Holiday Cocktails to Cheer Any Party features a list of liquor-based cocktails in a range of complexity levels.

If sparkling is more your speed, try my round-up of The Best Sparkling Holiday Cocktails.

This week, I’ll also post a round-up of appetizer ideas to help with your New Year’s planning. Stay tuned!

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It is a place I discovered with the cocktail-loving friends I met upon moving here, and where I first met Martin Cate (then the owner of Forbidden Island), who so wowed us with a lecture on the history of the legendary Fogcutter that I ended up starting a group on Facebook in his honor.

Join it. We won’t bite.

Martin left Forbidden Island earlier this year, but is reemerging with a bar in San Francisco called Smuggler’s Cove. Located at 650 Gough Street (at McAllister), it officially opens tomorrow, but I had the privilege of hitting two soft opening events, one last week and one last night, and previewing the bar and its amazing cocktail list.

From old-school rediscoveries to tiki classics to new ways to show off a wide variety of rums, the Smuggler’s Cove cocktail list is prodigious and will be a whole lot of fun to work through. And for those of us who aspire to such things, there’s even a club for those who choose to go around the world and drink one of everything on the menu. Not all in one night, of course…don’t worry, Mom.

For the non-drinkers in the room, I must note the cocktail list bears the critical information that there are plenty of those that can be made without alcohol. A quick chat with the bartender of the evening ought to get you exactly the refreshment you’re looking for, sans the proof-y punch.

The three-floor space is compact and efficient, and Martin told me last night that they plan to control the ingress and egress of customers so the place never gets uncomfortable. He wants patrons to have room to enjoy their drink, not be shoulder-to-shoulder at all times. It’s going to make for a better bar, but certainly, at the beginning, longer lines.

Still, if you’re in San Francisco for any reason (work, pleasure, or just because you live there), I encourage you to get in line for your chance in Smuggler’s Cove. “I feel like I’m in a movie set,” said a friend who checked it out with me last night. And that’s exactly right. It’s a little bit of rum-soaked escapism, right in the heart of the city.

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I came to this theory while daydreaming about what other ingredients go with thyme. A giant tomato floated into my consciousness, and, well, it couldn’t have hit me harder if someone had thrown it at me.

Tomatoes go beautifully with thyme. And what drink stars the tomato? The Bloody Mary.

Thusly and therefore, I gave it a whirl. The drink was fantastic—as substantial and spicy as a traditional Bloody, but with that edge of thyme that gave it a freshness straight out of the garden.

My experimental subjects are, unfortunately, too far away to test the theory right now, but I have plans. Oh, yes, I have plans. And in the meantime, I recommend this for your next Spring brunch. It’s, after all, about thyme.

Thyme for a Bloody
(Serves one)

6 oz. tomato juice
2 oz. thyme-infused vodka*
1/2 tsp. prepared horseradish
1 tsp. soy sauce
The juice of a 1/4 lime
A dash of hot sauce

1. Combine all ingredients in a pint glass.
2. Stir quickly to mix thoroughly, and add crushed ice to fill the rest of the glass.
3. Garnish with your favorites: olives, spicy pickled green beans, lime, celery, etc.
4. Serve immediately.

This is my post for Weekend Herb Blogging, which is being hosted this week by Chriesti from Almond Corner. Please stop by Chriesti’s blog for the full round-up after the weekend’s over!

* To make the thyme-infused vodka, simply take a clean mason jar, put in 5-7 clean thyme sprigs, then fill with good vodka. Cover and steep in the refrigerator until ready to use.

Other thyme-infused beverage recipes to try:

• The Country Thyme on Married With Dinner
• The Raspberry-Thyme Smash at A Dash of Bitters
• The Blackberry-Thyme Margarita at Well Fed
• Pear-Thyme Sparkle at Al Dente

• The infusion begins
• Harry Potter and the Mint Killer’s mojito
• Thyme on my hands
• Maple-Lime Glazed Sweet Corn
• When beauty turns ugly

“You’re right,” I said. “I guess most of us do just eat at our desk.”

