Lookie What I Found

On Saturday night I was sitting at the Hermes Bar, just minding my own business with a Hendricks and tonic. While surveying the numerous bottles behind the bar, my gaze was halted upon noticing this plain white bottle.

"Y'all still have Ojen?" I asked the bartender.

He turned his back to the bar as if to double check his mental inventory: "Yeah, we have a few bottles left... I think about four or five."

At that moment we had to leave for dinner elsewhere, but not before I made a silent promise to myself to return for a night cap.

Ojen is not something that I became familiar with until a few years back, when an elder Rex member poured me a glass from his private stock and gave me a brief history on the anise flavored liquor. ("This is what we drink at Mardi Gras," was the extent of the lesson.) Occasionally I would order an Ojen cocktail when dining with The Pope because he requires a Grand Marnier after every meal and I enjoy Ojen as a digestif.

However it was not until last summer, when the extinction of Ojen was imminent, did I take a strong interest in acquiring a bottle of my own. But unfortunately by then, it was too late.

On my trip to Spain and Portugal that summer, I was determined that I would find some long forgotten about stash of Ojen buried deep in the back of some tiny, non-descript liquor store in a small corner of Madrid. I even had hope that our tastings at Taylor Fladgate and Sandeman's in Oporto would prove beneficial in my search, as these port houses also exported sherry from the Jerez region. I must have stopped in every liquor store that we walked past in all of Iberia, but no bottle of Ojen was to be found.

Which is why I was surprised when I saw the trademark "White Label" perched upon the shelf at the Hermes Bar. When we did return after dinner and gave my order, the bartender disappeared for 10 minutes and then returned with a bucket of freshly shaved ice which was pure as the driven snow. He scooped the fluffy mass into a rocks glass, tilted the bottle for a hefty pour, added a single dash of bitters and a few drops of water, and gently shook the concoction to combine.

We can't all be Mardi Gras royalty, but we can still drink as if we were... at least for a little while longer.

The Legend

This post will begin to outline some of the characters. Hopefully, they will continue their antics under the cloak of anonymity this blog will afford them. Names have been changed to protect the guilty.

The words of the older gentleman hung in the air. "Remember only one Ojen cocktail. Anymore is foolish."

The day had started innocently enough, I had lunched scheduled with Legend and Lady Luncheon at Cafe Adelaide. Originally enthralled by the promise of $.25 Martinis, our passions soon subsided when it took over 35 minutes for the college bar drink special to arrive. Regardless, the food tasted great and the carnival atmosphere made everyone excited (it being Carnival).

After lunch, Lady Luncheon returned to work. Legend and I contemplated what to do before I mentioned, "You know Luke is right around the corner we could pop in for a good, stiff drink, maybe some raw oysters."

"I don't know...French Quarter?" responded Legend.

"They have an amazing bar and some cute bartenders..." my words trailing off behind the now fleeing for Luke, Legend.

We sat down at the Zinc topped bar and ordered a round of drinks. Stella for Legend; a Sazerac for myself. Discussions revolved around the usual non-important stuff. For my next drink I went with the Ojen Cocktail. Legend upon tasting it decided he too would switch to the potent pink tonic.

As we sat there nursing our drinks, the father of a friend came over and remarked "Y'all drinking Ojens?"

"Yes sir," we replied.

"Good. Make sure you only have one of those, anymore is foolish."

Of course this advice, like all free advice, was not taken.

Next stop is the Old Absinthe House. Where we stumbled upon the following scene, women and men dressed to the nines (just escaping the Proteus lunch at Antoine's) and a movie being filmed. If there was any place in the world, we did not need to be right at that moment it was on that fateful corner.

After a few more rounds of drinks, I head back to Lady Luncheon who by this time is getting off of work. The following texts have been received from my phone from Lady: "Are y'all blackout? I don't want to deal with y'all if you are. Make sure you can make the Dr. John concert".
I ask Legend if he would like to go home and rest up for a little while. Legend assures me, while pointing to a matronly woman, "Dude, I'm fine...seriously if I was drunk she would be a lot
better looking and I would be hitting on her. Do you see me hitting on her?"

Fast forward 2 hours, Lady Luncheon and I arrive at Mr. B's to meet The Pope, Peter (a fellow contributor of this blog), Legend and some other minor characters. Suffice it to say, Legend has begun hitting on any women within a 15 yard radius. In the time I have left him, and the Pope and Peter took custody of him, approximately 6-9 vodka martinis have been downed by Legend.
Legend than committed that most egregious sin when dining in a group. No, not grabbing the waitress's ass or telling her, "You are going home with me." Rather, he boasted, "I had an incredible quarter. Dinner, wine, drinks... it is all on me."

Then turning to The Pope who was studying the wine list, "Order whatever, I got it."

We all struggled with the morality of taking advantage of Legend's obviously drunken offer of generosity, but then good sense overrode all of us. The collective, yet unspoken, decision of the group was to teach Legend a lesson.

We set about our task with the diligence of Germans, the enthusiasm of Frenchmen, and the
care free attitude of Italians. Fried oysters, Foie Gras, Gumbo Ya-Ya, Duck Spring Rolls, Filets with Truffle Butter, a blackened trout (Peter's), and other specialities arrived. The food service was outpaced only by the speed in which the $110 a bottle Oregon Pinots arrived.
Peter, struggling with his trout, attracted the attention of the waitress. "Was it not good?" she asked.

"Yeah, it was a bit overcooked, and well maybe I am a little over blackening things, a little blackened out if you will."

Almost as if on cue, Legend hearing the phrase "blackened out" stood up and began "I am not black out, I am fine. Don't judge me, lawyers, pleh..."

What followed amazed even The Pope. Legend proceeded to take two wobbly steps forward bow down once and say "In the name of the father", bow a second time saying "The son", and finally Legend hit the deck. But not before taking out an entire tray of waters that was being brought to a neighboring table.

Legend than proceeded to hide underneath a table, and say "Shhhhhh...it wasn't me, I am just going to go to sleep...Wake me when it's over."

Before putting Legend in a cab (and securing his credit card for the bill), I told him "Go straight home, do not stop at Fat Harry's, do not collect $200."

"F*ck you, Dad.... I knew I should have had just one Ojen."