B is for Booze

B, mi amici, e per Booze.

Editor’s Note

This is my least coherent entry yet (and hopefully ever), this is due to the very nature of the subject and it might not be the most informative, amusing of worthwhile entry I have made, but being the artist of integrity I am I feel that deleting the words that were written whilst under the influence would just be selling-out.



Now seems as good a time as any to attack this subject. The reason for this is that right now I am still half-cut from the biggest binge that I have managed whilst being here, unintentionally of course. Greg, if you read this one, this is about two hours after that answerphone message where my colleague Becky grabbed the phone away from me. Harrumph. This bender was one that I think even my good friend Sam Leigh would have struggled with, I can’t work out whether I’m incredibly ashamed of myself (a bit), or exceptionally proud that I’m still standing. Actually, I’m sitting down to write this, but y’know, poetic license and all…

So, before describing the wonders of booze in this godforsaken country, I will attempt to relay last night. The problem is that I went out to Prima Fila, a trendy bar full of rich idiots, in the wrong mood - I was angry, going out with colleagues isn’t that much fun sometimes because you just end up talking about work and this weekend, as it turns out, is a public holiday for Italy. So, the bars are rammed, the drinks prices are ridiculous and people are so far up their own arses all they can smell is poop. Not the right atmosphere to go drinking in, so I was very sensible and didn’t really, that is until Gasoline.

I truly love Gasoline, I shouldn’t, it’s worse than the Grove, it’s worse than the Carleton, it’s a very, very bad place. That is, however, its charm. It is an American road bar. Balls to it, I will write up properly when less drunk.

Last night the booze list included Jack & Coke, Sambucca, Tequila, Grappa (egadzooks, you idiot), Spritz, John Smiths and probably some Monkey Ass as well (I wouldn’t have known). In the name of research and in the interests of entertaining you I did this, I demand appreciation for it. I am in pain, in fact I am probably dead right now, embalmed. I got in at 7 this morning, after myself and my new good friend Ed got kicked out of the bars that were closing and taking my bottle of Jim Beam and finishing it on the beach. If you’re going to get drunk this is the way to do it my friends, very little will beat the Italian Aurora. La vita e bellissimo. Si.

Apologies for this being such a rambling and poorly organized entry, however I think the reason for this is quite self-evident. If I couldn’t’ touch type I wouldn’t be able to do this, its slightly worrying that I can type better than I can talk at the moment.

Right, I’m going to have a shower and go to work. I will write the rest up later. Hai spasso mi amici…

a good eight hours later
A second attempt. I have been to the office, I have fixed my bike and I have had a lot of water and a bowl of Special K. That’s because I’m awesome.

Allora, it’s a sad truth, however English people are known for drinking. One of my hoteliers said to me ‘Germans talk about how much they drink, Italians don’t drink that much whilst English people don’t talk about it because they are passed out…’. Far too accurate.

Oh God, it still hurts. Right, I’m going to do this when I have the ability and willpower.

two or three weeks later

Ok boys and girls, I’m back. Now the good news is that I’m not drunk or even recovering from an alcoholic evening so I will hopefully make some sense, furthermore I might even educate you a little. For those of you who know my alcoholic past I would first of all like to say please don’t worry, everything is under control - whilst I’m partying hard every now and then I am working exceptionally hard - and there have only been two nights of extreme inebriation. I haven’t actually been drunk for a couple of weeks, although that has been to ill-health and a shortage of funds, but point being it shows that I’m a good person or something. Ok, enough self-justification…

Now the question that I can hear all of you lovely regazzi (young people, Italian slang) asking is “What is there to drink in Italy, Chris, oh you cultural explorer you?”. Well, as I take off my pith helmet, my dear friends, I will let you know.

Across all of Italy wine is a religion and I will not lie, I do occasionally find myself worshipping at its altar. Bizarrely enough you don’t get bread at the blessing, but…ok, too weird an analogy. Apologies if some of this is a repeat of my write up of the Strada del Vino trip, however the thing with this A-Z malarkey is that there will occasionally be areas of crossover and the senile old drunk that I am I sometimes forget what I have written up before the senile old drunk that I am I sometimes forget what I have written up before (har har). Within hours of arriving in Jesolo I tried the local white wine, a cheeky little number called “Prosecco”, ‘secco’ being Italian for ‘dry’, so you can guess what kind of white it is. It is also sparkling and as a result it is often called the Italian champagne, however in my humble opinion it is far better and much easier to drink, although as a result can end up in a slight state of confusion. Very much like champagne the more you pay the better quality you get - in some of the bars/hotels here the Prosecco they serve is probably sold in high quantity to interior decorators who need to do some paint-stripping than to drinking establishments.

Now there are two local reds, one is merlot which is exceptionally common as a table wine, it is easy to drink and darned cheap too (remember, the cantina’s with their petrol pumps - only 80c a litre), whilst the tasty local red is called Raboso. Of critical importance is rolling the ‘r’ when saying Raboso, it makes it sound more exotic - either way it is a great wine, I think ‘potent’ is the best word to describe it, but it is exceptionally good with a good meaty meal, especially steak. Mmmmm….steak. The other wine I will mention, only briefly, as the whole evening will get more of a mention in ‘F for Food’ (d’oh, given a letter away, now where is the suspense in guessing what they will be for?), is Pinot Noir. It was in this fabulous restaurant called Laguna, in Cavallino, which is one town on from Jesolo. The chef comes out and talks to you about all of the food he’s been cooking or is about to cook, then he will recommend wines to go with the food - how I knew that he was good is that he didn’t automatically recommend the most expensive wines, and he did ask questions about what kind we liked. To be honest, asking me that usually has quite a sarcastic response:

Signore Chef: “Buona Sera, how do you like your wines?”
Me: “Wet.”

