A while back I really wanted to make up some waffles, but realized I didn’t have any milk. After a little bit of googling, I found some recipes for beer waffles. I scratched my head for a few minutes and decided that, wow, that sounds kind of amazing. I made them up and am definitely sold on beer waffles; I even like them more than with milk :]
by Laurelin
I always thought that my job in the service industry was a sign of failure. All the people I know from high school and college and well, life, are all married with kids, working these 9-5 salary jobs with benefits and things like pinstripe pantsuits and heels. Not me. I pay for my benefits through the state, I sleep past 11 AM almost every day, I don’t go into work until the sun goes down and I wear jeans, a black shirt and filthy sneakers every day. Bartending is MY full time job, but honestly, sometimes I just feel plain lazy.
However, as the economy failed and I watched every job but my own go down the tubes I felt pleased; my “career” was flourishing and there was no chance that people would ever stop drinking. I started feeling lucky — in the world of liquor, people drink when they’re happy and they drink when they’re sad. No matter what the occasion, people drink. Bartending means serious job security.
However, things change in a heartbeat. A bar is run just like any other company, and when things go sour internally the company is bound to crash and burn. I have been in the unfortunate position to have front row seats to the epic demise of my bar. It’s going down, and I can honestly say that the staff doesn’t even care to fight for it. Pour on the gasoline and take a picture, because garbage burns fast, and it stinks.
by Blogbot
As the LA Weekly’s Nightranger nightlife columnist, Lina Lecaro has clocked up more hours than most in the metropolis’ liquor-soaked lounges. Having an affinity for spots that keep it dingy and real, Lina has condensed the knowledge she’s amassed as a by product of her “day job” into a handy little guide to getting sauced in the city entitled Los Angeles’s Best Dive Bars – Drinking & Diving In the City Angels. In the excerpt below, Lina selects six of her favorite drinking spots that combine well-worn comfort with a rockin’ attitude, and just the right amount sleaze.
by Laurelin
Four Loko is pouring college kids into bed all over the nation. An alcoholic beverage boasting caffeine, guarana, and taurine as well as carrying 12% alcohol is more appealing then a vat of fraternity jungle juice. Who doesn’t love booze and energy in a 23.5 ounce colorful can? It just screams “drink me” – and it has the FDA screaming right back. Considered a public health concern, the Four Loko ban started in October 2010 on select college campuses all over the United States, and now the substance is well on its way to being illegal nationwide. As a result, the creators and brewers of Four Loko have agreed to pull three out of the four ingredients out of their beverage, waving goodbye to the caffeine, guarana and taurine as of November 17, 2010.
Being from Boston, Massachusetts and pretty much living under a rock when it comes to national news and issues, I had no idea that Four Loko even existed until it was already illegal. It would have been in my fridge a hell of a lot more if I had. The day before it became illegal had the city bustling with excitement and everyone making that mad dash to liquor stores before it was all gone. On my way to work at 11:30 AM I was already noticing liquor stores with signs in the window stating “Four Loko: Sold Out.”
by Jason K
Soon the cold wind of winter will usher in the holiday season. That means Turkey dinners, stuffing, cranberry sauce shaped like a can, and Santa squeezing his fat ass down your chimney. The change of weather beckons, and a change in thirst follows. Out with the weizens, summer ales, and heat quenching brews. In with the thick, hearty ales of winter; beers so satisfying they often are best served alone so as not to compete with a meal. These are best known as Winter Warmers.
Linkin Park. George W getting two terms. Surprise diarrhea. Justin Bieber haircuts. That stuff that forms at the edge of your lips when you’re really thirsty. Getting rid of the bodies. The smell of cat shit. The lack of new Quantum Leap episodes. Bleeding from my urethra. Other people’s farts. Low sodium soy sauce. The current trend of replacing “s” with “z” in fucking everything. Douchebagz who intentionally leave stickerz on their hatz. That guy who fucked me over on that sack I fronted him in 2000. Paper cuts. Wacky morning DJ’s. People who frown upon bad fucking words. Turkey bacon. That big mole on my back that most likely is cancerous. White guys with cornrows. These are all things I hate with a goddamn passion. Not quite “back a truck into a Luby’s Cafeteria and shoot everybody with a deer rifle” caliber homicidal irritation, but pretty close. Only two things are worse to me; Clamato and Budweiser. And now they’ve put them together and called it Chelada.
