28 Years Later

They were the biggest band in the world. And for a while, I didn't care.

Then suddenly I did.

And I "cared" more than was humanly necessary.

On October 16th, 2012, I finally met the man whose image plastered my bedroom walls (and ceiling), dropped in on my dreams, thrilled my fantasies and much later, peppered my otherwise boozy Twitter feed. John Taylor, bass player for Duran Duran.

Now, I know waiting on line for hours in a book store to meet an aging rock star sounds silly. Haven't I grown up already?

The answer is yes, and sometimes I think maybe even too much.

We forget sometimes before the Internet and YouTube, nostalgia couldn't be instantly gratified. When I was thirteen, before my family even got a cable subscription or owned a VCR, seeing an image or hearing a piece of music still had a fatalistic thrill, because I never knew when it would come on again. I'd wait for hours to hear/see it again, transfixed and shutting out the rest of the world when my patience finally paid off. The first time I saw a Duran Duran video, and caught a glimpse of that cute skinny guy with the square chin and bleached bangs, I felt as though I'd just found something I'd never known I'd lost. Or maybe I lost something I didn't know I had. Either way, something within me changed, and never really changed back after all these years. I had to keep seeing and hearing. When I read more about this person who presented himself, despite his vast fame, style and riches as a highly articulate, artsy, thoughtful and slightly dorky man with a love of F. Scott Fitzgerald (because of him I'd read This Side of Paradise by age 14) and a James Bond obsession, the crush was in full effect. He was different than the others. I liked different. BONUS, I found out we share a birthday! And we're both only children.

Clearly, thousands (possibly millions?) of other people felt the same way I did. Today I even met another fan only two people in front of me on the line who shares the same birthday. Also born in 1971, which means on the very exact day as me. Drat. So much for being different.

So in the midst of a massive world tour with the band, JT somehow found the time to write a book (he's actually an excellent writer, judging by his blog posts.) Part of the book-signing junket would be in my city for one day, in the middle of a busy week. My thirteen year old self would have punched me in the throat with her slave bracelets if I hadn't found a way to go. Wasn't the time I saw him on Lafayette Street a few years back, or the Twitter conversation where he actually Tweeted me back enough of an encounter?

Bitch, please. My only fear was that no matter how early I got there (no thanks to the MTA), I'd be turned away.

Or worse, simultaneously sneeze and puke if I got within a few feet of him. When I heard the excited screams of the crowd (almost entirely women. Guess the gays have better day jobs.), and caught a glimpse of that familiar smiling face, the scarf, the spiky brown hair, walking toward his place at the signing table, this got very real for me. I actually had to steady myself and take a few deep breaths. I began to question if I could keep my cool. Then I got too cold. Then too warm. Shivery sweats at the mere sight of him, knowing he was in the same room? As Kate Winslet would say, "Gather..."

The line snaked through the stacks of books -  past Self Help, past Spirituality, past Nutrition, past Cincuenta Sombras de Grey, Fifty Shades of Grey in Spanish (how many Spanish words are there for "manhood"?) We turned the corner. And there he was...

But I did OK.

I even made him smile once.

I did a lot of smiling too. I'm still smiling.

"Gemini Girl." Sigh.

Hell, maybe there's a reason I've had a little, ahem, extra free time lately. At the age of thirteen, I couldn't have fathomed the kinds of responsibilities I would have (or even, not have) at the age of 41. As this election season has proven, the world is indeed a volatile, scary place (am I just a "binder" to you?) Nothing has turned out the way I thought it would. In some ways, maybe that's a good thing. I like knowing the girl in me still is still kicking around.

Special thanks to Nicole for waiting in line with me and talking me down. And making sure I don't have lipstick on my teeth.

Camp Whiskey Back In Session!

Fall is here and it's time to get back in the groove! Sorry for the long silence. September was all about tending the coals and now that it's October, time to get things fired up!

Can't think of a better way to start than meeting up with the Camp Whiskey folks again. After a short late summer break, Jeff, Gary and Jonathan have assembled a roster of impressive drams fall!

