also happens to take me within coasting distance of some of my favorite places to stop for a mid-ride snack.  Looking out over the water, waiting for winter to descend, there's a freshness to the air, and with it, a spring to my step.  Er, pedal.


Indoor Sports

"If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball!"

Get your head out of the gutter (unless you're a strikingly handsome 30-something New Yorker who would like to show a lady a good time, in which case: call me); what I mean are alternatives to softball now that the weather is too cold for the city to issue field permits.  In addition to Flywheel (see also: 10 for 10), I'm playing in an overnight indoor softball tournament this month, and I'm open to any and all other suggestions about how best to stay active now that it's dark before dinner.  Thoughts??  Send 'em along!

10 for 10: What I'm Into for October

Oh, how I've missed you!

With apologies for the uncustomary delay in new content, I'm incredibly excited to be back on my blog, and I'm kicking October off with a bang: 10 things I'm digging as we enter the 10th month of the year.  And you're welcome: none of them are #pumpkinspice (although, yes: I am baking Mama Blewett's pumpkin bread right now.  But more on that in a minute).

In no particular order, my first-ever first-of-the-month post: 10 for 10

"Let It All Go," by Birdy + RHODES

Every month needs a soundtrack, and this one is mine, not just because of the ethereally autumn-inflected video (which: wow) but also for the message of the song, newly near and dear to me: "If we're strong enough to let it in, we're strong enough to let it go."  This is exactly the kind of moody, empowering-yet-reflective anthem to reach for during an end-of-summer break-up.  Not that I would know.  Ahem.  [furiously swipes tear from corner of eye; clears throat]

The Leaves in Central Park
Okay, maybe it's ultra Basic White Girl of me, but I'd like to think that my New England childhood entitles me to a certain degree of fondness for foliage.  And while it ain't the White Mountains or Acadia, Central Park is my leaf-peeping place of choice.  Whether ambling through The Ramble or sitting high above it all at Robert (if you haven't been: GO NOW), I can't get enough of the trees in Central Park.




"Cooking"

Not quite actual size.  But actually my entire kitchen.

Yes, I said "cooking," in quotes, because my apartment has been without gas for nigh on two months now with no sign of it coming back before Thanksgiving at the earliest.  Thank you, ConEd.  Turns out they found a similar problem in our basement to the one that caused an explosion elsewhere in the East Village and leveled three buildings back in March, so better safe than sorry, yada yada yada.  I'm all for not exploding, but two months without the ability to boil water has made me one cranky carb hound.  So I bought a two-burner cooktop, jerry-rigged it into a power strip with my microwave, toaster oven, and coffee machine, and will be spending this month experimenting in "cooking" without a kitchen.  Look, I'm not saying it won't be a cookbook idea some day.  Mom's pumpkin bread is in the toaster oven right now, for crying out loud.

Amy

Having waited pretty much as long as I could before it leaves theaters entirely, I'm finally planning to see Asif Kapadia's documentary, Amy, this week.  Bring on the black eyeliner and urges to get irresponsibly drunk at karaoke.




Play-Off Baseball

Greg Bird is the word.

Sure, eeeeeeveryone act surprised that I'm pumped for the post-season.  My loathing for the NFL notwithstanding, there's still nothing better than October baseball.  Deadspin has been posting a hilarious series of profiles of every team, in case my tutorial on baseball didn't get you invested, and any time someone calls Mets fans "sad-sack, semolina-smelling, self-deprecating fucking ninnies" or describes Lucas Duda as "a big strong dufus who hits home runs," well, that's my brand of sports journalism right there, folks.  Now if only the Yankees would start hitting better than our fans catch.


KITTEHS

Got a cat?  Need someone to come over and pay it an inordinate amount of attention for a few hours?  Because I'm considering a second career as a cat petter.  My dear MadCat headed up to that big cheddar cheese buffet in the sky last month (seriously, the cat must have thought that she was a mouse, such was her adoration for cheese), and while I'm definitely not ready for a new kitten, I can't resist petting friends' cats any chance I get.  So if there's a feline in your life that needs a little Elmyra action, I'm your gal.