I rarely have time for a leisurely lunch out of the office. I often bring something tasty from home anyway, and, at least in my case, I’m still operating under the habits of my last job, which never provided much time or opportunity for lunch unless there was some sort of officewide celebration happening. And even then, well, let’s just say that I spent most of one of my own clients’ go-live parties working at my desk while shoving celebratory food in my mouth. Good times.

But what I do tend to take, out of the office, is an afternoon coffee break. My coworker Kim and I sneak down to the Starbucks on W. Grand Avenue in Oakland between Broadway and Telegraph, and spend 15 or 20 minutes chatting in the sun at one of the sidewalk tables.

But with the onset of the Eat Local Challenge, that built-in break, which I quite enjoy, has fallen by the wayside. Although I did make an exception for locally-roasted coffee, Starbucks, um, does not provide that as an option. There is a deli not far away that serves Tully’s coffee, but I’m pretty sure that’s roasted in Seattle.

A few days into October, Kim stopped by my office to see if I wanted to take our regular break.

“I can go with you, but I can’t drink the stuff at Starbucks this month,” I said.

“I know,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye. “But I have three ideas.”

We dashed out of the office, in search of locally-roasted brews. Stop one was the one I thought most promising: Mama Buzz Café, a local joint that serves up a heaping side of cool art alongside its coffee, soups and other delicious treats. I’ve been wanting to get to Mama Buzz since I moved to Oakland, but somehow it hadn’t made my regular rotation.

At the counter, Kim asked the question after she noticed me behaving like a wallflower. “Where is your coffee roasted?”

The barista rattled off an impressive fair trade and organic pedigree, but an international roasting origin. No dice for me.

“You can get something,” I said to Kim. “Really, it’s fine.”

“No,” Kim said. “I have two more ideas.”

Off we went, a few blocks away, to a little café that, as it turned out, was not yet in business. The door was open, but inside, workmen were still hammering up fixtures and installing signage. They blinked at us, and we turned around and kept going.

Our last stop was a coffee shop that had opened, but was still so new they did not even have tables yet. A harried guy behind the counter was so flustered by our questions about the coffee’s origin that he finally shoved a cup of coffee into Kim’s hand and told her she didn’t have to pay for it. I declined anything based on the vagueness of the response.

Despite the disheveledness of the operation, Kim and I put it on our possible list for future visits. After all, our constant choice of Starbucks has usually more to do with its immediate proximity to our office than its array of beverage options.

We returned to the office, where, Kim discovered, the free coffee was so bad it was undrinkable. An opening-jitters anomaly? We’re hoping so. Regardless of their coffee origins, I’m all for supporting a new local business in downtown Oakland, so once the Eat Local Challenge is over, we’re going to give it another try.

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That being said, welcome to October, which is the month of the Eat Local Challenge. And because I clearly can’t resist a good challenge, I’m in.

I heard about the challenge back in the day in Iowa—I believe the 2006 challenge was the first I heard about—but I decided in 2006 and 2007 that it was just too much to try to take on. I give myself a pass for both years: in 2006, I was just getting my locavore feet wet. In 2007, I had a lot going on.

But then I moved to Northern California, which is basically Mecca for foodies like me. And then I actually started hanging out with Jen, who edits the Eat Local Challenge site, and to be honest, I’m just Catholic enough that I can’t face her through October without at least giving this a whirl. The guilt would kill me.

And really? October in Northern California? Jen might as well have wrapped up all the food I like in a big ol’ basket with a lovely cellophane wrapper and a big ribbon and called it a Present. Heirloom tomatoes are still showing up at the market, and there are lovely winter squash that haven’t overplayed their hand yet, and it’s California, so there hasn’t been a frost yet and, in some parts (like the part where I live), THERE WON’T BE BWA HA HA, and I live 50 miles from Napa and 8 miles from a Really Good Maker of Gin, so I don’t even have to give up drinking.