On a schvitzy October night (competing with the Presidential Campaign Debates on full blast upstairs), we gathered in the basement bar of the Counting Room in Williamsburg for this week's theme - New Malts on the Block. On offer was a mini tour of new Scottish offerings from Benromach Organic, the latest edition of Compass Box Flaming Heart, Kilchoman 2006 Vintage, Glenmorangie Nectar D'Or and Highland Park Thor.

Benromach Organic is "interesting" in a that's-the-kindest-thing-to-say about it sort of way. It's a certified organic single malt. Which is tricky if you consider that not only do all the ingredients and production methods have to comply with certified organic guidelines, but so does the wood it ages in. Most single malts are aged in previously used barrels, most commonly sherry or Bourbon. To be absolutely sure of the source material, Benromach used completely new, unused American oak barrels, a.k.a. virgin oak, from a "green" forest, meaning one that complies with environmental re-forestation initiatives so as not to deplete all the trees.

So how does it taste? In a word, "interesting." It's very thick, almost chalky, but also manages to have an almost oily feel. There's a pungent smokey flavor mixed with bitter chocolate. But that's about it. Short finish. Sedate. Guess that virgin oak needs a few more times round the block to show some gusto, nudge nudge wink wink know what I mean? Weird, considering new barrels should impart more robust, not subtle flavors. It's a malt that would definitely benefit from more experience and flavor integration, which I hope they work on, to match quality with the humanitarian message.

Flaming Heart 2012, on the other hand, is a prime example of what is produced with time and experience. This is John Glazer's fourth go at blending a selection of single malts and letting them get to know each other as they spend time in the appropriate barrel where they achieve a precise, flavor-driven dram. It's a pleasure to sip, at once smokey, sweet, floral and spicey, with none of the flavors too loud or pointy, and no artificial colors or fancy filtering. Last night happened to be Flaming Heart Night around Williamsburg, as there was also, from what I hear, a rip-snorting great time at Noorman's Kil for its official release. Cheers, Glazer et al! Well done.

Kilchoman 2006 Vintage Release. Another "interesting" one. Kilchoman is the first new distillery on Islay (btw, the name of the island is not pronounced "iz-lay" or "eye-lay," though at least that's close. It's "eye-lah," rhymes with "sky-la") in something like 124 years. They're taking cues from American cousins by growing their own grain, doing their own floor malting, etc. Seems like they're on the right track, but also, much like a few American whiskies who are excited to greet their public, this five year old tastes very young. It's super peppery, not just in the vegetal sense, but also the chili sense. And oddly, kind of garlicky, almost like an Asian garlic chili pepper sauce. Then it's just smokey. Do we drink this or pour it into a bowl of ramen? Mmmmm. Ramen...

Well, after some salty ramen, one might want to drink Glenmorangie Nectar D'Or. Not exactly sure why this was considered one of the newbies, though it seemed new to many of the campers who hadn't yet tried it. This product is an example of the sort of board meeting discussion they can have at (parent company) Moet Hennessy in which people say things like, "We have access to some of zee best Sauternes casks. What eez zee harm in aging all zat extra Glenmoran-jjjie in it, non?"

Answer: "Zer eez no harm."

Although it's a very sweet expression. This time tasting it, I detected more of a balanced acidity, much like the nuances of, well, a good Sauternes - ripe and dried apricots, orange peel, ripe peach, dates, vanilla and caramel. It's a pleasant treat once in a while. Just try not to think about all that extra caramel color they add to it.

Finally, we tasted the Highland Park Thor (God of Thundah!!). This is the first of their "Valhalla" series, named for Nordic gods. The distillery is the most northern in Scotland, on the isle of Orkney, where they no doubt saw some Viking action back in the day. Essentially, this is Highland Park 16 in very fancy packaging (that wooden ship skeleton that holds it is fastened by magnets and looks just as impressive open as it does closed.) I've always been a huge fan of Highland Park, which in my opinion is one of the few single malts that is consistently smooth and complex throughout its range, without getting too hot in the older vintages. The 16 was previously only available as a duty free release. So hey, dress it up in armor, bump up the price by $100 a pop and...