Red Wine in a Box

Okay, guilty: I always love box wine.  But as the weather gets cooler and my apartment gets cozier, nothing beats a box of red in the evenings, and I'm not talkin' Franzia.  My favorite wine shop, Discovery Wines, carries a terrific Portuguese blend by Alandra for $18 (which works out to $4.50 a bottle, or less than a dollar a glass, which is exactly the kind of math I don't mind doing), and it beats the heck out of the Rat White Wine that my best friend and I both bought, separately, only to find that it was bad earlier this year.  Lesson learned: do not purchase unknown box wine in New Jersey, no matter how affordably priced -- and if you do, speak up and save others from your fate!


Adult Coloring Books

Go ahead, print your own!

No, I am not kidding.  I fell down a BuzzFeed rabbit hole one night (yes, okay, say it all together: after too much box wine) and stumbled upon this, then promptly forgot about it until a few days ago, when I decided that all of those articles that say you should stop staring at a screen an hour before bed might be right (they are).  So I Googled "adult coloring books" and printed off the first page that struck my fancy.  It may or may not now be fully colored in and hanging on my refrigerator.








Window Screens

Summer is over, which means that The Treehouse is no longer a festering fifth-floor hell hole (I swear, I love my view, but I hate my south-facing windows in August).  So off to the hardware store I went, and with screens in place in the living room, bathroom, and both bedroom windows, my casa is cool and crisp as can be.




Bike Rides

With softball winding down for the season (what is this "one game a week" crap, anyway??), I have to get a little more creative with my exercise.  Enter my trusty orange Schwinn and my latest obsession: Flywheel, which -- not to sound like a SoulCycle flake -- is a damned good workout.  Interested in trying it out?  The first ride is free, and I'll totally cheer you on (and help you when you can't unclip your shoes at the end of class).




Coming soon: the triumphant return of TueDuesday, and next month, 11 for 11!  What are you into for October?  Tell me in the comments or catch up with me on Twitter or Instagram.

TueDuesday: The Pitter Patter of Little Feet: How to Thwart a Roach Invasion

Welcome back to TueDuesday: A Weekly Series on Self Improvement (and Self Preservation), where I’ll share some of the hard-earned tips and tricks that have made their way up my sleeve after well over a decade of living alone in the city. 

TueDuesday goes out to all of you who have ever bravely moved into your very own apartment, only to encounter a cockroach the size of a well-fed hamster.  Barefoot.  In the middle of the night.  To all the ambitious drinkers who ever wanted to score the bartender’s number (and to the many of us who have failed, only to bravely try again).  To the pasta fiends.  To the Facebook lurkers.  To the happy, the hopeful, and the possibly hung-over guys and gals like me, navigating the city streets – or the country roads – without benefit of a map or a significant other.  Whether you’re chronically single, newly separated or happily coupled up and just looking for a way to make the occasional table for one a little more fun, there’s something here for you.

Like what you see?  Pass it along!  Strongly disagree?  Say so in the comments!  (Respectfully, please; after growing up with the last name Blewett, my ego can only take so much.)  Have an idea for a future TueDuesday post?  Send it over!  And keep in touch, via Twitter @LeahKBlewett and Instagram @leahkblewett.

Happy TueDuesday!

TueDuesday, July 7, 2015

The Pitter Patter of Little Feet: How to Thwart a Roach Invasion

Years ago, while living alone in Philadelphia, I was awakened at about 3 a.m. by the sound of my cat doing…something.  There was skittering and scratching, and this from a not particularly active feline whose mousing days were, even then, long behind her.  I flicked on the light beside my bed and looked over to find my mild-mannered kitty putting up a convincing fight against a roach that could have been a teenaged guinea pig.

