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

Now, I’m usually a Grain Belt gal, but Seen Your Video is coupled with a shot of bourbon and I wanted to remember my first experience to La Belle Vie. While Grain Belt goes down like water, I can’t say the same for bourbon. And, really, I can grab a Grain Belt any old time from my own fridge (and the shot of bourbon, for that matter, that is left over from Jen’s eggnog recipe…yu-um.) My second favorite drink is cava…bubbly, Spanish, fancy…la quiero un montón. Almost Last Call is a “glass of cava, served with a shot of whatever you want, with a far side bev-nap.” Again, with the shots. I just haven’t mastered the shot…except…for…tequila. I like tequila. It likes me. But I didn’t want to shoot it (as much as I would have liked to have read the far side bev-nap.) I wanted to relish in the entire La Belle Vie experience with a cocktail. I quickly scanned the menu for a tequila-based beverage…. “French Riviera….reposado margarita with a touch of green chartreuse”…intrigued…a margarita…from France? And not just France-France…French Riviera France!? Margaritas usually evoke images of guacamole and confetti-littered beds. Margaritas are for sipping pool-side in Mexico. Margaritas are so…not…French. So I thought. Well, I’ve had margaritas that are too limey..too sweet…too tart…and, well, too tequila-y. But this drink was smooth…like the bikini lines on the French Riviera. This is due in part to the reposado tequila…nice and mellow. No Cuervo here (I bet that doesn’t even exist at La Belle Vie). While I knew my reposado…I wasn’t real familiar with chartreuse other than the brilliant color it is. Well, I found out that chartreuse is distilled under the supervision of monks from the Grande Chartreuse monastery in France. How can those gentle men NOT produce a beautiful and gentle liqueur? I’ll be back for another french riviera before Cinco de Mayo rolls around. Yo te lo prometo.

I kept with the French theme and moved on to Parlez-vous…raspberry vodka, pineapple juice and cava topped with orange-passionfruit foam. I have studied Spanish for years and so the French language has always befuddled me. I want to pronounce every single *%$#@! letter. They seem to add “eaux” and “lles” just to make words look more beautiful, I swear. Do you hear all those letters? No. Are they necessary? Probably so. Does it make the word look pretty? Most definitely. (case in point: mille feuillles-looks AND tastes magnifique!) I watched Johnny spiral the most perfect curly-q orange peel garnish and lay it gingerly off the side of the glass…voilà, i whispered…Do you eat the garnish? No. Does it add flavor to the drink? Probably. Does it make it look pretty? Most definitely. The orange-passionfruit foam was tasty, but breaking through the foam to the vodka/pineapple juice/cava mixture was purely delightful. It danced across my tongue (most likely the cava) in the most refreshing mix of flavors. I saved the raspberry for one last explosion of flavors. With the last sip, I could feel myself shedding Spanish Raquel for French Rachelle…Parlez vous? A few more of these and I’ll parlez vous français all night long. Au revoir, mes cheris …

guest drinker Rachel

This seemingly simple drink, consisting of only gin with zesty lime cherry sour, forms a complex visual presentation that clearly explains how this drink got its name.  And it tastes damn good!

Is it against the rules to swear on this site? Is damn even considered a swear word anymore?

The few components of this drink slowly combine to create various shapes and colors that are reminiscent of pictures found in my astronomy book.

I took astronomy in college.  It seemed like an easy way to get a science credit without having to take physics or chemistry.  It wasn’t.

The more the drink sits, the more intricate the shapes and colors become to materialize a celestial display of stars, planets, quasars and maybe even a pulsar.

I believe a quasar is a galaxy; not sure about a pulsar, but it’s fun to say… pull-sssarrrrr!

The drink is topped off with a sour cherry for a supremely good, out of this world, experience. It could be Venus, or maybe Mars; red in color like the sour cherry hovering over this sublime drink. But, please note that sour cherries are not “regular” cherries that have been made sour.  They are native to much of Europe and grow on smaller trees than “regular” cherries.  The sour cherry in this drink appears to have been marinated in some type of syrup.  However, if you have a chance to try a sour cherry picked right off a tree, I highly recommend it… unless you don’t like sour things, then don’t try the cherry and don’t try this drink.

guest drinker Raluca

The Charles Bronson consists of rye whiskey and maraschino dry cherry brandy with three types of bitters, garnished with small dried plums on a stick. Given the spelling of whiskey, I have to assume it is American in nature as opposed to Canadian, which is spelled sans the “e”. This is good because, by law, American whiskey must contain at least 51% rye. Canadians aren’t quite as strict with their laws regarding distilled spirits. Canadian rye whisky simply has to “possess the aroma, taste and character generally attributed to Canadian whisky”. Seriously folks, that’s the language of the law.

Rye imparts a peppery flavor to the whiskey, along with a slightly bitter quality. This peppery bitterness is balanced exceptionally well with the cherry brandy without being cloyingly sweet.

So why call it the Charles Bronson? Having not asked Johnny, I can only conjecture. Is it that the rye whiskey, with its bitter quality, is a parallelism to Charles Bronson’s bitter vigilante characters in movies such as Death Wish? Or do the bitters themselves represent his acrid onscreen personality? One reason is unquestionable: the dried plum garnish symbolizes Charles Bronson’s visage. One film critic described his rugged looks as “a Clark Gable who had been left out in the sun too long”.

Regardless of the origin of Johnny’s nomenclature, the Charles Bronson is a harmonious blend and I would highly recommend it, especially to anyone of Canadian descent.

guest drinker Dean