It's like Sex and the Suburbs and 30 Rock all rolled into one…
Last Friday, we went out for drinks. While we waited for the gang to arrive, or for them to have us join them, we went to DeJohns for schadenfreud drinks. (Explaining this makes me a less charming person and therefore I will twist your arm into figuring it out yourself.) These sorts of drinks should never, under any circumstance, be a glass of wine or a pint of beer. It simply must be a champagne cocktail. Mandatory.
I dislike fruity drinks, unless it’s a margarita, going so far as to demand no fruit in my Blue Moon or other white ale. Many cocktails are fruity when they are combined with the honey nectar that is champagne. A few months ago, while celebrating my sister’s birthday at DP’s, I had my first Black Velvet – champagne, Guinness. One hundred percent delicious. And by no means fruity.
We decided that it was simply the drink to have. And so, we explained to the lovely bartender at DeJohns precisely what a Black Velvet was. What we received was absolutely mind-blowing. Please refer to the photo below. Apologies for the lighting, but my friend took this with his iPhone in a dim bar.
We named this drink. After all, it wasn’t a champagne cocktail – it was too massive. It was two or three cocktails in a pint glass. Obviously the name comes from the regions the two parts of the beverage were produced – France for the champagne and Ireland for the stout.
My classy karaoke friend and I were discussing this drink over more drinks a few nights ago. He flatly denied that it deserved a new name – it was still, after all, a Black Velvet. A Martini in a wine glass, he argued, wasn’t a new drink; it was a martini that happened to have been poured into a wine glass. He cited his Italian friends who sip red wine not from wine glasses, but from a glass you might pour your morning orange juice in. They were still drinking wine after all! I couldn’t argue that – my family often drinks red table wine out of regular glasses, going so far as to have a special set dedicated just to red wine on Thanksgiving.
And yet… and yet, size surely had something to do with it. A martini in a wine glass was still about the same amount of martini. The pint glass of cocktail was like the supersizing of the Black Velvet; it had to be something different! Despite our charming smiles and arm punching, we could not come to a Hegalian compromise and simply decided to agree to disagree. And I think perhaps that I was asked to sing some Lady Gaga with a crowd of very drunk girls might have ended the conversation. Period.
And so because I’m all about opening up old wounds for new discussions, what do you think?