Horrified, I leapt out of bed, then back onto the bed, because ARGHH BARE FEET, then back off the bed and, with trepidation, into the kitchen.  Scanning my meager rack of pots, I decided I’d never fully recover from roach guts on the underside of my favorite (read: only) frying pan, and anyway, aren’t you not supposed to squish them, because then the babies come out??  At this point, Madison was losing interest in her plaything, which I suspected was not long from beating a hasty exit into my bookshelf and forcing me to tear my apartment apart in terror in the middle of the night, so I grabbed a plastic pint container that most recently held wonton soup, edged back into the main room of my studio apartment, and wielded my MSG-coated weapon: I trapped the little fucker under Tupperware.

You guys, the roach was so big that it moved the Tupperware.  You truly haven’t lived until you’ve witnessed Roachzilla hauling ass towards the crack in the floor and dragging a clear-ish pint cup along with it.  Beyond repulsed, I grabbed a Norton’s Anthology of American Literature off the bookshelf and stacked all 1,200 pages of it on top of the container.  Roach: contained.  Leah: pale, shivering, indecisive.  What the hell do I do now??

I did what any sane 20-something living alone would do.  I wrapped myself up in a robe and marched down the hall to the elevator, took it down to the lobby, and pretty-please begged the doorman to help me.  He came upstairs, marveled at my make-shift roach trap, then unceremoniously lifted both book and cup and stomped the creepy little thing underfoot.

“Oh, my God!  Doesn’t it let the babies out when you squish them??”

He assured me that it did not (“That’s only the black ones; this is a brown one,”) and wished me a good night.  I put plastic bags over both my hands, unspooled about 10 feet of Bounty for protection, swaddled the wet heap of roach guts, and tied it off in both plastic bags, then took it down to the garbage room, because no fucking way was I sleeping with that nightmare in my apartment, no matter how dead it looked or how many layers of Quicker Thicker Picker Upper were between me and its still-twitching hairy roach legs.

So you see, I know a thing or two about creepy crawlies.  And while I’ve learned some good tricks in the intervening years since my After-Hours Philadelphia Cockroach Showdown, I remain as repulsed as ever by the idea that they are, occasionally, found in just about all city apartments.  (Remember that the next time you’re watching House Hunters and coveting some charming brownstone.  Those things have basements.)  What follows are a few of my favorite tricks for showing los cucarachas just who’s boss.

First, look for signs of six-legged life.  Little heaps of black dust in corners of cabinets?  You might have company.  The internet alleges that roaches hate tea tree oil, but I’m not so sure; these things can survive a nuclear explosion, and I’m supposed to believe that I can get rid of them with the same stuff I used to heal my belly button piercing when I was 16?  I want stronger weaponry.  Those electric, plug-in repellants are actually surprisingly effective, though limited in range; if you’re worried about bugs in more than one room, I’d pick up a couple, just to be safe.  Prevention is also key: if there are gaps around your windows or doors, seal the crevices with caulk.  The same goes for gaps around your bathroom sink, and with a resounding hat tip to my Aunt Kelly, a mesh sink strainer in your kitchen will protect the drain, because yes, roaches are absolutely gross enough to hang out down there waiting for the last of your greasy grey dish water to wash by, then scale the pipe.  Blech.  If you’re still noticing unwanted houseguests, it’s a good idea to see if your building offers exterminator services.  Many co-op boards have a guy on call, and in some cities, exterminators are required to visit all rental units once a month.  I heart NY.  Otherwise, it doesn’t hurt to bring in a pro, and don’t worry about seeming gross – if you’re the one calling the exterminator, there’s no way you’re the nastiest apartment he’s seen even today, let alone of all time.  Hoarders are real, folks.  Finally, try not to be too squicked.  Yes, roaches are horrifying, especially when they catch you by surprise (shout out to the dearly departed little punk who thought my headboard was a good place to scamper – SQUISHHHHHHHHHH!!!), but at the end of the day, they’re just another city dweller trying to eek out a living.  And we’re much, much bigger than they are.  Thank God.

Next Week: Is it hot in here??  It can’t just be me, because we’re learning Things You Can Do With Your Toaster Oven!!!

Skirt Collective: The 20s vs. the 30s: 11 Things I Know Now About First Dates

"Prideful Young Leah insisted on going dutch at all times.  30-Something Leah is confident enough to let him pay (and mature enough to know that I don't have to put out if I don't want to, no matter how many $20 cock-tinis he buys)."