Honestly, I can't get too mad at it. It's quite delicious, with tropical flavors of coconut and banana bread in the fore, vanilla, macadamia nuts and figs in the middle and a salty, sweet barbecue smoke to finish it out. If I could afford a bottle... face it, it looks awesome. Glad to know it's beautiful on the inside too.

Looking forward to seeing the campers again in a couple of weeks! Until then, drink responsibly, kids.

Team MollieDan in the Catskills

Aaaaaaa-chooooooo!

Well, I finally got out into the country for a bit. Last weekend, my parents and I drove out to Fleischmanns, New York in the Catskills for the wedding of my cousin Mollie Lief and Dan Abramson. We knew this would be a great event, as the Liefs know how to throw a party, Mollie was always an outgoing and clever kid, and Dan is a happy addition to the family. Writes for funnyordie.com, no less!

The wedding was indeed beautiful, delicious (fried chicken, pie and ice cream cake? Why don't more people do this????) and entertaining. The setting on Judd Hill in the cloudless sky was breathtaking. Even the porta-potties were classy!

The trick was getting there. And staying there. Luckily the drive up and back was mostly uneventful. We stayed at the River Run Bed and Breakfast. Not such a bad place on a budget. The Four Seasons it ain't. But you get a bed, you get breakfast, plus a big porch to hang out on.

The innkeeper, Ben Fenton, has turned the living room into not only a place to hang out, read and watch movies, but also a mini museum of family memorabilia. His great grandparents ran a beauty parlor back in the day. I referred to the room as the "Beauty Parlor Parlor."

Various antique hair dryers and metal "permanent wave" curlers (thats them hanging from that metal stand, look closely among the flora and fauna.)

Great dinner our first night at the Peekamoose restaurant in Big Indian, the next town over. Well chosen wine list (if a little lacking in local producers) and way above average seasonal comfort dishes. Had a roast chicken with corn that was essentially the food equivalent of a warm hug. Loved this tree lamp in the main dining room.

Speaking of, I was worried with all the gluttonous imbibery and whatnot, and a lot of sitting, I would go way off my game over the course of the weekend. But luckily there was time for some vigorous hilly walking near River Run on both days to balance some of the damage.

Of course the main reason to come to Fleischmanns was Team MollieDan! As I said, the Liefs know how to put on a show.

Maple syrup place cards.

The couple take their first dance. Luckily this was all under a tent. Did I mention, cloudless sky? I got a tad pink during the ceremony, which was not. (Oh well, stripes are still in fashion this season...) But I also got a little verklempt. I remember when Mollie was born in 1983. I remember swimming with her in our family pool in CT when she was a child, and playing hide and seek at night. I remember her bat mitzvah and the purple Doc Martens she bought with some of her loot. I've seen her at all stages of her life, and she's always been the coolest.

Yes, I'm now old enough to be living a life insurance commercial without the need for time lapse photography.

Hava Negila!

Cousins Jude and Felix (mom and pop of the bride.)

Myself and the happy, beautiful bride.

More of the fourth generation Liefs: cousins Eli and Karenna.

Pre-sunset chuppa. Loved the purple wildflowers there and on the tables.

Well, that was enough country air for this city slicker. It was good to be home again.

Camp Whiskey

"Hello Muddah,

Hello Fadduh.
Here I am at
Camp Granada.
Camp is very
entertaining.
And they say we'll have some fun if it stops raining."

Well, it didn't stop raining last night, but that didn't keep us from having fun at Camp Whiskey! Camp Whiskey is a new tasting group founded by "head counselors" Char No. 4's Jeff Galli, The Whiskey Shop's Jonathan Wingo and brown spirits enthusiast Gary He. Each week, the campers gather in a commercial space in Brooklyn TBD and taste a selection of whiskies with a particular theme. Last night was a roundup of experimental selections from American craft distilleries Corsair, Kings County, Smooth Ambler, Balcones and Charbay. As you can see in the picture, many of these are samples that are not yet on the market, or examples of items that aren't available here. This is the shizzle, whiskey geeks!

