Hi. James Olney. Long time reader; first time contributor. Gosh, where do I start? Well, I suppose, with my drink, after all.

So, what was it that I had? Oh, yeah, the Cobra Verde. Now I never took a Spanish class, but I believe that means “The Green Goat-Blood Sucker.” No, no, that’s not right. That would be the Chupacabra Verde, now wouldn’t it?

Alright, let’s start over. So how do I describe the experience of my drink? I suppose I could riff on some sort of snake theme, but that seems too obvious. And from a color perspective, Kermit owns the shit out of the uneasiness of being green, so I can’t compare to that. Hmm—spoiler alert!—I think I’ll shoot for a heavy-handed metaphor later in my review.

So where was I? Oh, yes: the drink. Visually, the drink arrives with a vernal greenness that suggests post-winter rebirth—especially when contrasted with the blackness of the bar and the smiling wisdom flickering in Johnny the bartender’s eyes. Topped with a wistful froth, the pleasantly-weighted lowball hints at the base pleasures within. A crucified dried cherry (right?) stands as silent witness over the scattering of nuts that float insolently on top of the foam (2nd confession: Johnny warned us to photo the drink quickly before the nuts sank, which led our clearly sophisticated company to make several jokes about tea-bagging…).

The first sip brings a rush of sensations: the electricity of a heavy-lidded, dusky complected, flamenco dancer shooting you a chin-dipped, eyebrow-arched glance from across the room. While many a margarita can be brash and callow, the Cobra Verde has the fiery defiance of a voluptuous post-political woman whose father was killed by the same fascists who later shaved her head, but couldn’t break her spirit (okay, the Hemingway reference is clearly over-wrought).

Each sip dances across the tongue in ways that forever shame cheap tequila and margarita mix from a plastic bottle. The front end of the taste has an almost savory spice (or is umami more accurate?). It’s comforting and exciting at the same time. The back end has the pleasant tang of a more traditional margarita. How are these sensations wedded so seamlessly? Beats the hell out of me. The menu lists Maraschino liqueur and a hint of absinthe as part of the dance card of ingredients. Yeah, yeah, yeah—sickly sweet cherries and wormwood do not, on their own, a tantalizing drink make.

So what is the secret ingredient? Well, Johnny’s not telling. And if you facetiously asked him whether the secret ingredient is “love”, he’d patiently smile, and turn to another patron, all the while never letting on as to how close you’d come to being right.

guest drinker James

After a brief and unintentional hiatus from LBV, I finally found myself back home in the lounge last night. The Dirty Applepicker immediately caught my eye because I am madly in love with another apple-based drink at LBV, The Biting Of The Apple. (And also because Marie kept pointing at it and saying, “that drink totally sounds like you.”) Yum. This drink oozes autumn. It is delicious.

Every fall I think I am going to make caramel apples and every year I decide not to after re-discovering that you need a candy thermometer to make them. Fortunately, The Dirty Applepicker gives you the joy of a caramel apple without needing a candy thermometer (and without getting caramel all over your chin and stuck in your teeth.)

I was initially leery of the caramel in the drink. I expected it to taste like the caramel flavor shots at Caribou or Starbucks, which always taste artificial to me. But the caramel in The Dirty Applepicker tastes just like caramel should. It’s smooth, it’s rich, but it’s not too sweet. And the drink is made with Honeycrisp apples, the darlings of the produce aisle and Minnesota’s claim to fame (well, one of Minnesota’s claims to fame after the Anderson trifecta: Loni, Richard Dean and Louie).

The martini is garnished with bleu cheese-stuffed grapes. Seeing the hollowed out grapes reminded me of a dinner party I threw several years ago at which I served feta cheese stuffed cherry tomatoes. Just the memory of hollowing out all of those damn tomatoes with the mini melon baller filled me with frustration as if I was doing it all over again. So when I saw the stuffed grapes I had to ask Johnny how he hollows them out. Answer? A drill bit. Fucking brilliant.

I love this drink, so much so that I had more than one. But how many more than one is anybody’s guess.

Lush Jen