DBHMM (Dude Better Have My Money)

11 Things 20-Something Leah Didn't Know About First Dates That 30-Something Leah Holds to be True, via Skirt Collective...

Skirt Collective: Five Single-Girl Cliches That Are Actually Totally Awesome

"#4, The Table for One: I'll just say it: I happen to think I make a charming date, and occasionally, I like taking me out on the town."

I got your Crazy Cat Lady right here.

Five Single-Girl Cliches That Are Actually Totally Awesome, via Skirt Collective...

TueDuesday: Be Cool: How to Mix Up Some Summery Seasonal Cocktails

Welcome back to TueDuesday: A Weekly Series on Self Improvement (and Self Preservation), where I’ll share some of the hard-earned tips and tricks that have made their way up my sleeve after well over a decade of living alone in the city. 

TueDuesday goes out to all of you who have ever bravely moved into your very own apartment, only to encounter a cockroach the size of a well-fed hamster.  Barefoot.  In the middle of the night.  To all the ambitious drinkers who ever wanted to score the bartender’s number (and to the many of us who have failed, only to bravely try again).  To the pasta fiends.  To the Facebook lurkers.  To the happy, the hopeful, and the possibly hung-over guys and gals like me, navigating the city streets – or the country roads – without benefit of a map or a significant other.  Whether you’re chronically single, newly separated or happily coupled up and just looking for a way to make the occasional table for one a little more fun, there’s something here for you.

Like what you see?  Pass it along!  Strongly disagree?  Say so in the comments!  (Respectfully, please; after growing up with the last name Blewett, my ego can only take so much.)  Have an idea for a future TueDuesday post?  Send it over!  And keep in touch, via Twitter @LeahKBlewett and Instagram @leahkblewett.

Happy TueDuesday!

TueDuesday, June 30, 2015

Be Cool: How to Mix Up Some Summery Seasonal Cocktails

It’s hot.  It’s humid.  It’s happy hour. 

Today, I’m proud to introduce you to some of my talented bar buddies as we learn how to fix something a little nicer than the glass of box wine on ice that may or may not be sitting on a coaster beside my keyboard as I type.  Along the way, we’ll encounter some easy-to-make ingredients and crucial tips and tricks that you should add to your repertoire, as well as a few of my favorite unusual and delicious liquors that definitely deserve a place on your home bar.  Let’s dive right in…

Mexican Mule

Mike Nice

Réunion Surf Bar (Manhattan)

This smoky, tangy, herbaceous, it-shouldn’t-work-but-it-does summer sipper is an off the wall combination, but somehow, the savory mezcal lightens the tart passion fruit, which makes the basil even more fragrant, which complements the bubbly ginger beer.  The trick to this cocktail, from a high-volume bar where every second counts during prime time, is that basil is delicate, and as long as you shake vigorously, you’ll bruise it sufficiently to release the flavor without muddling – saving you one extra utensil to wash and precious seconds of prep time.  Translation: you get to drink sooner.  I’ll raise a glass to that.

1.5 oz. mezcal

.5 oz. fresh lime juice

.25 oz. passion fruit juice

.25 oz. Yellow Chartreuse

2 to 3 fresh basil leaves

dash agave

ginger beer

Combine all ingredients except ginger beer and shake vigorously; strain over ice and top with ginger beer.  Garnish with a fresh basil leaf.

Empire Sunset

Sotir Zonea

BEA (Manhattan)

Let’s start getting creative: infusing your own spirits is a simple and delicious way to enhance your drinking (or at least turn that bottle of well tequila that’s sitting around gathering dust into something drinkable).  Alcohol is a flavor sponge, and chances are, if you think something will taste good with a given spirit, it will.  Start with vodka if you’re nervous (DIY citron vodka is as easy as a handful of lemon peel and 24 to 48 hours of patience), then graduate to less neutral spirits and let culinary flavor combinations be your guide (as they are here, with tequila and jalapenos).  Just don’t ask me to share my grapefruit-rosemary gin, because, um, it might be gone already.  Gulp.

