Libation Station, What's You're Elation?

This link round up is a bit light-hearted, starting with the title--a one-off of this gem, but this time we're talking about the pleasures and perils of drinking.

Here's a great one about the pubs of Oxford:

A pub is a great leveler — not a workingman’s club, but an everyman’s club. The best are filled not only with the scent of yeast and hops, but also with banter and wit. Back in 1954, when the Rose & Crown on North Parade Avenue in Oxford was threatened with closure (inadequate toilet facilities), the defense that won the day called it a “home of cultured, witty and flippant conversation.”

Compare this to college-age dives like Brother's or Lodge Bar. Flippant conversation without the culture or wit is very different beast--hitting on inebriated girls or singing along to Soulja Boy is nothing I want any part of. But I would guess Brother's also has inadequate toilet facilities.

In any case, whenever all you Columbus expatriates are back in the Jewel of the Midwest, call me up and we'll go to Mac's or the Brazenhead.

Also, this looks like a good read when I'm not studying neuroanatomy. John O'Sullivan reviews Eric Felten's book, How's Your Drink?, a repository of anecdotes about--and, more importantly, recipes for--all sorts of cocktails.

But none of these attractions explains the mysterious allure of the cocktail to regular or hardened drinkers. Why do they prefer it — not everyone does — to straight spirits, champagne, wine, or beer? Doubtless many people would answer that question many different ways and some of them would be guessing at a reason they don’t quite understand themselves. My own explanation, however, is that drinking a cocktail is an attempt to recover the experience of that occasion when we had our first genuinely enjoyable alcoholic drink. In my case it was a glass of Drambuie given to me by a friend on a school trip in 1957. I have never quite forgotten the moment. In the novel Kipps, H. G. Wells captures the very similar result when his modest hero has his first glass of whisky: “Kipps . . . drank another sip of old Methuselah. . . . He was able to follow the subsequent course of that sip for quite a long way. It was as though the old gentleman was brandishing a burning torch through his vitals, lighting him here and lighting him there, until at last his whole being was in a glow.”

Alas, no second, third, fourth, or subsequent glass ever has quite the same effect. We may settle down monogamously with a favorite. (Drambuie never won me over to that extent.) We may gradually drink our way through the multicolored array of bottles under the bar mirror opposite. We may be quietly and sensibly satisfied with whatever becomes our regular tipple. But ecstasy rarely strikes a second time with the same drink — and never a third.

Some the stories are great. If you ever get your hands on the book, read the one about Jack Kennedy, gin and tonics, and the end of the world. Seriously.

But, if you're in a rush to blush, you can mix something up right away. Consult these two mavens if you must.

Robert Hess, Cocktail Spirit. Best haircut ever.

Alberta Straub, Cocktails on the Fly.

Of course, I wouldn't be responsible without telling you of the inherent dangers, as illustrated recently in Russia.

Mr Lyalin, an electrician, had spent the evening drinking with a watchman at his workplace when they got into an argument, Interfax news agency reports.

The morning found him waking up in the watchman's office but instead of going back to work, he decided to take the bus home.

At home, Mr Lyalin had some sausage from the fridge and lay down to sleep, the Komsomolskaya Pravda newspaper says.

After a couple of hours, his wife noticed the handle sticking out of his back and called an ambulance.

Viktor Belov, a surgeon who treated him, found a kitchen knife in Mr Lyalin's back but "by good fortune, it had gone through soft tissue without touching vital organs".

His alleged attacker reported the crime to the police himself, Interfax adds. Mr Lyalin apparently feels fine and bears no ill-will.

"We were drinking and what doesn't happen when you're drunk?" he was quoted by Komsomolskaya Pravda as saying.

With that, uhhh, cheers?