Finito

For readers of this journal.  I have shifted to:

 

http://washingtoncube.blogspot.com

Cocktail Of The Week: The Letter "X" For Xavier Cugat, Or Let's Put The "X" Back In X-Mas

 


                        Have A Cuchi Cuchi Christmas


The cocktail project continues to wind down. Next week will finish the alphabet. My bartender who has been so totally supportive in making up these unfamiliar drinks and playing along with glass selections, garnishes, even lighting, has been wonderful. I made sure Santa paid them an early visit.

This week we made a cocktail starting with the letter "X," and you'll have to trust me when I say there isn't much to work with under that hatch mark. I did find one called the Xavier Cugat, named after the most popular Latin band leader of the 1940's. He was considered the "Rhumba King" of his day. I wonder what would happen if you went into a dance club today and asked someone to rhumba? Desi Arnaz (Lucille Ball's husband) joined Cugat's band in 1934 before going on to his own fame.


                                              Charo

Cuga had four wives: wife number four was Charo who is still around doing her "cuchi cuchi's" in Vegas that she is famous for. Both of them were born in Spain, but Charo was his junior by many years.





For a while, Cugat was even employed at a cartoonist at the Los Angeles Times. After a time he decided to forego photographs of himself in favor of his cariactures.


                         Xavier Cugat "Say hello to my little friend"



A real Renaissance kinda guy. There is a very good website devoted to his life and work:

Xavier Cugat is the featured musician from oldetimecooking.com. Come visit Xavier, this wonderful big band leader.





                Charo (on the right) judging a Charo contest
                 at the Trannyshack in San Franciso this year






Xavier Cugat Cocktail

3/4 ounce triple sec
3/4 ounce Kahlua coffee liqueur
1/2 ounce Amaretto almond liqueur
1 ounce whipping cream

Shake briefly with a glass full of crushed ice and serve in a double cocktail glass




Postscript: Thanks again to my brother for his Photoshopping talents. There is an album called Cugi's Cocktails (Cuigi being Cugat's nickname). The perfect listening accompaniment to drinking a Cugi cocktail.

***  Remember:  You can also find Washington Cube at:

Washington Cube     http://washingtoncube.blogspot.com/

Boo! It's Santa Claus & I'm Coming To GET YOU!!!

                                   Santa's been hitting the nog, no?


There is a web page called Scared of Santa Gallery: 'Tis the Season to be Scared Witless. Something to give you a few chuckles as the day approaches. My family has a famous shot of my brother sitting on a Santa Claus that looks like a total degenerate with these dark circles under his eyes and a certain "list" to him that makes you wonder if he's sober. Worse than the guy pictured above, if you can believe that. The children, now adults, are probably still in therapy from these moments...




               I'm supposed to be Superman.  Why can't I fly away?    

 

         SCARED OF SANTA GALLERY: Tis the season to be scared witless



 

               What do I want for Christmas?  Away from YOU!

 

***  Remember:  You can also find Washington Cube at:

Washington Cube     http://washingtoncube.blogspot.com/

 

Blogging Blitzers & Black Cat Bones: A Capital Capitol Punishment

Depsite my running around yesterday finalizing my Christmas errands, I took time out in the afternoon to watch the Redskins game while I wrapped presents. I had been stuck on the Beltway in pre-game traffic: cars with Redskins' flags flapping on the antenna, a "Dallas Sucks" van broken down on the shoulder. I had seen an entry on the blog The Blinding Glare of the Obvious (quarterback: Lizzie) who had posted about football, so I left a comment, to which she responded immediately, then our blog pal Chairborne Stranger (quarterback: CS) started making entries from Iraq, where he is serving in the military, in response to what we were saying. It all got a little surreal at one point where CS was pretending to go to the kitchen to fix us junk food snacks.





