While at Green’s picking up Creme de Violette, I also scored a bottle of apricot brandy. This find allowed me to mix up the Golden Dawn, another drink from Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails. The Golden Dawn is a rather strange drink - instead of being composed of a base spirit, liqueur, and a bitter element (e.g. lemon juice or bitters), it includes two different brandies along with Cointreau*, gin and orange juice. The first brandy is Calvados, an eau-de-vie made from apples. Second is apricot brandy**.

The first taste is oranges mixed with apricots. In the middle comes a hint of apple from the Calvados. The aftertaste is ripe with the herbal flavor imparted by botanicals in the gin.

Overall, I found the Golden Dawn too sweet. I also dislike how the Calvados is buried under the other ingredients - this expensive brandy is better used in a drink that allows it to shine, like an Apple Cart. However, the Golden Dawn is by no means a bad concoction and I would serve it to guests who like their cocktails less savory.

notes:

* Don’t even think about using generic triple sec, it will make this drink cloyingly sweet.
** Not apricot flavored brandy. Spend the money on the good stuff, I used Rothman & Winter Orchard Apricot. Hint - if the bottle says eau-de-vie, it’s probably the good shit.

While looking for a drink to make that resulted in me trying The Communist, I came across several recipes that required an obscure liqueur not in my collection - Creme de Violette. After some searching on the internet, I discovered a local Atlanta liquor store might carry it. So I set off to get me some.

While roaming the internet searching for Creme de Violette, I noticed there was more dispute over the Aviation recipe than I had previously known. Several Aviation recipes called for Creme de Violette. The modern Aviation, as described in Cocktail: The Drinks Bible for the 21st Century, is a pretty fucking good drink. Add Creme de Violette, long gone from these shores, but now available in Atlanta at Green’s*, and, well, I said GODDAMN! Creme de Violette adds enough complexity to elevate the modern Aviation to the stratosphere. The tres dope and unique blue color adds to the ambiance of the drink. Goes well with Envie.

notes

* I almost missed it, as it is not on the front shelf with the premium shit - I found it hiding on the opposite side by the cheap liqueurs.

I had a shit ton of lemons left over from doing a few practice rounds with The Photographer prior to heading to Star. So I thumbed through my copy of Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails, a generous Christmas present from Homecracka Ed G, looking for something involving lemons. I came across the recipe for The Communist, which also required gin and since I love gin like Rick James loves Mary Jane, this was a cocktail begging to be tried.

The flavor of The Communist is very crisp and citrus. I especially enjoy the delightfully bitter finish, which saves this drink from being a sweet shooter favored by amateur drinkers. While The Communist is delicious in its own right, the drink is somewhat similar to the Singapore Sling.

Ingredients of The Communist include: gin, cherry brandy, lemon juice, and orange juice. Since I was fresh out of cherry brandy, I substituted Cherry Heering - the internet is inconclusive on whether this liqueur is cherry brandy or not. For the gin component, I used Tanqueray No. Ten, a strongly flavored gin that stands up to the fruit explosion of the other ingredients.

A few nights ago, recurring Propeller Skies character The Photographer and I ate at Star, located in Ghettoberry Hood. When we arrived, the bartender was busy, but he quickly acknowledged us and stated he would be right with us. That pissed me off, I was looking forward to carping about poor service. Unfortunately for my love of whinging, the service at Star was spectacular the entire evening.

a brief history lesson

Star is a blues joint and restaurant in the space formerly occupied by the overpriced and underwhelming Studio Grille. A few months after the Studio Grille condignly went out of business, Star opened. Star is a marked improvement over the prior tenant.

a dry gin martini with a twist

Unlike the usual Atlanta bartenders, the bartender looked like he might have some experience and be capable of mixing a decent drink. I asked for a dry Sapphire Martini with a twist. The bartender reported Star had no Bombay* Sapphire. Fucking finally, something to complain about. I specified Tanqueray instead. The bartender properly chilled a glass with ice and water and mixed my drink.