So, see? See how easy this is going to be? There will be no complaining this month. Just discoveries, and conversations with producers, and all that jazz.

Plus, in this challenge, everyone gets to make their own rules. In my case, I’m shooting to eat food during the month from growers and producers who are within 100 miles of my Oakland apartment. I recognize that may mean I’m going to buy products (like marmalade made within 100 miles of here) that are made from ingredients not grown/born/fostered/whatever within 100 miles of here, but I’m figuring that if someone’s trying to make something artisinal or just plain delicious within 100 miles of here, I should support him or her without being militant.

(Ha ha! Militant People, don’t take that personally…remember, I’m an Eat Local Challenge VIRGIN.)

Also, I get exemptions, because exemptions are awesome. So here are mine:

1. I will use spices in my spice cabinet. Things like yeast, baking powder and soda, cornstarch and Penzey’s Bold Taco Seasoning count as spices.
2. I will probably use some condiments that I already have, but I will not go out and buy anything else that isn’t a local condiment. I promise.
3. I will use the flour and sugar that I already have in my house until I run out of it. Then I’ll either find locally milled flour or will just buy locally-made bread (Hello, Acme.). I will go buy sugar at a local store, because really…they don’t grow that here.
4. I will go to restaurants who claim to source locally, and I will believe them, and I will order whatever I want there without fear of lightning striking me.
5. I will eat things that friends make for me, and I will go out to eat with friends on occasion during the month, and if those friends don’t want to go to one of the restaurants that I strongly urge (because those restaurants source locally) them to patronize, I’m not going to be a jerk about it. I will eat what I can (and by that I mean what I can get from my plate [of whatever I was forced by those non-locavore friends/coworkers/hotel-employees to order] to my gullet), and maybe will ask the waiter or waitress a question about where they source from, and they will roll their eyes, and we’ll all know what kind of DINER I AM. Yeah, that’s right. Also, on work functions (meals, travel, etc.), I will do what I can, but I will not be a saint, and sometimes will have to eat whatever is presented in banquet format. (I think this is the rule that the lawyer would read really, really fast at the end of the commercial, because it doesn’t make much sense if it’s read slowly.)
6. I will drink coffee, but I will make sure it’s locally roasted and fair trade beans. Unless I’m on a business trip (See Item 5).
7. I will drink the tea at work. It’s free, and it’s good (Stash rather than Lipton), and I am not going to fight a battle at the office coffeepot over locally roasted coffee vs. the perfectly good Peet’s beans the office buys.
8. I will also eat food products that I have at home that friends have made for me. I’m thinking, in particular, of a jar of not-yet-opened applesauce I brought home from Iowa after an August brunch with Maggie and Heal, and a jug of maple syrup made by family friend Doug that I’m still working through.

So…here goes. I’m looking forward to learning about new producers I have not yet met/discovered, learning a bit more about the region in which I live, and telling you all about it along the way. In fact, you can follow along meal-by-meal using a handy-dandy spreadsheet I am maintaining for my own amusement.  Now, pardon me while I go eat my sandwich made from home-baked bread, Happy Boy Farms arugula and dry-farmed tomatoes, and roast chicken (raised in Petaluma). Yeah, that’s right.

• When being a California foodie is so very, very right
• Eating locally in November and beyond
• Contigo has stolen my heart
• Finding food in farm country
• End to the month…not the thinking

Chip on my shoulder, I showed up on time and took a seat in the front row. As it turned out, I had not chosen just any workshop.

The leader turned out to be Ann C. Noble, a retired professor who worked in UC Davis’ sensory research program and developed the Wine Aroma Wheel. As soon as she started talking about retro-nasal perception, I knew I was in for some serious learning.

“You don’t taste strawberries, you smell strawberries,” she said early on in the hour. She reminded us that the tongue tastes bitter, salty, sweet, sour or umami. Nowhere in there lies “strawberry.”

“Flavor is what is volatile and goes up the nasal cavity,” she said. “If you have details, you remember details. Without a name for the aroma, you can’t call the aroma back.”

