The Champagne of Champaign

I have never been a "bar hopper" although the phrase lends it a bit of appeal.  In my past, I recall a Saint Patrick's Night drunk and crying in a bathroom.  A better one was the night my sister and I had a double blind date with what I fondly refer to as "a couple of guidos."  If you're an Italian woman you know what I mean.  My sister, by the way, claims no recollection of the night.  I only recall the highlights, which involved my sister and me laughing a lot and the guys not getting it, because they were actually "it."

But for the most part, my idea of bar hopping is and has always been:  go to a bar that has music, drink and listen to the music, and when the music isn't playing, talk to whoever you're with.  When you're not with anyone -- and I'm proud to say I've done this -- read a book.

So my daughter and I were in the planning stages of meeting each other in Rhode Island a couple of years ago, and she was surprised when I said I would enjoy going out drinking if that's what she and her fiance wanted to do one night.  We didn't make it out for drinks on that visit, nor when I visited them in Illinois that fall.

We finally accomplished the mission, however, last month, in Champaign.

I'm older now, that and dieting have totally wrecked my capacity for alcohol, and the last thing I wanted to do was go from sober to hungover, or get tired, or nauseous, or any of the neat things that go with drinking.  But I needn't have worried.  My future son-in-law was in charge of planning, and he had the night well in hand.

Our first stop was primarily to line our stomachs, and we did, with excellent burgers at Farren's Pub and Eatery.  I was nearly intimidated by the description of the Fireburger, but I threw caution to the wind, and was glad I did.  As I recall, it was topped with habanero mayo and a pound or so of jalapenos.  I took precisely three slices of jalapeno off the burger, so it had the perfect amount of heat.

Next we headed to Boltini Lounge,, specializing in martinis, and for some reason bronze baby feet:

Not sure if there's a point to these.

With the good judgment of my advanced years, I opted for what turned out to be the absolutely delicious Sammy Davis Jr. Mint chocolate martini, which was one of two choices if you wanted dessert with your alcohol.  Having fewer years and proud of it, future son-in-law ordered the aptly named "Mumbler", and daughter ordered something nearly equally potent.  I have to say, my chocolate martini was the drink that assured my survival.

On to Blind Pig,

which is apparently, "Better than the Champagne of Beer, The Beer of Champaign," which was certainly good enough for me.

Nick was very confident that I would love Duchesse de Bourgogne, which is much easier to drink than to say.  For someone like myself, in other words, of a certain age, the table in the back room was a great place to have animated discussions about Red Sox and Cardinals and whatever other stuff we talked about which was also very interesting.

My compliments on the restroom as well, in particular the graffiti.  My daughter read something deep and poetic from her stall, and I read back something to the effect of "Here I sit...," you know how it goes.  But exiting the individual stall gave one an even better perspective on Blind Pig, the Duchesse, yes, and even the transitory nature of existence:

Sartre meets Tao Te Ching

Upon reflecting on those sentiments, we opted not to have a second really delicious Duchesse, but to move on to the more nuanced Quality Beer, Inc.  Being an establishment of quality of course meant a library,

and being an establishment of beer meant games, including Pac-Man.

Oh, and a Smuttynose Pumpkin, which is probably the only thing that could adequately follow Duchesse.  I am happy to say that by that time, we were inebriated enough to engage in lively political discourse.

Our last stop was Radio Maria, which was way too loud, which was okay because I think we all had less to say at that point.  It just occurred to me, in doing this research, that the theme was things Brazilian, as was the delicious caipirinha that I sipped slowly.  My daughter, who is extremely smart, knew enough to order tapas to sponge up some of the alcohol  She also knew how well an order of arancini would go with the caipirinha.

And so we made our way home.

What could top that?  A wine tasting maybe?  Good thing we had that scheduled for the following night.