The tasting is very well organized, and the counselors make sure we're well hydrated as we taste through the selections (so no visit to the infirmary is necessary.) Each whiskey is presented with background information and we taste them together as a group. What I found refreshing is that unlike most group tastings I've attended, we weren't called upon to yell out our thoughts on the dram or exclaim the flavors we detected. Instead, we were given time to reflect on what we were experiencing and ask questions.

Last night, we had the great fortune to hear Derek Bell from Corsair and Dave Smith from St. George speak to us via phone about their projects. The speaker phone was a little muffled, so to keep the distillers from sounding like the adults in a Charlie Brown cartoon, Jonathan rigged up a plastic trash can to the phone as an amplifier. Science in full effect!

There was also a very special guest camper, Nicole Austin, master blender from Kings County, presenting the latest batches of unaged corn whiskey and Bourbon. She spoke about the perils of aging whiskey in an un-temperature controlled environment in Brooklyn. The fluctuating conditions make it difficult to age a spirit for long stretches since too much time can result in "over-cooking" as extremes of weather beat down on the barrels. She also discussed the size of the barrels (5 gallons) and how that affects the flavor and aging process (larger the barrel, the more the whiskey needs time to age, but also the more room it has to develop complexities.) Since Bourbon must be aged in new charred white oak, the most cost effective process must be in place. Therefore, medium-sized barrels make sense here.

Of course, there is always the guy in the crowd who asks the question, "Isn't Bourbon always from Kentucky?"

Nicole: "It can be made anywhere in the US as long as it follows the rules."

He: "Alaska?"

She: "Anywhere in the US."

He: "Hawaii?"

She: "Anywhere. In. The. US."

Well-handled!!!

Unlike many corporate whiskies, Kings County is not a uniform product that will taste the same from bottle to bottle, batch to batch. Having tasted the unaged corn whiskey a few years ago, the newer batches are less "moonshine-y" and more sippable. However, personally, I do think the aged Bourbon could use a little time to whack out some it its kinks. Am curious to try it again as the product develops at the distillery.

In all it was a fascinating lineup. The Corsair selection (and these guys really like to push boundaries) included the Wormwood Wit, 12 grain Bourbon, Mocha Porter, Cherry Wood, Rasputin and Amarillo. Corsair's signature flavor is very hoppy and cereal-y. The 12 grain was especially so, using the required amount of corn for Bourbon and then 11 other grains, which made it taste like old kasha. Also, the Mocha Porter did indeed taste like mocha, but if it were made with Quik and Nescafe instead of richer chocolate and coffee. My favorite of these was the Wormwood Wit, which had a pleasant anise, Asian spice (ginger, lemongrass, cardamom) and tart cherry flavor that balanced nicely with the hops.

St. George offerings were the new Bourbon and the Port Barrel, which is actually the very same distillate given a Port finish. I liked both. The Port was a little heavy and masked the whiskey too much, but I can see wanting to drink it at the end of a meal with or for dessert.

The Balcones and Charbay both tasted familiar and distinct, in a good way. Balcones Baby Blue is a corn whiskey from the blue variety, consistently tastes of sweet spices and pretzels. Charbay Hopped American Whiskey really tastes like what it is, an IPA beer with a sophisticated, spirited kick.

But my favorite of the night was the Smooth Ambler Triple Malt. It didn't seem too gimicky or ongepotchket, just simple flavors of cereal, subtle oak, citrus peel and maple. After tasting so many hot and hoppy expressions, this was very satisfying.

In all, I was well impressed at the group and the leadership and I'm very excited to go back to camp again soon. Especially since what they give us to drink sure beats bug juice!

