sunday. 3pm. #thebeaglepub

once you start the printing press it’s impossible to stop. thecaesarcaesar is just over a week old and it already feels like an unwelcome extension of my body – like a double chin or a cankle.

this next review is for my local watering hole which sure makes me nervous.  there is nothing worse than being noticed as the minor celebrity (i’m blowing up in russia with 4 hits!) who gave #beaglepub’s caesar a scathing review....but let’s hold off judgement until after this post is finished.

my sunday begins with all the usual routines falling into place – the bodyguard soundtrack is blasting and @steveandforrestincommon are having some laughs about the previous night.  it was a LATE one and i’m not feeling particularly pretty.

@beingpatready is the real saviour of the day.  he’s on a terrific-gentleman-day buying organic produce from #fairfieldgrocery and loading up on all the supplies necessary to take my focus from hangover to spirited sunday.

pagliaccis. NO. foyd’s. NO. blue fox. NO. .... by the time @beingpatready is finished with my kitchen, he’s painted a mona lisa on each of our plates, and we are dining on what is hands-down the best breakfast in victoria.  in summary: free range eggs poached soft on top of wild fire bakery toast, covered in a spread of ripe muddled avocado and served with thick galloping goose maple bacon and crisp local baby red potato hash browns. brunch boner! the amateur caesar bar, complete with stoli vodka and organic celery was a nice touch too (note: @beingpatready is happily married with 3 children and is monogamous. please do not pursue him. he’s mine.)

fast forward to breakfast being over and each of us two amateur caesars deep as we venture out into the brisk winter sunshine. after a short jaunt we’ve looped back and are at the welcoming doorway of the #beaglepub. the order is quickly placed, and two caesars  +  two driftwood classics are now on the table. i’m excited but nervous.


maybe it is the sexy companions i'm sitting with (see @jonandroy’s crotch on famouscrotch.tumblr.com) but the caesar doesn’t wow me upon arrival.  again, reserving judgement, i pull my moleskin® notepad out of my leather satchel and start documenting the experience with my 4H lead hipster pencil.  writing about caesars is truly gods most beautiful poetry.

‘caesar.  your red dress is my blanket. your strong liquor depresses my anxious soul.  i drink you. my lips devour your softness. pleasure is the taste of your salty passionate sweat. let us run naked through the streets together. let us share our love with the world.'  – ode to the caesar

maybe it’s because i’m a ginger, but the colour red is so fucking beautiful.  #thebeaglepub caesar is radiating in a vibrant shade that only red dye #2 could create.  i would have loved to be swallowed up by the moment, but my eyes are distracted by the horrendous rim salting job.  whoever is bartending  should be taken out back and strongly scolded. total brutes.

the beans are yummy, but the whole drink has obviously been put together in a rush, and attention to detail has been neglected.  for a bar that outright CLAIMS to have ‘the best caesar in victoria’ what i am served is a calamity.  

ingredients are key, and i think #thebeaglepub has that under control.  i go there often and the wait staff is always warm and professional (yes, she did just touch my arm right before i tipped).  if i could offer two pieces of advice it would be this... 1) stop claiming your caesar is the best in victoria.  it is probably the 70^th best in this beautiful city. use that slogan or use nothing. 2) treat each caesar as the beautiful lily she is – be gentle and let her shine. score: 70/99. you have a lot of work to do! i’m ordering driftwood classic from now on.

late saturday. bard and banker. magnum caesar.

is anyone else surprised that my first two reviews are for irish times and the bard and banker? personally, i would have expected to be reviewing really sleazy places like galaxy nightclub and the carlton club.  i guess i've classed my life up a bit since reading electric meters and trying to bring girls back to the floor of my friends place.  oh the memories.

ok, review time.  i'm at the bard and banker and the waitress places a full pint of caesar on the coaster in front of me.  my eyes widen...

...damn, to start this review without setting this stage would be a shame.  sorry to waste your time with a long story, but isn’t that what blogs are for? rewind 12 hours....