1.5 oz. jalapeno-infused tequila

Cut several jalapeno peppers in half (depending on desired spiciness) and allow to steep for at least 24 hours.  Strain through a colander and return to the bottle, being sure to note on the label that this ain’t your gramma’s tequila.  Or don’t, and watch the flame throwing commence at your next house party!

.75 oz. St. Germain

.75 oz. lime juice

.5 oz. Aperol

Pellegrino Aranciata

Combine all ingredients except Pellegrino Aranciata, shake, and strain over ice into a rocks glass; top with Pellegrino Aranciata.  Garnish with an orange twist.

Short Pants

Remee Klos

Joe’s Bar (Manhattan)

On to the next house-made goodie: making your own simple syrup is, get this, simple.  You need nothing more than very hot water and regular white granulated sugar.  Combine them in equal measure, dissolve the sugar completely, and allow the syrup to cool to room temperature.  BOOM.  Say buh-bye to gag-inducing grocery store sour mix and hello to the best damned margaritas you’ve ever made by yourself.

1.5 oz. Bombay gin

.75 oz. Pimm’s

.5 z. Yellow Chartreuse

.5 oz. fresh lemon juice

splash simple syrup

dash orange bitters

Combine ingredients and shake; serve up in a chilled martini glass.

White Star

Jon Arroyo

Founding Farmers (DC)

Now that you’ve mastered infusing spirits and making simple syrup, why not infuse your syrups with delicious things??  For this recipe, you’re using mint; unlike alcohol, simple syrup is a bit more reticent about picking up flavors, so I’m all for pureeing a couple of mint leaves into the syrup and leaving it at that.  If you really want it clear and pretty and all that, steep the mint in the hot water before combining it with the sugar, the same way that you would a tea.  When the flavor is strong, prep your syrup from there.  You’re so fancy.

1 oz. Hendrick’s gin

1 oz. Bacardi Heritage rum

.75 oz. fresh lime juice

.75 oz. mint syrup

1 cucumber slice

6 to 8 mint leaves

2 dashes mint bitters

Muddle mint, cucumber, bitters, and citrus.  Add remaining ingredients and shake vigorously.  Strain over crushed ice and garnish with fresh mint, cucumber, and a lemon.

Perro Salado (or El Salty Dog)

Ernesto Coronado

El Vez (Manhattan)

This recipe calls for chipotle agave, which is a simple as stirring chipotle powder into your agave syrup; the real trick here is the rim job: citrus-infused salt to give the drink a little something extra.  Zest a citrus of your choice (lime works especially well, because the zest is so dry) and stir the zest into some kosher salt to taste.  Allow it to sit, covered, in a cool place for several days to really let the flavor develop.  In the meantime, you can try any of the other cocktails listed above.  Geez, don’t be so impatient!  Delicious takes time.  To rim a glass, rub the lip with a piece of citrus (in this case, lemon, grapefruit, or lime is appropriate), then dip the rim into a dish of your citrus salt.  It should go without saying, but because I’ve known some truly behind-the-eight-ball bartenders in my time: do this before the cocktail is in the glass. 

1.5 oz. mezcal

1 oz. grapefruit juice

.75 oz. chipotle agave

.5 oz. tequila

.5 oz. Campari

.5 oz. St. Germain

.5 oz. lemon juice

Shake and serve on the rocks with a citrus salt rim.

Summer Julep

Toby Maloney

The Patterson House (Nashville)

Some drinks demand specific ingredients and no homemade accompaniments.  Such is the case with this summer sipper from 2015 James Beard Award winner Toby Maloney.  Two distinct spirits.  A rare raspberry liqueur.  Fresh mint, rubbed lovingly on the inside of the glass.  A moment to steep (and reflect).  And then…a cocktail worth waiting for, just like a perfect summer sunset.

