Makes 2 drinks.
4 oz vodka
2 oz. Ginger Liqueur (Domaine Canton works. I make my own because my shit don’t stink)
1/2 oz. simple syrup (optional if you want it to be sweeter. I prefer to omit.)
Juice of 1 fresh lime
Bottle of Fever Tree ginger beer. Cock n’ Bull is great too.
Mix vodka, Domaine de Canton, syrup, and lime juice in shaker with ice. Strain into cup of crushed ice. Top with ginger beer and garnish with lime twist or leftover juiced lime halves.
If you want to make a Kentucky Mulse, use Bourbon instead of vodka and use lemon instead of lime. Boom! Get drunk. Take a dump on your neighbor’s lawn!!
[Caution. Another Robin Williams post. Well, more like a self-indulgent, self-reflection. I needed to vent some emotions. If anyone finds this post interesting, that is a bonus.]
I have an old video from 1995 the week of my 21st birthday hanging out with high school friends at the Denny’s near my high school. It was a year after I moved to Texas. The video makes me cringe because I remember sitting there desperate to make those people laugh. Deep down I knew that chapter was over and that I had to move on.
Back in Texas that summer, my step father (at the time) was planning to kill himself. We later found out that he took the gun out of his mouth because our dog, Muffy, could sense he was not OK and would not leave him alone. He waited a few more months until my mother was away on a trip, packed up his belongings, and left. I came home from work and found his note. My mother eventually tracked him down and he sorta got his life in order after that. But he drastically altered the direction of my life and helped set the stage for my own depression.
I had to quit school and go to work full time. My step-father was gone long enough for his business and his finances to collapse. My parents sold their home and left Texas after declaring bankruptcy. Soon I would be living alone in a roach infested cinder-block efficiency apartment, two blocks from a school I could not afford to attend. 1996 was the first year I really experienced depression. The only girl I had ever loved (up until then) lived in another state and got a new boyfriend. My job paid $6.50 an hour, barely keeping me afloat. I could not afford to repair my decrepit car. I had no new friends and my high school friends did not live near enough to see regularly. I turned 22 that June and had lost my path forward. I was miserable. On top of this I had major brain oxygen deprivation as I slept thanks to a deviated septum that would not be diagnosed or repaired for another 14 years. Did I mention I had no medical insurance at the time either?
I remember driving home after work one day and all the cars on I-35 were pulled over. People were taking shelter from a massive shelf cloud and responding to the sirens warning of the tornado. I drove right into it. I wanted to get home and sleep, which thankfully was my drug of choice back then. I never considered suicide as a serious option ever in my life, but that night I kinda wanted the tornado to take me out. I just didn’t care. It wasn’t until visiting Denton, TX after Misty and I got engaged in 2006 that I realized I lived with a constant pit in my stomach the entire time I lived there from 1996-1999. It isn’t until that dread was gone that I could see I had been in a state of constant, daily fear. At the time it was just my normal. The first ten months of 1996 was just abnormally bad.
I owe much thanks to Troy, a high school friend, who moved to Denton in the fall of 1996. But there was a bright moment that summer. I ran into my future wife at the grocery store. She was shopping with her fiance and she said hello, remembering me from fall marching band, 1994. Being a shy person, I didn’t know how to make friends easily. I spent decades working at being social. Once I do become friends with you, I will be a great friend (as long as you are willing to put up with my dark side). I had a tight group of great friends in high school, but that was after being stuck in the same school together for four years. Which brings me back to Denny’s 1995.
I have video of myself sitting around a table at the Roseville Denny’s, desperately trying to be funny for my old high school friends. I was clinging to a time when I was voted class clown; when I was the only guy ever to do stand-up comedy in my high school; when I had a group of close friends. The video makes me cringe because there is so much desperation in what I am trying to do at that table in Denny’s. That video was shot before I knew my step-father was suicidal, but I look back to that trip and realize I was already a little lost.