When she started talking about the carbon atoms in various flavors, I stopped taking notes, but suffice it to say this wasn’t just a layman’s tasting room.

Noble’s passion for identifying exactly what layers of flavor exist in anything one tastes—tomatoes, wine, etc.—had us all enthusiastically sticking our noses down into wine glasses filled with chopped Brandywine, Yellow Brandywine, Marvel and Cherokee Purple varieties. We spent most of the time identifying first each tomato’s aroma notes (I smelled saltwater and brine in the Cherokee Purple and caramel in the Brandywine), then its flavor and texture.

The Cherokee Purple? Hands down my favorite of the bunch, with the Marvel coming in a close second. To my surprise, the Brandywine was my least favorite—it had a bland flavor and mealy texture that didn’t stand up to the juicy smoothness of the Marvel and the Cherokee Purple.

As for the wine pairing, well, it turned out that was just for fun. She had poured us a 2006 Matchbook Tempranillo and Graciana blend, and a 2006 Matchbook Chardonnay, both out of the Yolo Valley, and we mixed and matched at the end, testing each wine with each tomato as Noble instructed us.

“This is part of the Slow Food Movement,” she said. “We want to find ways to enjoy food more.

“Just don’t eat tomatoes in the winter, or go to the Southern Hemisphere or something. Which isn’t very green, but maybe you can take a long bike ride.”

• No purple for you
• Purple circle
• Slow Food Nation: The preliminary report
• Potato eater’s salad
• If I begin foaming at the mouth, please get out the rabies vaccine

According to my sources on the inside, the lack-of-directional-signage problem is fixed today, but after following the Slow Food Nation website directions to take public transit all the way to Fort Mason, I spent half an hour wandering about the park grounds, trying to find the Festival Pavilion.

To those of you from out of town (who don’t have Jen Maiser available to call for directions), get thyself to the corner of Bay and Laguna, then start walking toward the water. When you get to where the road turns, take a 45-degree turn to your right through the parking lot, go between Buildings C and D, walk straight toward the Herbst Pavilion and then make a right along the pier toward the Festival Pavilion. There will allegedly be better signs today and tomorrow…I’ll report back after my Sunday night visit.

Serving naan and sauce in the Bread pavilion

Once I made it to the Festival Pavilion, though, I can report that there are amazing things to eat, drink and marvel at. Try cask, draft or bottled beer in the beer tent. Taste one of 500 wines in the Sustainable Wine Bar. Try a plate of pickled vegetables and fruits, taste some cheese, then go watch a brilliant chef make something with heirloom ingredients in The Green Kitchen.

Alice Waters preps for David Chang's demonstration in the Green Kitchen.

I’m going to have more to say about all this after the weekend is over, but in the meantime, I’ll let my pictures do the talking. I’ll be updating my Slow Food Nation Flickr set as the weekend goes on, and saving my words for when my mouth is no longer full.

Giving a cocktail a joyful shake in the Spirits area.

• Slow Food Nation approaches
• Thrilled to be here
• A hollow invitation to the table
• Flavor-profiling tomatoes: A serious business
• Victory! Or, I found a garden (for the time being)

Kurt Michael Friese, author of A Cook’s Journey: Slow Food In The Heartland, has been riding the train across the Plains and the Rockies, taking a paced route toward San Francisco. The vegetables and herbs in the Victory Garden have been stretching toward the sunlight – when sunlight pierces the fog, that is.

Starting Thursday, Slow Food Nation comes to San Francisco, and I’m ready to savor it.

Tomorrow night, starting at 5 p.m. at the Victory Garden in Civic Center, Slow Food Nation will launch a petition calling for New Vision for a 21st Century Food, Farm & Agriculture Policy. The Vision Statement will be a call to action to frame future food and agricultural policies to benefit all Americans. I can’t make it because of work commitments, but if you go, keep an eye out for The Mint Killer, who has been one of the architects of this statement.