The Martini was excellent and contained the proper amount of vermouth. This is not always the case, as Atlanta is a trendy sort of town and a substantial percentage of bartenders here think dry Martini actually means Naked Martini. Because the Martini was Smoove as hell, I ordered another.

the food

I ordered Jumbo Shrimp Alfredo and a side of Italian Macaroni and Cheese. As for the macaroni and cheese, I have no idea what the fuck made it Italian, as opposed to regular ass, macaroni and cheese, since it tasted like perfectly normal macaroni and cheese. Besides, is not macaroni and cheese inherently of Italian descent? Despite the odd nomenclature, the biggest issue with the dish was The Photographer kept bogarting my macaroni and cheese. The Italian Macaroni and Cheese was delicious.

The entree I consumed, Jumbo Shrimp Alfredo, was also mighty tasty. The shrimp was nicely grilled, the pasta was cooked perfectly, and the sauce was appropriately creamy. There were a few guerrilla vegetables staging an uprising in the dish, but they were minimal and did not detract from my enjoyment of it. Star is highly recommended for both food and drinks.

ambiance

This section is completely pointless, as shit food tastes asstastic no matter how nice the decor is or what bourgeoisie architecture studio designed the turd station. However, it is included because all high falutin’ august publications such as the Atlanta Urinal Constipation**, go on about ambiance, so I will too. In contrast to the previously disparaged Studio Grille, the ambiance of Star is top notch.

notes:

* In following the dumbass trend of referring to colonial cities by their native names, I suppose this should be renamed Mumbai Sapphire. However, I refuse to participate in this stupidity.
** Alert Prizzo Skeezy readers will recall the aformentioned bastion of journalistic excellence managed to completely miss not one, but two coffee shops on their trip to Castleberry Hill to review Star.

Fortuitously, I managed to unload the Jeep of Doom™ at just the right time. Way back then, gasoline was selling for the unheard of price of $2.50 per gallon. Since I traded it in for an Acura RSX Type-S, the price of fuel has increased exponentially.

As background for Propeller Skies readers who are not familiar with the city I live in, Atlanta has a bit of a traffic problem. This is exacerbated by Georgia DOT and the goddamn City of Atlanta closing half the bridges inside the perimeter and rerouting traffic onto roads that were already congested.

As much as I hate paying over four dollars a gallon for premium gasoline, one benefit I was expecting from expensive fuel was the removal of poor people from the highways. Even though it is impossible to swing a dead chicken anywhere in Atlanta without hitting twenty seven luxury cars, removing the economically challenged segment of society should still result in a substantial decrease in congestion. Unfortunately, poor people can still afford gasoline at $4.00 per gallon. Therefore, I will be supporting a preemptive war on Iran and voting for John McCain. Certainly $20.00 a gallon gas will get them off the road and the fuck out of my way.

In contrast to Quentin Tarantino’s hopelessly shitty Deathproof, Robert Rodrigeuz’s contribution to Grindhouse, Planet Terror, kicked more ass than Jean Claude. Where Deathproof featured hours of boring dialog between women, Planet Terror was ninety-five minutes of non-stop action.

Besides plenty of action, Planet Terror also included zombies, a prosthetic leg that doubles as a machine gun, bad acting by Quentin Tarantino, and multiple shots of Rose McGowan’s heaving bosom. The only thing missing from this film is a midget.

Planet Terror is recommended. We here at Propeller Skies highly recommend skipping the terrible companion piece Deathproof.

Deathproof is the stupidest fucking movie in the entire damn world. A more accurate title would be Watchproof, as it is nothing more than a motherfucking Lifetime original movie with better looking actresses.

While Quentin Tarantino started off strong with Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction, later movies, especially this piece of shit, exposed him as a no talent having hack. This is unfortunate, as I rather enjoyed the two aforementioned films.

The plot of Deathproof consists mainly of women sitting around talking to each other. Thirty-three minutes into the movie, exactly no ultra-violence has occurred. We decide to fast forward to see if that helps. At forty-four minutes into the movie, something might have happened, but the two cats allowing us to watch the movie in their apartment were more violent and interesting, so I was not paying any attention. Also, no tits had been shown yet. Seriously, what is the point of having a bunch of hot actresses in a movie if no boobs will be making appearances?

In an effort to increase the positivity around here, I have compiled the following list of things that would improve this movie:

• Copious amounts of gratuitous titty shots;
• Non-stop ultraviolence;
• A nefarious army of midgets wielding chainsaws that carve people into vertical slices; and
• A cameo by choo-choo bear.