1 oz. Elijah Craig 12-year bourbon whiskey

1 oz. Henry McKenna 80 bourbon whiskey or Encanto Pisco

.5 oz. St. George Raspberry Liqueur

11 drops lemon bitters

3 mint sprigs

Gently bruise mint and drag up the sides of the tin.  Add liquid; allow to steep for 1 minute.  Add crushed ice; swizzle; top with additional ice as necessary; garnish with a lemon twist.

No go get drunk, you magnificent bunch of booze hounds, you!  For my part, I'm off to refill this glass with something a little more ambitious than box wine on ice.

Next Week: Get your helmets on, ‘cause we’re going to war and learning How to Thwart a Roach Invasion!

TueDuesday: Take Me Out to the Ball Game: How to Love Baseball (and Why You Should)

Welcome back to TueDuesday: A Weekly Series on Self Improvement (and Self Preservation), where I’ll share some of the hard-earned tips and tricks that have made their way up my sleeve after well over a decade of living alone in the city. 

TueDuesday goes out to all of you who have ever bravely moved into your very own apartment, only to encounter a cockroach the size of a well-fed hamster.  Barefoot.  In the middle of the night.  To all the ambitious drinkers who ever wanted to score the bartender’s number (and to the many of us who have failed, only to bravely try again).  To the pasta fiends.  To the Facebook lurkers.  To the happy, the hopeful, and the possibly hung-over guys and gals like me, navigating the city streets – or the country roads – without benefit of a map or a significant other.  Whether you’re chronically single, newly separated or happily coupled up and just looking for a way to make the occasional table for one a little more fun, there’s something here for you.

Like what you see?  Pass it along!  Strongly disagree?  Say so in the comments!  (Respectfully, please; after growing up with the last name Blewett, my ego can only take so much.)  Have an idea for a future TueDuesday post?  Send it over!  And keep in touch, via Twitter @LeahKBlewett and Instagram @leahkblewett.

Happy TueDuesday!

TueDuesday, June 23, 2015

Take Me Out to the Ball Game: How to Love Baseball (and Why You Should)

This is going to be a quicker-than-normal TueDuesday because I myself am going to a baseball game later on this evening (let’s go, Yankees!).  As for the impetus behind this one, let’s just say I can’t stand to hear another person tell me that baseball is boring.  Baseball is the opposite of boring.  And unlike the NCAA (a billion-dollar industry that can’t be bothered to compensate its players), the NHL (where players unrepentantly pummel each other like gladiators), FIFA (hellooooo, corruption indictments!), and the NFL (don’t even get me started), the MLB is perhaps the most benign of all major sports organizations.  The game demands skill and practice, and burly bruisers interested only in inflicting pain need not apply.  Heck, the biggest villain in baseball is Alex Rodriguez, and if I could get past his famously slimy personality and frequent herpes outbreaks, I might even find him kind of endearing.

I’m going to start posing when I successfully slide, too.  Less impressive in co-ed softball, but still.

So here you go: from a baseball fan born to and raised by baseball fans…

…here’s how to watch (and enjoy) a baseball game.

For starters, go see a game live.  Most anyone who complains about watching baseball on TV has no problem actually going to a game, partly because, y’know, beer and hot dogs, and partly because there’s something very exciting about actually being there when the crowd goes wild.  Which they do, reliably, after every home run.  Sing along to “Take Me Out to the Ball Game,” try to get on the Jumbotron, boo the opposing pitcher.  On a sunny summer day, there’s nothing not to like about a baseball game.

Wow, you’re thinking, that really wasn’t so bad.  On to the next step: go watch a game at a bar.  Find a sports bar with a solid following and plan to arrive about 30 minutes ahead of the first pitch, so you can secure a seat at the bar, your beverage of choice, and some finger food before the game begins.  Next, make friends with your neighbors.  Fellow fans will usually be easy to identify, wearing jerseys or caps, and if all else fails, chances are the bartender knows a thing or two.  As you’re watching the game, if something happens that you don’t understand, ask what the heck is going on.  Baseball is a game of strategy and nuance, and the more you know, the more there is to know.