I admire Joe Gibbs for making the sign to kill the playing of "Momma, Don't Let Your Sons Grow Up To Be Cowboys," toward the end of the game. Class move on his part. HOWEVER...sometimes Gibbs weirds me out with his juju's of never cracking a smile during a game, the drop-to-your-knees prayer strategies, etc. It's almost like he's got a black cat bone and mojo around his neck like he's waiting for Baron Samedi to come waltzing out on the playing field.

I mixed up cookie dough at half time, and I was already resigned to baking in advance of the end of the game if things got really sucky. They didn't, and I was able to watch it all the way through. It was worth it, even if I was still baking cookies at midnight.

Postscript: Today the Washington Express picked up a blurb on this piece, which was nice, but off to the side they said "Washington Cube finds Washington Redskins Coach Joe Gibbs to be rather creepy." Nothing could be further from the truth. I was being flippant when I said he weirded me out with some of his on the playing field habits, but the truth is many people involved in sports, theatre, and other endeavors develop little patterns and rituals to not jinx themselves. I jokingly referred to superstitions, but in Mr. Gibbs' case, I know that is not it. I am sure he is well aware of the dangers of hubris, but it's not even in the man's nature to gloat in victory.

Some time ago, I saw an interview with Mr. Gibbs regarding his race car business and how he handled employees. He is the dream employer. He shows so much respect to his employees, and he sets such a superior moral and ethical level of operation that I can't think of a better person to work for (and with) in any occupation. To me, Joe Gibbs sets the model and standard we should all be pursuing in our careers, and I can't praise him enough. I am so embarrassed that they printed out that I thought he was creepy, when nothing could be further from the truth. The Express has made me regret my tease. Mr. Gibbs is a role model for us all.





My Mother's Christmas
Oatmeal Cookie Recipe


1 cup white sugar
1 cup brown sugar
1 cup butter (2 sticks)
2 eggs
3 1/2 cups quick oats
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 1/2 cups flour
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon salt

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Mix the white and brown sugar, the softened butter and eggs in one bowl. Mix the baking soda, flour and salt in another bowl. Gradually add the dry ingredients into the sugar mixture, and then add the vanilla extract. Work in the oats. Roll into logs about the size of a sushi roll (6 inches long x 1 1/2 inches wide) and wrap each roll in wax paper. Freeze or harden the dough. When ready, cut the logs into pieces about 1/2 inch thick (you may need to shape them slightly back into "rounds"), and put on ungreased baking sheets. Space about 2 inches apart, because the cookies do spread, sometimes up to four times their size. Bake ten minutes* and cool on racks. Makes five dozen. These freeze well.

*I tend to rotate the cookie sheets halfway through bake time, no matter what type of cookie I am making.

 

***  Remember:  You can also find Washington Cube at:

Washington Cube     http://washingtoncube.blogspot.com/

June's Sugared Pecans

I'll be baking this weekend, treats for family and friends, and one of the things I'll be making is a recipe for sugared pecans that I acquired from a woman I used to work with on Capitol Hill. June managed our four district offices, and she was a hoot. When I went to work in that office, she took me under her wing like a daughter and she made sure her charges gave me whatever I needed to work smoothly. She already had one office "daughter," and that was my best friend, Dee. Whenever we had to travel back to the State we represented, she would always have us stay in her home, and one year, when I had to be there just before Christmas, she made these sugared pecans as a special treat in honor of my visit. I was there with another coworker, Tim, and she spoiled us rotten, even though she was in the beginning of her declining health then.




June had a best friend named Marie and they had been friends forever. They knew each other so well, strengths and weaknesses, and they loved each other; two widowed women off having uproarious times. When Marie died, about a year before June, I knew just from talking with her that June's heart was broken. When Dee and I used to go out for drinks or dinner after work, we would usually wind up saying we'd be friends for life, and we would be exactly like June and Marie at their age, off having wild times and adventures and laughing our heads off.