New Orleans, I Love You

How I lost two pounds this week, I have no idea. Maybe it was the combination of fun, excitement and prevalent sauna-like conditions. Whatever it was, I'll definitely take it!

There were a lot of forces against me going to Tales of the Cocktail this year, but the biggest one to be reckoned with was Mother Nature herself (you cruel bitch!). Severe summer storms threatened, but luckily planes managed to work around them at Newark Airport last Thursday. I know my friends leaving Laguardia had a much rougher time arriving. For once, luck was on my side, and I made it only a couple of hours late to start another great adventure in the Crescent City. 

Sadly, I missed the Macallan Ice Ball Plunge, but I arrived just in time to quickly change and recharge for the spirited dinner cruise aboard the Creole Queen on the Mississippi! Beautiful faces new and familiar, substantial grub, high proof drinks, great chats, stunning river views and even a little swing dancing (sorry, Robert Simonson, I promise to be a more trusting dippee next time) set the tone for the next few days of bibulous fun. 

My first drink of the trip! A Four Roses julep. 

An unusually mild day followed an early rain storm on Friday. I took the opportunity for beignets and cafe au lait at Cafe du Monde followed by a breezy, leisurely stroll. Which landed me at the French Market to stock up on hot sauce.

And also outside Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville, which is such a loathsome entity in a beautiful city, I won't even honor it with a link or a picture. But then I saw this sign outside Road Kill store, and it instantly brightened my mood. 

After a day of TOTC tastings, great grub (including a visit to my beloved Coop's Place) and bumping into friends in almost every corner of the French Quarter, my local pal, Mike, swept me away Uptown. Amazing Thai meal at LA Thai (where fresh vegetables, local protein and Asian tastes converge in New Orleans!) followed by music at Tipitina's. Friday is their no cover night. The Tulane kids are pretty onto it. 

This is where I met the long lost, close-talking, Cajun cousin of Keith Richards, who stumbled out the artist's door just in time for a smoke, unintelligible, consonant-free declarations and ogling, then crashed right back in again. Mike, his pal Ian and I just looked at each other, shrugged, and carried on talking outside. From there an unsuccessful visit to Bon Temps Rouler, where they had technical issues for music. But we did pass McKeown's Books, which has a wonderful sign. Read the bottom line.

Saturday morning, I needed some grease. Badly. Which is where Clover Grill came in. Short-staffed and slow, but just what the stomach called for. No, it sure ain't NYC. Thank heaven for that. (Read the fine print.)

Just enough time to meander. Balcony envy on the corner of Royal and Dumaine. 

Team Spirit, NOLA style!

A little friend came out to visit. By then, it had gotten very hot and I had orange fur stuck to my ankles. Such a cutie. 

That afternoon, I attended Tasteless: How Taste Alters With Age, lead by Darcy O'Neil and Wayne Curtis. This was a fascinating look into how everyone's taste and flavors receptors differ, how they change as we grow older, and how this translates to drink culture. As someone who now prefers spicier, bitter and more salty food (when I once wanted mostly sweet), I am still haunted by this lecture. It made me hyper aware of how my own penchants have evolved, the habits of the people close to me, and why bartenders shouldn't expect everyone to like the same drink made the same way. O'Neil: "I know a bartender who once made a cocktail that made a girl in Colorado cry." Great lecture. 

Further stops that day included Meyer the Hatter, The Bon Vivants Pig and Punch Party in Washington Square, the "sardine-packed" Imbibe Happy Hour at Arnaud's French 75, oysters at Bourbon House and a trip to see the lovely lady Abigail Gullo at SoBou. This is where I ate one of the greatest hybrids ever: pork cracklins with red pepper queso. Hey kids, sometimes you just gotta go with it. 

Know what you need after a night like that (Chart Room was involved too, unfortunately)? More Clover Grill! This was spotted along the way back to the Monteleone, a.k.a. TOTC HQ. 

Bartenders, I do love you so for all you do and put up with. But seeing y'all half naked at the Milagro pool party on the rooftop? There are no words. I do have pictures, but, well, let's leave that out for now.