I think my sadness started when all my high school friends went off to college and I stayed behind not knowing what the hell I was going to do. Two years later I got into college only to quit after my step-dad went tits up. I got back in again for a year and a half only to quit again for financial reasons. Got a better job, got back into school, and quit school again when the job ended. Eventually I landed an amazing job in San Francisco. Laid off. Another amazing job in Sacramento. Laid off. Which brings me to 2003. Once again I was alone, financially compromised, and very depressed having no clue what to do next. This constant negative state of mind starts to alter your brain chemistry. And I am one of the lucky ones who doesn’t have to deal with serious manic depression. I just had a shitty decade. I know what depression feels like but I have NO CLUE what it feels like for someone with lifelong clinical depression. I am so disgusted with the Twitter psychologists who say, “Well why didn’t Robin Williams just do such and such?” Or that scumbag Rush Limbaugh who said liberalism killed Robin Williams. Fuck you, Rush.
Depression isn’t about being sad. It is a chemical state of the mind. My depression peaked in 1996. I experienced it again in 2003 after two layoffs derailed the beginnings of a great career that, at the time, let me briefly experience a good life. My depression, as bad as it might have been for me, was never close to what my step-father experienced, or Robin Williams, or other family members of mine who have been diagnosed with clinical depression. But I understand it more than most. I am really sick of reading these scumbags on the internet say, “Well why didn’t Robin get help?” He did, Asshole! For decades.
Imagine you are in a car accident, you are unharmed, but the person next to you says, “Hey, you’re not hurt! The accident is over. Snap out of it, Stupid!” You would punch that idiot in the mouth because your brain is saturated with chemicals that override all logic. Imagine being pumped full of adrenaline 24 hours a day for years. Now imagine instead of agitating you, making your mind alert, and your body ready for action… imagine if it did the exact opposite.
You can no more shake off “the sad” than you can shake off the adrenaline after you’ve been in a nasty car accident. It feels like you are falling into a bottomless pit. I was so disconnected at times when I was depressed that I found myself standing in a random aisle at the supermarket staring off into nowhere. Suddenly I would look around and think, “How long have I been standing here?” Even in the case of treatable, mild depression, a person may take a year to fully snap out of it. Robin Williams was bipolar for his whole life.
There is another connection I feel to Robin Williams. I have always been the clown and others have often said I reminded them of him. It is a huge compliment and I have always taken it to mean people find me funny. But the comparison runs deeper. We both have a dark side. Granted, I am a very light, mild, less intense, non-famous, mediocre version of him who is likely to never accomplish 1% of what he did in his life. That is probably why I’m stable. As a “funnyman”, when I am feeling down my instinct is to run away and hide so that I don’t depress others who are used to being entertained by me. I tend to only REALLY share innermost feelings with friends I really trust. I am not alone. Most stand up comics I have known, and I’ve known a ton, are just as twisted an messed up in the brain as me. We tend to be bipolar by nature. It’s both a gift and a curse sometimes. It can drive us to create and inspire us to feel and express. At an early age, most comics turned to comedy for help. Laughter is both our superpower and our kryptonite.
There are times when I have felt that not getting a laugh was akin to rejection. It is no surprise I did the most stage time at comedy clubs during the years 1996 and 2003 when I was the most depressed. Laughter is approval to us clowns. That is especially powerful when you are young and very insecure. I escaped constant belittling and ridicule from my brother by going to school and making my friends laugh. At home I was mocked and marginalized, seeking solitude to escape into my own world. Around my friends I was validated. Laughter is how I overcame shyness and got others to notice me. I once made my friend Greg laugh so hard in the first grade that he fell off the jungle gym and knocked the wind out of himself and kept laughing. That power is intoxicating. Especially for someone who felt insecure and repressed.
The problem with being the clown is that you can uplift the world but they don’t always reciprocate. In my case, I was there to uplift those at school, work, or home. But what about when I needed uplifting? I remember in the peak of my 2003 misery, my corporate Kinko’s job ended and I had to work the remaining several months at a Kinko’s branch. The manager thanked me for always making our assistant manager laugh. She had a rough life and I would come into work singing “Hold Me Closer Tony Danza” along with the radio. In the middle of of my own depression I took small hits of joy by making others laugh.