Dee loved Christmas for all the right reasons. One night we had been out drinking and I took her to a house that was so over-the-top in decoration, I knew she would love it in all it's loud glaring vulgarity. We were a bit tipsy by the time we got there, and we stood out on the sidewalk to take pictures. Every time we saw one more thing on the house, tears would start rolling again, along with our roars of laughter. I knew the man who owned the house had a reputation of being a weird crank, and I had heard he had appeared to gawkers before, bearing a shotgun, so I kept trying to hush us down so we wouldn't be gazing down the end of a double barrel, but we couldn't stop laughing.



June had two stories that I loved that involved her friend, Marie. There was one main funeral home in the town where June and Marie lived, and one time the Congressman asked them to pop by and pay their respects to a constituent's family, only they had been to some reception just before and had a little too much to drink. When they got to the viewing, they walked up to the casket, then stood there, staring down at Joe Mosti and his distinctive nose. Looking down at the deceased, they began querying each other how the coffin lid would shut without smashing his nose, and they were so unconsious of others, they got into a heated debate about it. Another time, same funeral home, again drinking and popping in for an official visit, they walked up to the front of the parlor where the casket was and they started crying, remembering this person. At some point during their tears, they realized they were staring down at a stranger and that they were in the wrong viewing room, so then they started laughing hysterically at their mistake, and they were asked to leave.

June and Marie had a ton of shared history and stories, and Dee and I loved hearing them. Life has a way of playing tricks on you, and now when I hear women say, "We will be little old ladies together," I have to admit I wince inremembrance of saying the same thing to Dee. That was our big joke. One night we were out having drinks at a place on Pennsylvania Avenue, sitting side by side in the ladies room, and we started talking about how down the road we'd be out drinking, only with walkers and wheelchairs, and what a mess we would be.




Horribly enough both Tim and Dee passed on, way too young: both unexpected, both sudden, both within a year of each other, so I lost two people in my life that meant the world to me. Tim is the one I wrote about earlier on my blog that used to go out and watch planes land at National Airport with me. I was rooting around in a box of photographs this morning, trying to find this wonderful picture of June and Marie, but due to time constraints I had to give up. I did stumble on photographs of Dee and Tim, and I yanked those out to have on my desk so I can see them again. I was reading another person's blog the other day, and they talked about sending out drunk text messages to a friend that made no sense. When I read that I thought, "Yup. Sounds like what I would do with Dee."

This isn't meant to be a morbid piece, but rather a remembrance of warm, vibrant people who bring joy to our lives. I hope you enjoy those you have during this holiday season. As promised, June's Sugared Christmas Pecans. I truly believe she and Marie are off somewhere, having more laughs.


June's Sugared Christmas Pecans

2 1/2 to 3 pounds pecans
1 stick of butter
2 egg whites
1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon vanilla

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Melt butter on cookie sheet in the warm oven. Beat egg whites until foamy, gradually adding sugar, salt and vanilla. Beat until the egg whites form stiff peaks. Fold the pecans into the mixture, mixing well with a wooden spoon. Pour the mixture onto the buttered cookie sheet, and stir to coat the nut mixture with the butter. Bake for 40 minutes, but check the mix in the oven every ten minutes and stir, watching closely the last ten minutes to make the the pecans don't burn. Once done (or browned), remove pecans from the oven, let cool ten minutes, then shake in a bag with plenty of confectionery sugar. Store in sealed container.


Now, something silly in memory of June, Marie, Tim and Dee: WhiteTrashXmas*

* Thank you to friend Matt for sending me the link.

 

***  Remember:  You can also find Washington Cube at:

Washington Cube     http://washingtoncube.blogspot.com/

Cocktail Of The Week: The Letters "V" and "W." Vicious Sid & What The Hell?

 

My cocktail of the week project is starting to wind down now. I am at the tail end of the alphabet, and the choices are becoming more narrow. I can't wait until I hit the letter "X." This week the "V" cocktail is called Vicious Sid after Sid Vicious, formerly a member of the punk group, The Sex Pistols, formerly a mortal.