....i wake up and start arranging dinner plans with @mundizzo over the twitter.  we are both car-less bums and need to make it from victoria to a waterfront mansion on the malahat (at least we didn’t invite ourselves this time).  it was a painfully inefficient way to communicate, but eventually plans were made to scrap the hitchhiking idea and borrow @graemekid's car little burgundy instead.  some brutal honesty is needed to describe this car: she's an absolute beauty 1990's toyota - rusted - filled with tree planting gear – mouldy as fuck - and parked in an area of vic that forces you to jump over heroin needles to climb in.  we were stoked!

unfortunately, when we got to little berg she decided to slap us in the face and not start.  disappointed... yes.  craving a caesar... yes. willing to ditch on the trip... not a chance. 

thinking fast we booked the burgundy convertible smart car from my car coop and the adventure commenced. within half an hour the engine was running - the top was down - the windows were open - 94.5 was blasting, and @mundizzo and i are holding hands thelma and louise style flooring it out of the parking lot. boom.

...fast forward to post american thanksgiving dinner at the mansion - post rain in our face convertible smart car drive - post brown bag tallboys being consumed while walking back from esquimalt.  now we're over at @beingpatready's place having shots of JD.  at this point the saturday vibe is in full force.  the music is loud and decisions are being made hastily.  we agree to all wear @beingpatready's clothing & dawn matching drinking belt buckles.  these are good decisions. decisions to be proud of.  not like other decisions that end up being so shameful that no amount of showering can make you feel clean again....does anyone know a good therapist?

now i'm at the bard and banker and the waitress places a full pint of caesar on the coaster in front of me.  my eyes widen.  tall and handsome he stands.  dark skin. soft smile. one lime. the waitress gives me two pieces of beef jerky with the drink and instantaneously my heart goes thump-thump before realizing she only did it because she wants to impress @beingpatready. damn, love comes and goes so quickly.

the olives are nice, but they’re stabbed by a plastic toothpick which is soooo cactus club 5 years ago it makes me fucking sick.  maybe i'm at the carlton club after all?  oh no, this review is going downhill fast.  the three beans have been inserted into the caesar vertically and without a few big sips they are virtually impossible to grab.  this could be overlooked if the bard&b provided a hot towel or a lemon water bath for me to clean my fingers – but service isn’t what it used to be.  at this point my heart is pumping blood through my arteries at a faster pace.  anger is building from deep within me.  oh man, the lime...the sacred lime...it has a brown tinge to it - obviously cut yesterday by some lazy bar back.  how much did this caesar cost me? the same $9 fucking bucks i was saving to buy the new nickleback album with.  fuck. FUCK.

'can i get you another caesar?' she says. 'no thank you, pour me a pint of driftwood classic instead’ i respond.  ...maybe my enlarged and vulnerable heart isn’t ready for this business...

the highlights were very few  but they should still be noted.  the bouquet of the caesar was deep and spicy with a hint of chocolate - i really enjoyed the 8" blue straw – and once i dug out the beans, they were nice and crunchy without being stringy.  score: 64/99. don't order it.

the wait staff was lovely as usual.  please see my text poetry titled ‘falling in love with a service worker’ for more info on that.

xoxo

saturday. irish times. whoa, they only serve doubles!

for two years it has been my dream to be a caesar critic.  you can think of me as a terrorist of sorts, who will find fault in every drink i consume.  today is the first day of the rest of my life. today is the first day i start searching for the GREAT ONE. join me.

@mundizzo and i enter the irish times with one agenda - to drink a caesar (one big sip at a time).  we sit ourselves down at the two available bar seats and the words leap off my tongue just like they have so many times before; 'i'll have a spicy caesar in a pint glass with a lightly dusted rim and extra beans please'.  the waitress didn't hesitate.  @mundizzo made a nod of agreement that he'll have the same.

the service was prompt. steph the bartender was warm and lovely - i could taste her delicate touch in each big spicy sip. one lemon wedge, one lime wedge, three horizontal beans for easy snacking, a bamboo sword stabbed through two big olives (extra salt please!), a large 8" black straw, and a rim with just a kiss of salt...caesar boner!

it really is too fucking bad that the irish times can't sort out their bean quality control!  one of my three beans was so stringy i couldn't even chew through it.  holding back my rage, i stopped myself from freaking out and smashing my caesar on the floor.  though painful, i guess these kind of mistakes are forgivable.  i hate being wronged by a beverage.

this caesar was tall, rich, and voluptuous - and gave off a great first impression.  unfortunately the overall experience was much like the embrace between two 15 year old lovers at a high school dance... awkward.  score: 82/99.  no, i will not marry you.

shout outs to brad, preston, stan, and clay for the good company.  special thanks to @mundizzo for picking up the tab (your ability to spend money that you don't have on food and beverage after travelling and being unemployed for two years is astounding.  i love you.)