There are many other examples in my life when I have been really down, had no energy whatsoever to be funny, and others got mad at me for not making THEM feel better. Some would say that they relied on my silliness to get them through the day. Well pardon the hell out of me if I have a bad day, let alone bad year. That is when you see who your real friends are. The ones who stick with you when you are so miserable that you lash out at the world. Your real friends see you act like an arrogant jackoff and can tell that it’s all an act. They can tell when you are just ranting, knowing that the bitterness in your humor is mostly a defense mechanism. They put up with your bile for a few minutes and then disarm you completely with a few compassionate words. I guarantee you that if you are a good friend of mine and I have ever been hurtful to you, I was wounded at the time.
I have never been this happy and content in my life, partly thanks to my situation. I married my best friend, life is great, my dogs are wonderful, career is moving forward, etc. But I also know what misery feels like. The contrast between misery and joy helps you fully appreciate the two states. My happiness today made me realize how miserable I was in the past. It might be no surprise that the last time I did stand-up comedy was the few months before Misty moved in with me. People say it all the time and don’t mean it, but Misty honestly is the best thing to ever happen to me. There is one happy ending to my step-father and all his misery. His mental instability, and desire to flee when things get tough, is why my parents moved to Texas in the first place. If they had not moved there I would never have applied to the University of North Texas. Who was the very first student I met in college? Misty.
To quote Tom Hanks in that film where he was marooned on an island full of FedEx product placements: “You never know what the tide will bring you.”
What is the point of this post? I don’t know. Introspection? Self indulgence? Therapy? All of the above, I suppose. At the end of the day we are each the captain of of our own ships and it is a good idea to dock often and check our hull for holes. My ship is in great shape right now. But you never know what the tide will bring you.
My friend Clark killed himself several years ago the day after we all went and saw Doug Stanhope. He suffered from chronic pain and decided to check out. Clark waited a few extra days so he could see his favorite comic one last time. I am glad I was one of few who got to be with him at that comedy show the night before. I was fairly stoic about his death and I empathized with his choice, especially in the context of his chronic pain. Other than my former step father, a few other family members made suicide attempts. For the sake of privacy I won’t mention them directly.
The suicide of Robin Williams reminded me of so many of my own experiences in dealing with my own depression, being a comedian, and people I love trying to kill themselves. I generally don’t react when a celebrity dies. Losing George Carlin was hard for me, but he had a long history of heart disease and his fifth heart attack was inevitable. I was very stoic about Robin Williams at first. I didn’t start to be reflective about his death until I saw this online. The quote is from The Watchmen, but in the context of the Robin Williams suicide, plus this image of him…
It just wrecked me.
After some tweeking, I have finally perfected my Texas BBQ sauce. My secret ingredient: Espresso.
This is fairly spicy to the average dick. You can always skip the cayenne to make sissy sauce or add habanero or more chipotle if you want it hotter’n a two-pecker billy goat.
A 12 oz can of tomato sauce
A 6 ounce can of tomato paste
1 cup stock or broth (beef or pork is prefered. I use drippings from a roast)
1/2 cup blackstrap molasses
1/4 cup apple cider vinegar
1/4 cup bourbon or rye whiskey
1/4 cup mustard
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1 tablespoon liquid smoke
1/4 cup sugar
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice (about one small lemon)
2 teaspoons garlic powder
1 teaspoon thyme
1 teaspoon sage
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 teaspoon finely ground powder espresso or instant coffee.
1/2 teaspoon ground cayenne pepper
2 tablespoons dried onion, minced
3 teaspoons chili powder (I use 1 tsp regular chili, 1 tbs ancho, 1 tsp chipotle)
1 teaspoon paprika
1 teaspoon parsley
1 teaspoon seasoning salt (I use a smokehouse rub)
Put in pot. Simmer for half an hour. Add more sugar to balance the spice if needed. Pour down your brisket hole.
Misty made baklava for the first time a week ago. To soak the baklava, she made a simple syrup from sugar, cinnamon, lemon peel, and cloves. We had a few extra cups of this syrup left and decided it might be good to save in the fridge to try in a whiskey cocktail.
Fast forward a week later.
Here is what I came up with: (makes two drinks)
2 oz bonded rye
1/2 oz simple syrup (ours was infused with cinnamon, lemon, and cloves)
2 dashes Peychauds bitters
1/2 oz Solerno blood orange liqueur
lemon twist garnish
Add all ingredients to a mixing glass with ice.