While the improvements listed above might upgrade the movie to watchable, even zombie ninjas could not make it as good as Mr. Tarantino’s earlier work. I was looking forward to seeing the movie, however Deathproof was a huge disappointment and is not recommended. Except as an interrogation tool.

This concert review is a trick. Since I am not a Sean Costello fan*, I did not pay attention. The first part of this review covers the venue and the second installment is about the bothersome fuckers that mill about the dump. In the third part, I finally get around to briefly describing the concert.

I found myself at Northside Tavern, along with recurring Propeller Skies characters The Beaver and Hunt Diddy because one of them is a huge fan of Mr. Costello. Two other non-recurring characters named Vidya and Skinny White Boy were also in attendance.

northside tavern review

Northside Tavern is the most irritating bar in Atlanta. Northside Tavern is a dive with all of the annoyances and none of the benefits. When paying exorbitant prices for beer, I like to have a little bit of motherfucking ambiance to go along with it. Some decent scenery would be nice, too. Northside offers neither, but still charges five dollars a brew. Finally, Northside Tavern is always crowded, making the experience even more unpleasant and getting an overpriced beer is a pain in the ass.

the cocksucking customers

I hate the assholes that hang out at Northside Tavern so much, they get their own goddamn section. Northside Tavern has an abundance of sad perverted drunken older gentlemen who loutishly mack on anyone with a vagina. This causes all remotely attractive women to run screaming from Northside Tavern.

A bitch ass punk I will call Biodiesel is an excellent example of the type of sorry pervert running loose in Northside Tavern. While standing at the bar trying to drink my overpriced beer and get jostled by every fucking person in the place, some drunk ass old geezer wearing a hat emblazoned with “Biodiesel” started hitting on Vidya. This was totally cool with me, I figured Skinny White Boy, Vidya’s boyfriend, would grow a set of balls, whip out a switchblade and cut Biodiesel eventually.

After being bumped twice by Biodiesel I ran out of patience. Unfortunately, I was not drunk enough to knock his fucking teeth down his throat like he damn well deserved. So I distracted him by yelling, “Hey! Look, there’s Willie Nelson,” and gave him a shove. Maryland farmer had no idea what happened. It was pretty comical watching him look around in a daze and wander off to hit on some cougar. But knocking some douchebag’s teeth out is definitely on my bucket list.

sean costello

Had I known it was the last show I would ever see him play, I might have paid more attention. However, I am happy to report there were guitars, drums, bass, and singing.

notes:

* Just because he keeled over at the Cheshire Motor Inn does not mean I am going to start spouting off about what a great blues musician he was. Although it does increase his blues cred 300 percent.
** C0mm3nts are now working again.

The following video pretty much sums up why I would rather drive my Acura than ride MARTA - even if gas goes to $20.00 per gallon. Right now, Governor Perdue is considering legislation that will allow persons with concealed weapons permits to carry guns on MARTA. I think this is a fantastic idea. Please contact Governor Perdue or call 404-656-1776 to let him know that you do too. Together, we can make MARTA safer for everyone.

p.s. Due to overwhelming levels of spam, the posting of comments has been disabled. Possibly permanently. For the two people this affects, we here at the Prizzo Skeezy apologize profusely.

After a slight detour because of my mad directional skills, The Shih Tzu, Hunt Dizzle, and I ate dinner at Bhojanic in Decatur. Upon entering Bhojanic, I was surprised and disappointed at the massive number of white people. As we know from reading Stuff White People Like, being the only white person around is critical to enjoyment of ethnic food. Even the Bhojanic staff was white.

Because the slogan “Warning, Food Has Flavor” was emblazoned on the staff shirts, I assumed the opposite was true. Especially since there was a limited amount of actual Indians in the restaurant. I was shocked to discover the food had plenty of taste.

I consumed tilapia curry, because I am lazy - the lamb curry was served bone in. I considered ordering one of the Thalis, but they include vegetables, which I am opposed to. Vegetables are for hippies. The curry was mighty tasty. I suppose it could have used more heat, but I consider jalapeños decorative.

Hunt Dizzle attempted to order the lamb curry, but Bhojanic was fresh out. So he requested the goat curry instead. All I have to say about that is: do not eat the goat. The goat is an angry creature and has ways of exacting revenge.

Despite its popularity amongst the whites, Bhojanic is mighty tasty and recommended. Hunt Dizzle gives Bhojanic a rating of three out of three scented candles.