Category: Thirsty

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Happy Holidays!

No end of year wraps ups or “best of” lists here, just wishes for a happy new year to everyone and thanks for visiting Thirsty South.

Oh, and one lesson from the past week spent on vacation… when stuck in a foreign climate and deciding on what to drink, seek out the sweet spot that sits between your tastes, what the locals are drinking, and what you don’t often find at home. I was in South America (now we’re REALLY talking Thirsty South, just south of the equator actually) and sampled a boatload of Chilean wines, most of which frankly sucked (the exception was a sparkling wine from Concho Y Toro) . Foolishly, I tried to order a Negroni (horrible, how is that possible???) and a Manhattan (just as bad, what??), but ended up coming back time and time again to some good mojitos made with Havana Club rum (the kind not available in the United States). Hard to go wrong with that. Cheers, everyone!

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The Best Miller High Life I’ve Ever Had

First off, I must admit, I detest most mass produced American beer. I’d rather go thirsty than drink a Budweiser or Miller Lite. But sometimes, the forces of the universe come together in a way that can make even a crappy bottle of beer taste like liquid gold from heaven. On this particular night, in this particular place, my bottle of Miller High Life rivaled the finest champagne. What!? How? Why? The reasons are many. But let me set the scene…

The place – Earnestine & Hazel’s Bar in Memphis, Tennessee. It was HOT out, and hot in the bar, as well. Memphis heat in the summertime somehow feels exponentially hotter than it should due to some insane screwup in the Lord’s system for maintaining a proper humidity level in the atmosphere. Sweat is a constant companion. All attempts to escape it are futile. Earnestine & Hazel’s probably has some form of air conditioning, I’m not sure. I do know that the warren of decrepit rooms upstairs is kept company by a single floor fan in the hallway, a floor fan that feels great if you’re one foot away from it, but is maddeningly ineffective at any other distance. Does it sound like a crappy place to be? It’s not. It’s a run down mess of an amazing place, seeped in soul, awash in memories, sweating out years of alcohol and dancing and music and ghosts and sex (Disclaimer: the building is a former brothel, no sex took place at the establishment on this particular night, at least none that I’m aware of).

This particular night was a Sunday night, which is jazz night at Earnestine & Hazel’s. The scene is straight out of a Treme episode (if Treme were set in Memphis rather than New Orleans), musicians hanging out loosely at the bar and at tables around the small area set aside for the band, alternately drinking beers and standing up for effortlessly enthusiastic solos. The band was on, coming together in waves, improvising, coming back to the melody, darting off again. They added to the heat in the air, the sticky humidity.

So we’ve got a hot Memphis night, a hot old dive of a bar, a hot jazz jam, and… oh, yeah, the main accompaniment to that Miller High Life – a hot “Soul Burger.” There is no menu at Earnestine & Hazel’s, unless you consider that taped-on sign above the flat top grill to be a menu. The Soul Burger does indeed have soul, thin patties pounded down, chopped onions and pickles, mustard, a crisped bun, all crunched together into a moment of burger righteousness. So now the setting is complete. Hot night in Memphis, hot dive bar, hot music, hot burger – the conditions are right to elevate just about any beer to savior-status. While Earnestine & Hazel’s is light on air conditioning, their beer fridge works very, very well. So this particular beer, an ice cold Miller High Life, “the champagne of beers” (of course!), was given every benefit in life, every opportunity to make his momma proud, and he delivered. This was the Miller High Life to beat all Miller High Lifes. Liquid gold from heaven, with a side of soul.

(Speaking of soul, check out my post on seeking soul in the Memphis dining scene, over at Creative Loafing’s Omnivore blog)

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What the heck is water ice?

Water and ice are two things that go very well with drinking in the South. Water to keep you hydrated, to bring out the flavor in a particularly strong bourbon or whiskey, to create… well… ice. And ice to cool things down, from sweet tea to cocktails to a bottle of wine to a bucket of beer. The term “water ice” sounds so absurd, so idiotic, that it must be either a mean trick created by Northerners or one of the many expressions for snow used by the Eskimo. Well, it turns out that it WAS created by Northerners, but it’s no mean trick. The origins of the term are murky, but it seems to be centered around Philadelphia, where the term “water ice” is basically another name for “Italian ice.”

Rita’s, which started in Bensalem, Pennsylvania, over twenty five years ago, used to be called Rita’s Water Ice. They now use the more generic “Italian ice” description, or simply “ice,” for what they make, as they roll out franchises across the South (including 12! locations in Georgia) and come across folks like me who are likely to think they’re nuts for calling something “water ice.”

In Memphis recently, I came across a water ice truck, an offshoot of a retail shop there called Parker’s Water Ice. I actually like the fact that they still call it “water ice” – and are willing to risk confused faces and angry Southern stares. Their water ice was great, as was their “gelati” – a term which Rita’s and Parker’s use to refer to a combo of soft serve ice cream (or custard) and water ice. Confused yet? Good.

No matter what you call it, water ice is delicious (if made well, with good ingredients, as both Rita’s and Parker’s do). And it should catch on in the South like sweet tea has all over the rest of the country – like wildfire.

A pineapple and cherry gelati at Parker's Water Ice truck
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Thirsty Scenes from the Atlanta Food and Wine Festival

The inaugural Atlanta Food and Wine Festival has been so expansive, so broad ranging, so diverse, that to even attempt to capture the totality of this festival in photos, words, video, memories is an overwhelming challenge. There has been an overflow of bourbon, cocktails, wine and beer, mostly with a focus on the very best of what the South has to offer. There has been a multitude of bites of food, whole hog goodness, pickled veggies, comfort food and creative craziness. Above all, there have been lots of fine folks who care passionately about the food and drink of the South. That was the reason for the festival.

My friend Broderick at SavoryExposure.com captured some of the amazing faces of the festival. I tended to focus on the bottles, glasses, and plates, so here, in some small way, is a very minor taste of the Atlanta Food and Wine Festival through the lens of my camera.

First up, the ridiculous bounty of fine things to drink. Our favorite bourbon – Pappy Van Winkle – was well represented. There was an amazing array of Madeira dating back to 1875 that simply blew my mind. “Moonshine” in many varieties made an appearance. And some Corsair experimental “cocoa hull bourbon” knocked my socks off.

Food “trucks” had their own dedicated area. Gotta love the old Airstream trailers. And the “legalize it” message takes on new meaning when it comes to the street food scene.

The stars inside the seminars included Kevin Gillespie (photo below: “Kevin Gillespie in 3 Variations”), Sean Brock, Linton Hopkins, Tyler Brown, and a poor little piggie.

And the tastes. Oh, the tastes. A few favorites hailed from the whole hog tent, but you can’t have a Southern food festival without pimento cheese and pickled eggs. Good stuff, y’all!

After all that, we’re already eager for what they can do with a second annual Atlanta Food and Wine Festival next year. Though first I need to recuperate from the past few days of over-abundant Southern goodness. While it was worth it, I think I need a vacation…