This is a great excuse to make friends at the bar, even when I’m alone!  Yes, young padawan, it is.  But there’s an even greater challenge awaiting you.  It’s time to watch a game at home, alone.  Listen to the commentators, who (though usually inane) will give you some insight into what is happening and why.  Try and guess what’s happening before it’s announced, and try to determine why.  And yes, okay, fine: you can totally open a beer and order a pizza.  Just pay attention, too!

Now that you get the game, have some fun with baseball culture: watch Bull Durham, perhaps my favorite movie of all time (and fun fact: the way that Susan Sarandon met Tim Robbins!).  Pick a favorite team and start getting to know the players.  At least one of them will be hot; it’s some kind of obscure MLB by-law.  Try to catch a minor-league game at the local affiliate of a bigger club.  Minor league games are a blast, with less action on the field but all kinds of give-aways, prizes, theme nights and the like to make up for it.  Finally, share your newfound love of baseball with your friends.  And then, start all over again and take them out to the ball game.  As for me, I’m outta here – and I don’t care if I ever get back, ‘cause it’s root, root, root for the Yankees; if they don’t win it’s a shame.  

A real shame, because we’re playing the Phillies, and while I love Chase Utley (see below), they are just awful this year.

Next week: Fire up your martini shakers, because we’re learning How to Make Super Summery Cocktails at Home, with bonus guest appearances from some of my favorite bartenders!  Gulp.

TueDuesday: A Tisket, A Tasket: How to Pack a Picnic Basket

Welcome back to TueDuesday: A Weekly Series on Self Improvement (and Self Preservation), where I’ll share some of the hard-earned tips and tricks that have made their way up my sleeve after well over a decade of living alone in the city. 

TueDuesday goes out to all of you who have ever bravely moved into your very own apartment, only to encounter a cockroach the size of a well-fed hamster.  Barefoot.  In the middle of the night.  To all the ambitious drinkers who ever wanted to score the bartender’s number (and to the many of us who have failed, only to bravely try again).  To the pasta fiends.  To the Facebook lurkers.  To the happy, the hopeful, and the possibly hung-over guys and gals like me, navigating the city streets – or the country roads – without benefit of a map or a significant other.  Whether you’re chronically single, newly separated or happily coupled up and just looking for a way to make the occasional table for one a little more fun, there’s something here for you.

Like what you see?  Pass it along!  Strongly disagree?  Say so in the comments!  (Respectfully, please; after growing up with the last name Blewett, my ego can only take so much.)  Have an idea for a future TueDuesday post?  Send it over!  And keep in touch, via Twitter @LeahKBlewett and Instagram @leahkblewett.

Happy TueDuesday!

TueDuesday, June 16, 2015

A Tisket, A Tasket: How to Pack a Picnic Basket

Here we are at the height of summer, and there’s no better place to be than Central Park:

The sun really does look like that.  It's some kind of New York magic.

Even if you’re not in the world’s greatest city (and hoo, boy, do not try to argue with me on that one), surely there’s a grassy spot somewhere nearby where you can spread out a blanket and enjoy a meal and a cocktail al fresco.  So this week, let’s take a moment to look ahead from the confines of our jobs to those blissful hours of freedom and learn How to Pack a Picnic.

First things first: You need a headcount.  Are you packing for yourself?  Or contributing to a potluck picnic?  Leading a small group?  Or preparing for a sunshine-y summertime date?

You snuggling couples are the ants at my single-girl picnic.  

For the purposes of this post, we’ll anticipate a picnic of two (how’s that for wildly optimistic?) and you can adjust your portions up or down accordingly.  The foundation of any picnic is its basket, so start simple and choose a vessel.  If you have one of those adorable pre-packed picnic baskets with plastic wine goblets and a picture-perfect checkered blanket stowed neatly inside, by all means, use it – but you’re probably not the intended audience of this post.  For those without such finery, an old-fashioned backpack is a surprisingly good choice, as it’s easier to carry when laden with a 3L sack of wine slushies (which I am getting to, I swear).  Athletic and hiking packs are also convenient, since they’re usually heavily lined and will wick away the natural enemy of soft foods in the wild: condensation.  My softball bag has routinely proved picnic-worthy, thanks to the side holsters for bats (also a great place to stow a drink or a baguette), the pouch for cleats at the bottom (where my picnic blanket and its attendant grass clippings are separate from the food), and the cozy padded back and straps.