Stir until chilled. (Don’t shake. You’re not animals)
Strain into a chilled lowball glass.
Express lemon twist over the surface of the cocktail to release lemon oil.
1 cup Italian bread crumbs. (For Assyrian, use 1 cup cooked rice instead)
1 small onion, minced. (I use a food processor)
½ cup finely grated Parmesan cheese. (For Assyrian, either omit or use feta cheese)
½ cup chopped fresh basil leaves
½ cup chopped fresh Italian parsley leaves. (For Assyrian, use cilantro instead)
1 tablespoon tomato paste. (For Assyrian, this is optional)
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 pound ground beef
1 pound ground pork. (For Assyrian, try ground lamb instead of pork. Or a combination of beef, pork, lamb)
Extra-virgin olive oil, for drizzling
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.
In a large bowl, mix all the ingredients and knead until thoroughly combined.
Roll into 1-2 inch balls and place on foil-covered baking sheet. Drizzle each meatball with olive oil and bake for 20 minutes or until cooked through. I check with a thermometer until the internal temperature of the meatballs reach 165°F.
Fill a cocktail shaker halfway with ice and add the gin, elderflower liqueur, simple syrup, Peychaud’s, and lemon juice. Shake for 20 to 30 seconds. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass, garnish with the lemon twist, and serve.
Makes two cocktails.
4 oz of good gin (we like St. George).
4 oz Champagne or dry sparkling wine (Mini bottles of Lamarca Prosecco are inexpensive and great for cocktails).
1 oz St. Germain.
1 oz simple syrup.
1 oz fresh squeezed lemon juice (about half a lemon).
Fill a cocktail shaker halfway with ice. Add gin, St. Germain, simple syrup and lemon juice. Shake well and strain equally into two Champagne glasses. Top with The Bubbly and garnish with a hunk of fresh lemon peel. Pour into face post haste. Get drunk. Pee pants.
3 ounces good Gin
1 ounce Green Chartreuse
1 ounce Absinthe
1 ounce mint-infused simple syrup
1 ounce Fresh Lime juice
splash of club soda
Squished lime for garnish
Mix gin, Chartreuse, Absinthe, syrup, and lime juice in a cocktail shaker with ice. Shake well and pour into tall glass with fresh ice and lime garnish. Top with club soda. Drink five. Pass out. Pee yourself.
This is my recipe for caesar salad.
3 garlic cloves, minced
2 teaspoons anchovy paste (sold in tubes at the store)
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
Juice from one lemon (about 2 tablespoons)
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
1 teaspoon balsamic vinegar
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard. Real dijon, not that Grey Poop-On junk.
2 egg yolks (pasteurized egg recommended) OR 1 tablespoon premium mayonnaise if you must.
3/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil.
1/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese or Romano cheese. Buy a real block of cheese. Not that canned shit.
Chopped romaine lettuce. (This recipe should cover two heads or 40oz of chopped romain. Arugula, spinach, kale are great too. Go crazy)
OPTIONAL – Pinch of hot red pepper flakes. Caesar salad with a a kick chili heat is amazing, but it’s not for everyone.
Mash garlic, anchovy paste, salt, and pepper into a fine goop. I use a mortar and pestle. In a mixing bowl, food processor, or cup, add the lemon juice, dijon mustard, Worcestershire sauce, mayo, parmesean, and mix into the fine goop you just mashed. If using a bowl, slowly drizzle in the olive oil last while whisking the mixture vigouously.
Authentic caesar needs egg. You can punch up dressing by using one egg plus one egg yolk for a bigger flavor. I pasteurize my own eggs at home, but you can buy them pasteurized from many stores. Use raw eggs at your own risk. Otherwise, mayo is an OK substitute for egg, since mayo is eggs and oil. It works well, it’s more convienent, and has less salmonella. I find that one tablespoon of mayo is about right for me. Any more than that and the mayo flavor will take over. Use Hellmen’s/Best Foods ore better. If you use cheap mayo you will destroy the dressing, in my opinion. If you use Miracle Whip… Kill yourself.