If my occasional references to pigging out on Oberweis or my desire for an ice cream maker weren’t clues, I’ll spell it out: I’m, uh, rather enthusiastic about ice cream. And within that realm, I am incredibly enthusiastic about milkshakes. I imagine one of the reasons I’ve got such a soft belly right now is because of all those burgers and shakes I devoured in high school.

So when a couple college friends introduced me to the concept of an alcoholic milkshake, I was thrilled. Two great tastes that taste great together!

The drink: The Grasshopper.

The booze: Creme de Menthe. And possibly chocolate liqueur, if you’ve ever wanted a mint chocolate chip milkshake that’ll get ya crunked.

My friend’s description: “It tastes like Christmas!”

Use bargain-store tipple and ice cream like we did and you’ll get a boozy Shamrock Shake; use top-shelf stuff and some Haagen-Dazs and you’ll get a frozen cocktail better than anything the fanciest restaurant will sell you.

Sure, they don’t exactly pack a punch, and you can’t really drink multiple rounds. But these are outstanding dessert drinks, and everyone should give ‘em a try before it gets too cold to justify enjoying a big, frosty glass of blended ice cream.

Have a good weekend, everybody!

-Jim will be 24 when he returns!

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Okay, I can defend my love of cider, and I can defend my get-ya-drunk fruity drinks, but this…this…

I’m gonna drink a German Chocolate Martini this weekend, and I am ashamed. I think I have to re-apply for my masculinity. Fortunately, I keep an extra license under the bed.

Why haven’t I tried it yet? Well, to be honest, the liquor cabinet at Casa del Jim isn’t too well-stocked in the best of times, and with other things occupying my attention this week I didn’t have time to hit the store and pick up any new and interesting booze. But I promise next week I’ll recommend a drink I know I love, rather than one I think I’ll love.

Have a good weekend, everybody!

-Jim was busy BUYING A NEW CAR, YOU GUYS

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Tomorrow night, something wonderful is going to happen.

I’m going to a magical place, full of men in strange hats and indoor streams. Pretty ladies sing to you in foreign tongues, and they cook your food right on the table. Then you eat it–with sticks!

Thassright, my peoples, tomorrow night I’m going to the happiest place on earth: Disneyland Ron of Japan! As a precursor to the drunken revelry that’s sure to occur as I watch the Bears beat the football pants off the Chiefs at Soldier Field this Sunday, we’re having some more drunken revelry the night before at everyone’s favorite greasy, unhealthy, absolutely delicious teppanyaki restaurant. And while there, we’ll be sure to imbibe at least a few Super Mai Tais.

These things are delectable–and they are dangerous. I’ve tried to approximate the amount of alcohol used by Ron’s bartender in the recipe, but I’ll grill them for more exact measurements tomorrow. Suffice to say: you only need one or two to have a good night, and as a bonus, the doubled ingredients really intensify the flavor.

Have a good weekend!

-Jim reminds you all to always drink responsibly.

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Ugh.

I won’t try to claim I’ve never drank ’til I couldn’t feel feelings anymore. I’m pretty sure doing so at least once is a requirement in college. But right now, a depressant that makes you prone to emotional outbursts doesn’t sound like the hottest idea in town.

If I were drinking, I would go find a pub that sold Hardcore Cider–a lovely hard cider brand (produced by the guys behind Samuel Adams but apparently unavailable in stores) that, for once, is sweet and crisp without tasting like an Alcopop. What is it about the few mass-produced ciders? After trying some microbrewed dry ciders and perrys I can hardly tolerate things like, guh, Hornsby’s. Tastes like somebody poured in an extra bag of sugar; no wonder the British think cider is for curious teenagers.

Go out and have a pint of the good stuff for me, folks. I’ll be nursing a pint of ice cream and wondering, as people often do, if I made a huge mistake.

-Jim will be more cheerful on Monday, especially if he gets to eat more of these

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Vegas has changed since I was there last, man. I don’t know if I can go back again, everything is so…commercialized now. It’s like they don’t even care how much fun you have, they just want you to spend money.

Seriously, though, I only have three regrets from the weekend:

1) I didn’t bet higher during the best craps games of my entire life. Game one was spent adoring our shooter, a stone-faced Latino who hit point after point while I gleefully stacked up chip after chip. Game two had me as shooter–my favorite cocktail in one hand, dice in the other–nailing the point time and time again. At the height of my run I had money down on virtually every number on the table. When I finally rolled a 7 and ended it all, I was still up a couple hundred dollars.

2) I didn’t stop playing once I sevened out and lost a hundred dollars.

3) I left my plastic Eiffel Tower cup from the Paris in the cab on the way to the airport. A cup like that has sentimental value! At least, I’m fairly sure it does; the details of the evening in which I acquired it get kind of hazy around the tenth pint of Bulmer’s.

I know you all assume that the highlight of my trip was the craps game–or possibly the booze–but there’s a culinary revelation or two lurking in the wings here. One I’ll save for Friday, but one I’ll tell you right now:

Have you guys heard of “hanger steak”? I sampled this amazing cut of meat at the Mon Ami Gabi (yes, I went to the cheap steakhouse when my hotel had a Keller restaurant in it, no, I’m not made of money) and let me tell you, I’ll be keeping a sharp eye for the “butcher’s cut” in grocery stores from now on.

I’ve always been more interested in flavor than texture; it’s why I loved elk steaks so much out in Utah, and why I think “gamey” is a good thing. But this steak, when cooked properly, manages to combine amazing flavor with just the right amount of tenderness. I had it with some rich garlic butter and delightfully thin fries, sipping a fine red and watching Vegas go by through Gabi’s huge windows; that and a trip to the Nine Fine Irishmen pub were the perfect end to an outstanding weekend.

A note for fellow travelers, though: don’t sleepily pay a $50 upgrade fee to get into first class on a flight from Vegas to Phoenix. It’ll be the least satisfying forty minutes of your life.*

-Jim thinks people who bet on Don’t Pass are jerks

*Seriously. They don’t even have champagne.

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Since I didn’t even bother announcing my California trip, I’ll make sure to tell you guys this time: I’m heading off again. Quite the jet-setting blogger, aren’t I? I’ll be spending the rest of the week in The Venetian in sunny Las Vegas, hopefully coming back with my weight in poker chips and a year’s worth of Weekly Libations.

Wish me luck!

-Jim thinks this is so awesome

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