OK, maybe with some cat paint enhancement. Just one. 

I needed something cold, sweet and refreshing. Know what's better than ice cream on a hot day? Frozen Irish Coffee at the Erin Rose, that's what!

I might have missed a Sazerac at the Carousel Bar and a good Po Boy on this trip, but there was no way I was missing the splendid garden scene at Bacchanal. Luckily, Mike and our pal Jason picked me up to take care of that need. Although it seems all of TOTC was onto it too that afternoon. At least we had our own shady table behind a large rubber plant. Here are my boys. Almost exactly three years to the day our great friendship chemistry was born. 

Sunday night already? How is that possible!!???? I didn't want this adventure to end. But as all good things must, that time was fast approaching. But a wonderful trip was ending in the most wonderful way: hearing Mike play trumpet with the Ernie Vincent and the Top Notes at dba on Frenchman. 

By now things were really swirling. NYC and New Orleans worlds colliding. People meeting. Alcoholic substances mixing. Dogs and cats, living together...

Note to self, no more early morning flights out. 

Special thanks to Ann and Paul Tuennerman, a.k.a. Mr. and Mrs. Cocktail, who have made this grand bender en masse event possible for ten years running. 

Extra special thanks to Mike Kobrin and also the Chart Room. I don't know if you saved my life or made it just a little shorter, but you certainly reminded me what fun (and in the case of the Chart Room, back-bending hospitality) is all about. Until next time, New Orleans. I sure do miss you.

Laissez les Bons Temps!

When I announced my eleventh hour decision to attend Tales of the Cocktail this week, I was met with a lot of questions. Besides the usual "What is that?" "Where are you staying?" and "So do you have to drink all day?" the one that puts the "frequent" in the AQ is "How do you prepare for a cocktail convention in New Orleans in July? What does that do to a body?"

It's been three years since I've been there (after I swore I'd make a point of visiting every six months or so. My circumstances kept changing, what can I say?). While I like to believe my overall Amanda-ness is pretty much in tact, I am also a changed person in many ways. On a physical level, I have lost nearly forty pounds since then, and my eating and drinking habits are more regimented. I will not be attending as many seminars. I will know more people (many of whom I met at Tales last time and have continued to be great friends and supporters.) I will have a clearer agenda instead of attempting to smoosh everything into a drunken, steamy package within a short amount of time. I may not be wiser, but I am at least older and a little more practical.

In 2009, New Orleans was not only hot, but it was experiencing a bonafide heatwave.

To imagine what the air feels like, remove the plastic coating off a large piece of dry cleaning (If you don't have this, a really big trash bag will do.) Turn on your shower using the hottest water setting and close the bathroom door for a few minutes. Now fully clothed, put the dry cleaning plastic over your head and stand in the bathroom (which, if you live in New York City, should absorb all this steamy air nicely since it has the approximate square footage of a gym locker.) For added authenticity, turn on a hair dryer full blast and blow that into the bag too, aiming slightly away from but at the same time close to your face.

An added bonus, especially if you're as heavy as I was back then, and sorry to be so explicit, but these conditions are prone to a distressing degree of chafing.

Now, have you ever been drunk during the daytime on a steamy summer's day, when you start to feel loopy and slightly undead, all thoughts moving as though trapped in a block of jello? You will feel this way for the duration. Last time I don't think I was completely sober again until around Thanksgiving. It may not be so extreme this time, but still.

Oh, and the cuisine is not exactly known for its gossamer delicacy or lack of sodium. You will gain an average of five water weight pounds a day. Tip: pack clothes made from stretchy material or billowy cotton and wide shoes.

Sounds like fun, right?

But it is. It's wonderful. Hundreds of bartenders, brand representatives, journalists, chefs, promoters and drinks enthusiasts from around the world are all in this with you, united in one of the greatest cities in the world that just happens to be a tad warm. Because they want to be. We are celebrating a remarkable industry with a theatrical past and exciting, delicious future. These are (mostly) people who produce smiles for a living, and (mostly) make each other smile in their downtime. This has been a huge year for me, how could I not be a part of this?