Throughout the weekend, there are workshops, all manner of good food and drink to snack and sip on, Slow Food Rocks (New Pornographers and Ozomatli and Gnarls Barkley in the house on Saturday, folks!) on Saturday and Sunday at The Great Meadow at Fort Mason, and even some Slow Journeys around the region to check out local producers and their environs. Not sure where to start? Chow has paired with Slow Food Nation to develop some terrific itineraries for audiences including oenophiles, couples on a date and the budget-minded.

I’m going to check out the Taste Pavilions, and I’ll be pulling a volunteer shift at the Victory Garden on Sunday morning from 9 to noon, so if you’re in the vicinity, stop by and say hello. I’ll also be attending what might possibly be the most perfect class ever on Sunday afternoon: a tasting session that features heirloom tomatoes paired with local wines. Tomatoes plus wine? I could die and go to heaven, but I’d prefer that happen after Sunday, because it can’t be quite as exciting.

There’s one more reason I’m excited about this weekend, and that’s a new piece of equipment in my own personal arsenal. For awhile now, I’ve been craving a solid DSLR camera, and feeling like I was pushing the limits of what I could do with my trusty Canon PowerShot that has gotten me through more than two years of blogging. Yesterday afternoon, the UPS delivery person dropped off a Canon Rebel XSi, and that’s going to make documenting this event that much more amazing.

Let me stop and think about this for just a minute. Heirloom tomatoes paired with local wines and shot with my new camera? It’s going to be quite a weekend.

• Slow Food Nation: The preliminary report
• The lettuce is not plastic
• Victory! Or, I found a garden (for the time being)
• Slow-roasted tomato dip
• Tomorrow, declare your Food Independence

After all, one never knows when a celebration will break out, and one must be prepared. Often, good news arrives in an instant, leaving no time for chilling.

A couple months ago, I made a trek out to Wallace Winery, a small winery with surprisingly good wine – some of which I mentioned drinking at a long-ago birthday dinner – just west of Iowa City. They grow some grapes, but buy most of what they press from vineyards around the Midwest, and produce, hands down, the best Iowa wine I’ve tasted. They had added a Blanc de Blancs sparkling number to their starting line-up, and I wanted to check it out.

The bottle they had open in the tasting room was a day old and a dollar flat, but even without the bubbles, it had decent flavor. I took a properly corked bottle home with me that day and stashed it in the refrigerator for the appropriate occasion-to-be-named-later.

Then, last weekend, my car exploded. I’m driving a 1994 Toyota Camry with almost 215,000 miles on it, a hand-me-down from my parents. Although my mother has maintained since I moved to Iowa that I desperately need a new car, I keep trying to run this vehicle into the ground, no matter how long it takes.

Here’s my deep, dark secret: I am an only child, and every one of my cars has been a hand-me-down. I harbor a delicious fantasy of getting to 40 before having to actually purchase (new or used) my very own vehicle.

“I kind of admire your ability to stay off the grid in these matters,” my father said when I announced this to him last year.

But on that fateful Saturday, I started the car up and heard a loud noise, followed by a horrible grinding noise. I turned off the engine and sat there for a few minutes, contemplating the vision stretching before me. Car ads. Car web sites. Car. Dealerships.

I mourned as the tow truck hauled my car away. I ate a Reuben to make myself feel better. When that didn’t work, I went out for tapas. I developed theories of what was wrong with my car that included the phrases, “threw a rod,” “cracked the engine block” and “stripped the transmission.” I solicited a co-worker who recently bought a new car to go with me when I had to actually negotiate a deal.

Then I got the call last Monday night from my car repair place: A spark plug exploded. All the rest were about to go, and the spark plug wires also needed to be replaced. The total damage? Just less than $200, which is not chump change, but ain’t no downpayment on a new or used car.

I popped that bottle of Wallace Winery Blanc de Blancs that night. I had skated through. I had permission to continue running the car into the ground. It was cause for celebration.

• If Oprah likes it, it must be good
• Dealing in wine barrels
• Lavender coolers
• Farewell, fourth
• Drill, baby, drill