Once you’ve chosen your picnic “basket,” it’s time to consider the time of day.  High noon picnics are going to be exposed to dazzling sunlight, while evening picnics might get chilly.  Select a blanket accordingly.  A friend of mine has a tapestry you’d expect to see hanging in a stoner’s dorm room; it’s a surprisingly good picnic blanket, and lightweight to pack and carry.  On the other hand, a vinyl tablecloth for outdoor use can easily be flipped upside down: you sit on the soft side that’s meant to grip the picnic table’s grain, and the shiny surface beneath keeps any wetness in the grass from seeping up into your shorts.  Because nothing ruins a picnic like looking as though you peed yourself.

Basket: check.  Blanket: check.  Now, on to the good part: prep your wine slushies.  You’ll need about 24 hours’ notice for these babies, but they’re born picnic fare, and have recently become my favorite thing to bring to the beach, too.  First, swallow your pride and buy a box of wine (the numerous other merits of boxed wine are a different TueDuesday entirely).  If you insist on being fancy, do a little Google-ing; there are tons of Not Franzia options, you bougie diva.  When you get home, take the bag out of the box.  Tempting though it may be, do not open the tap!  You’ll have leakage.  Instead, put the bag in your freezer overnight.

That’s it.  Seriously.  When you wake up, the water in the wine will have frozen; the alcohol will have stayed liquid; you will have a three-liter sack’o’slushie that doubles as an ice pack for your bag and, once melted, will still be frosty cold white or pink wine.  It’s sealed for easy, leak-free transport, and no beverage container is lighter weight than a simple bag.

Now, on to food.  Virtually anything can become picnic food, but some fare better than others; we’ve all had a sad, soggy picnic PB&J, haven’t we?  I’m partial to anything relatively hard (yes, I know that’s what she said) and pretty much anything that can be packed in Tupperware.  If, like me, your kitchen budget does not include one of those darling color-coordinated multi-packs of plastic food containers, may I suggest saving your own?  Splurge on a pint of Talenti gelato and you’ve got a pint-sized hard plastic container with a screw-top lid, perfect for pasta salad or, if you’re going knife-less, an apple, pre-cut and reassembled, then held together with a rubber band to prevent browning.  Which reminds me: hard cheeses, cured meats, crudite…these can all be cut in advance to save you the hassle of packing a knife.  Not least because after a bag of wine slushies, you definitely don’t need to be handling sharp objects.  As for other self-made Tupperware, you’re likely only one night of Chinese take-out away from all the quart cups and small condiment containers you could ever want or need. 

Don’t feel like packing your own?  Raid the condiment counter the next time you’re out for burgers and bam: ketchup, mustard, relish, the works.  Hummus is reliable picnic fare, since you can dip nearly anything into it; ditto peanut butter, especially if you sneak a bar of dark chocolate into your bag up against the slushie sack so it’s good and cold when you break it out.  Sandwiches tend not to survive picnics, so unless you’re prepared to assemble on-site (and fearless about consuming lukewarm mayo, which as a rule I will not do despite my undying love for The People’s Condiment), skip hoagies and go a little more Euro / DIY with meats, cheeses, and a crusty baguette or a couple of hard rolls. 

When you’re packing your picnic, keep in mind that heavier items go on the bottom, and do your best to store cold food near the slushie sack.  Along the same lines as the knife: choose finger foods whenever possible and include plenty of napkins, plus cups and plates; silverware is optional if you’ve packed properly.  And with that…Ta-da!  Look at you!  You’re all packed up and ready to go.

Pick a destination and get picnicking, kids.  I’m already daydreaming about spending my Sunday afternoon sprawled out on a blanket in Central Park, and it’s only TueDuesday.

Next week: Buy me some peanuts and Crackerjack and ban “boring” from your vocabulary as we learn How to Watch a Baseball Game!