I do worry that I may never grow up - when does it stop being boyish charm and become pure irritation? Anyway, this Pinot Nero, as these damned natives call it, is jolly good, when I say easy to drink I’m not doing it justice - this was like silk. Actually, that’s a horrific simile; silk is near impossible to drink. What is easy to drink? Water? Well, that’s hardly a great well to sell wine, in fact, if we go with the religious theme still I think you’ll find that Jesus had to do the opposite to increase his fan club…

Right, that is quite enough on wine, I’m getting thirsty and it is only 10.59. To quote Dr Cox from Scrubs (yes, I am fully aware he’s a fictional character), “it may be too early to have a glass of scotch but it is never too early to start thinking about having a glass of scotch…” I would, at this point, like to apologise for how badly written this entry is - even when sober I appear to be lacking any descriptive or intelligent abilities whatsoever, I’m not really sure what is happening but know that it deeply saddens me. God, I think I need a drink…

Next up on the ‘ooh, what drinks have you been drinking Chris (as if we care)?’ list is the local aperitif, a drink that many, nay the majority of, English people hate. It is bright orange and if you are in the Veneto region you will see people drinking it around lunchtime or in the evening - they call it ‘Spriz’. There are two types of Spriz, bitter or sweet. If you are having a bitter Spriz then quite frankly you are a pervert, it tastes very much like what I imagine licking David Dickinson would taste like, not that that is something I imagine frequently. Bitter Spriz is made with Campari (bleugh), Prosecco and soda water. The sweet Spriz is known as Spriz Aperol, for the very simple reason that you substitute the Campari for this Aperol spirit and damned nice it is too. The sweet spriz still has a bitter taste but a manageable one, it is a fantastic drink for hot days - in fact the best spriz I have ever had was in Venice with Janica and Stefano, two guiding friends, where not only did we get them cheap but they truly wore away the heat and stress of that great city. It was the three that followed that ensured we were all totally relaxed…

I feel I should just mention Limoncello and Scorpino, which you would have after a meal. Limoncello is a lemon-flavoured spirit, you keep it and the glasses you serve it in, in the freezer - it strong, it cleanses your palate - think of it like a liquid alcoholic sorbet. It is the kind of drink that you should only have one of, but if the very nice owner of Il Teatro, Salvatore, should place the bottle in front of you on the table, then you will end up getting very drunk on it and that just isn’t civilised. The Scorpino, on the other hand, is actually much more like a desert, it is vodka, lemon ice cream and coffee grated on top, this is a drink you would only ever have on of, but it is once again a great way to clean your mouth out from the excesses of Italian food and have a wind down too.

The way that they serve drinks here is different to England in that spirits are free-poured and that means if you have a JD & Coke (my current favourite tipple), then you will get the equivalent of about three shots of Jack in there. The other thing that I learned, as always the hard way, that if you ask for a Sambucca they don’t serve it in shots, you get a glass of the horrible stuff with the equivalent of about five shots in there, I will only let you imagine what that does to someone…

Finally, and yes, there is a finally, I will go over the most horrific drink that I have found here, something so evil that it wouldn’t surprise me if it turned out to be Barbara Streisand’s urine. This is a drink that goes by the name ‘Grappa’. This is a drink that would not only strip paint from walls but would destroy foundations as it burned through the bricks as if they were ice and it was boiling water. Grappa is deceptive, like water it is transparent and looks harmless, it does however have a strong odour - although if you are inebriated it just singes the nose hairs and you don’t really notice.

My introduction to Grappa was of course my own fault and I did of course learn a lesson from it, and once again, of course, it was the hard way. I was out with Ivan and Marco from the famous Black Cat (more on that place another time) in Gasoline (a lot more on that place another time) and we were all having a good time, chatting away, insulting English people, the usual, when someone mentioned Grappa. The conversation that follows may not be verbatim, but it’s close:

Me: “Oh, I’ve never had Grappa, what’s it like?”
Ivan: “You’ve never had Grappa, oh my friend you must try it - while you’re here in Italy, barman three Grappa…”
Me: “Er…”
Ivan: “Oh, actually, you’re English, you probably won’t be able to handle it…”

Well, that wasn’t very nice, that of course meant that the macho idiot in me took over and I ordered six of the damned things and we each had two shots of this horrific stuff. You know when you’re so drunk that you don’t taste anything and can drink whatever is put in front of you? I thought I was that drunk, I figured that this would barely touch the sides. Well, the moment I put the empty glass down I felt my lungs start to catch fire, my windpipe (heheh) explode and my eyes water slightly. Of course, I did the second shot too, but I suffered it, I certainly did. So, if you are out in Italy, I wouldn’t advise Grappa, unless you are into serious masochism.

Now I’m not going to relay information on my debauched nightlife here as that will follow later on in the alphabet, but I will say that if you are going to get drunk there are few places better than Italy. I hope this has been informative to a certain extent and that you can forgive my alcoholic flaws.

That, my dear friends, is B for Booze.


Don’t forget to text (Italian number (0039) 348 866 9310 ), send messages, or generally stay in touch, love you all very much, even the hairy ones.

Monty xxx

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