Sid's real name was John Simon Ritchie, but he was renamed by band member John Lydon (Johnny Rotten), after Lydon's pet hamster "Sid the Vicious" who had a habit of biting people. Sid the Human had some equally nasty habits. Prior to his departure from the Sex Pistols, Sid made a notable recording of Frank Sinatra's My Way. Personally? I always enjoyed his rendition of Eddie Cochran's song called Something Else, because he sings it like a really dumb American teenager.  Sid is often remembered for his relationship with an American girl called Nancy Spungen (an early Courtney Love influence), whom he wound up stabbing to death in the Chelsea Hotel (222 West 23rd Street)in New York City.  Months after this occurrence, he was found dead from a drug overdose of heroin purchased for him by his mother.  Let's put on the oh-so-cheer and seasonal Lou Reed's Chelsea Girls while we toast Sid.  Here's his cocktail:

                                     Vicious Sid Cocktail

                               1 1/2 ounces light rum

                                      1/2 ounce peach liqueur

                                       1/2 ounce triple sec

                                       1 ounce lemon juice

                                       1 dash bitters

                   Shake with ice and serve in a martini glass

                                 

                                        Vicious Sid Cocktail

                                      "I'll drink it My Way"

The "W" cocktail is called What the Hell, and it reminded me of this devil ornament I have on my Christmas tree. Some of you may have seen those old-fashioned German ornaments for sale shaped like fruits and vegetables, the birds with the feathered tails, cottages and acorns. They are often reproduced off of antique molds and each has symbolic meaning.

An acorn ornament, for example, represents not only the oak tree, considered sacred in Germany, but also the coming of Christ, and his rebirth.  Bird ornaments are symbolic of harbingers of good things to come, and then there is one rarely seen ornament in this country called Krumpus--a devil's head.


                                            Krumpus

In Medevial times there were roaming bands of performers who would put on Paradise Plays during the Christmas and Solstice season. These plays depicted life and death, The Garden of Eden, and good and evil. They also included depictions of Saint Nicholas and his roving band of servants. Apple ornaments were symbolic in Germany of paradise, the temptation of evil and many glassblowers showed the apple cut in half to reflect the star pattern in the fruit which represented Christ's birth "star," as well as the seeds of fruitfulness for the coming year.

I was lucky enough one year to find a Krumpus ornament, and I have had people comment on how odd it is to see a devil's head on a Christmas tree. During the Paradise Plays, representation of the devil was to remind the revelers of the dangers of living an unholy life, and Krumpus reminded little boys and girls that he was there to punish those who misbehaved during the past year.  I find it interesting that the devil's head mold used to reproduce these ornaments is one of the earliest made when glassblowers started making these symbolic images for Christmas.

                               "I've got your number, Cube"

                                                  " No gifts for you"

There is also a pickle ornament, another thing you rarely see on a tree, and the ritual behind this ornament is that you place it first on the tree, hidden, and that the person who finds it on Christmas morning gets an extra gift from Saint Nicholas. I was telling a friend about this tradition this past week, and he shot me a look. I knew where he was going with this. He said,  "A hidden Christmas pickle, huh? That gift may take nine months for delivery."

Here is the What the Hell cocktail in honor of Krumpus and being good during the holidays, prior to Santa Claus' arrival.


                                      What The Hell Cocktail

                             1 ounce dry vemouth
                             1 ounce gin
                             1 ounce apricot brandy
                             1 dash lemon juice
                             1 dash grenadine

          Shake with ice and serve in an old-fashioned glass*


                                   What the Hell Cocktail

                          "Hot toddys at my place next time?"

 

* When I had my cocktail made up, I used a wine glass for photographic purposes. I also asked for two strawberries. I cut two little holes on either side, near the top of the first berry, and a slot along it's base so it could be put onto the edge of the glass. I then cut two little horns from the second strawberry to insert into the first, making a tiny strawberry devil's head for the drink.


Again, mucho thanks to my brother for his Photoshop work. He was complaining to me about the quality of my photography in terms of light and focus on the cocktails. I said, "Give me a break. I am not shooting these in a photography studio. I'm in a bar, for God's sake." He told me the Vicious Sid collage was one of the hardest things he's worked on recently, requiring forty layers and the dissembling of the cocktail glass to rework in an imaginary straw and other patterns.Is he dedicated, or what?

I would like to remind readers that there is a blog called DC Drinks which describes itself as "Reviews, rantlets, and ribald on all things alcoholic." DC Drinks

                                          Oi!   Cheers!                                           

 

***  Remember:  You can also find Washington Cube at:

Washington Cube     http://washingtoncube.blogspot.com/

 

Stop And Smell The Poinsettias

                                 Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow...

 

    In the past few years, I have set a pattern that seems to work for me in celebrating the season as I wish to do. I usually start my Christmas cards in November with personalized letters so that I can have them mailed by December 1st. I've learned over time that if I wait beyond that date, it just won't get done. I try to have my trees up and decorated by the first week in December. I was running late this year for that task, but just a few more ornaments to be hung and that is done. I want to finish ordering gifts today, I need to deliver some wreaths this week, and then next week is about truly relaxing and enjoying the holiday.

                                                My mother's wreath  

 When my mother died a few years ago, (too soon, but is there any good time for that?) I set aside some dates to take flowers to the cemetery: her birthday (which was also close to Mother's Day), the anniversary of her death, and then I got into the habit of making a wreath for the grave in December. My mother always made wreaths at Christmas, and I suppose, in part, this skill and task is an ongoing affirmation of what I learned from her.

I've been buying my Christmas trees from the same landscaper for a few years now, and this year his tiny son was helping and had his little spiel down in greeting the customers and guiding them to the trees. I started talking to the father, and he said he had been teaching his son how to work in the garden and take on adult tasks since he was five. I think the boy is about nine now. I told him that my mother had done the same with me. I distinctly remember her handing me sharp pruning shears to do edging work with grass with the admonishment "Don't cut yourself," as my guideline. The landscaper told me he had done the exact same thing with his son, and that it had been that way for him, as well. I'm not a parent, but I think it's important that children learn these responsibilities early on in preparation for what the world has ready to land on them down the road.

I was going to give the father a tip, and I added in some extra money for his son, and he said, "Please hand it directly to him. If it comes from me, he won't understand the meaning of it." I gave the little boy a five-dollar bill, and he stood there with the stretched out money in his hands and stared at it before putting it in his pocket. I just loved seeing him out there in the cold, working side by side with his Dad.

                                  My friend's wreath for her parents

This year my friend in Annapolis lost both of her parents. Her mother got up one morning in January, bathed, dressed, put on her makeup, made the bed, laid down on it and died. Just like that. It was a terrible shock to everyone, but it became a nightmare for her father who went into an immediate tailspin and decline. He never seemed to be able to recover from this horrible loss, and he died this summer. This isn't the first time I've heard of or seen this phenomenon. You will never convince me that people can't die of a broken heart. Her parents were buried just across the road from my mother's site, so I told her that this year I would make up another wreath for her and we would go out with my brother to leave these things for our parents.

                                                        My wreath

For me, this time of year is about traditions, as I am sure it is for a lot of people: which ornament is hung on the tree first, or always serving a certain food for a holiday feast, giving a party (which one of my friends does very well from his swinging bachelor pad), those special Starbuck's lattes, or seeing relatives from whom you may be geographically (or emotionally) removed. Try and honor your own traditions, and try not to get too frazzled during the coming weeks. Stop and smell the poinsettias.

***  Remember:  You can also find Washington Cube at:

Washington Cube     http://washingtoncube.blogspot.com/