I'm arriving a bit late, but at least I will be there for a good portion of the shenanigans to come. Hopefully with some time to experience more of the city and hang out with local friends. Yeah, there will be some level of good for my body that will leave a bit undone (I actually have to eat more in the days leading up so my body doesn't go into total shock.) But it will be well worth it. To quote INXS, "I've missed the people; I've missed the fun." Can't wait to see you all on Thursday in New Orleans!

"Scream for me, New Jersey!!!!!"

What is going on this picture? There's big stage with pyrotechnics, a giant, costumed General Custer on stilts, a bunch of guys in skinny pants... and guitars. If you guessed Iron Maiden concert, ding! ding! ding! If you ever guessed I would be attending one, in Newark, New Jersey no less, you are quite the clairvoyant, my friend. 'Cos I never would have believed it, even a few months ago.

But I'm so glad I went.

I somehow found myself with a ticket after one of those late night, drunken "Holy shit! That sounds amazing!" ideas that most of the time never really (thankfully) come to fruition. (If they did, I would be the proud owner of an otter and a kiddy pool, a frustrated Duran Duran rock musical playwright and probably stranded somewhere in Chile trying to find my way home from Easter Island.) The idea of seeing Alice Cooper open up for Iron Maiden indeed sounded pretty amazing. Even the next day. After all, I heard Alice still puts on quite the theatrical show, something I've wanted to see since his Muppet Show appearance in the 70s. If you're gonna see a heavy metal act, at least pick one that didn't polarize all their fans by changing their sound, performing with only half their original members or shutting down a popular music sharing website. In other words, see band that straight up just performs a kick ass show. With fire and lots of rubber props.

And if you're gonna be in Newark, might as well take advantage of a traditional meal in the Ironbound. John's friend, Louise, had a great recommendation for Seabra Marisqueira, just a few minutes away from the PATH train. As longtime fans of Portuguese food, we've been used to city portions in relation to menu prices. But this is a family joint. And thus, everything is family sized. Fact: the Portuguese are not known for having small families. Here's John with mixed seafood and vegetables, with impressive inverted skewer presentation:

Traditional pork and clams with potatoes. Incidentally, all washed down with Adriano Ramos Pinto Duas Quintas '09.

But on with the show!

Alice Cooper was a ton of fun. Admittedly, the guy is looking a little long in the tooth, but he still sounds pretty good. Here he is in classic "No More Mr. Nice Guy" with live boa. (Incidentally, although our seats were pretty close, any closeup shots are grabs from the nearby video screen.)

He did the guillotine bit, which was awesome.

And to the delight of the crowd, appropriately appeared in a Devils jersey for his closing song, "School's Out." 

I have to say, Iron Maiden really brings it. Lead singer (and aviation businessman) Bruce Dickinson, now sporting more stylish shorn locks, is in terrific shape both physically and vocally.

One of the most fun aspects of seeing Iron Maiden live is their stage props. For this tour, they resurrected many of the vintage sets from previous outings. 

Performing the classic 1982 hit, "Number of the Beast." I can't imagine how hot it was onstage since even up in the tiers there was a menopausally noticeable temperature change. 

Bassist Steve Harris performing "Phantom of the Opera," from the 1980 self-titled album. Each record had its own giant backdrop, which would switch out between songs, cluing the audience in to what came next. 

Here's Bruce performing "Can I Play With Madness" from the 1988 album Seventh Son of a Seventh Son, complete with psychedelic crystal skeleton ball and giant glowing wizard.

From the same record, this prop can only be described as a giant rubber thing holding a giant moving rubber Belial in Basket Case-looking thing in its palm. On fire.

Adrian Smith on guitar.

Drummer Nicko McBrain.

Dueling guitar action. 

But of course, what makes it all worth it is an enthusiastic crowd. As these veterans clearly knew, the best way to handle one in Jersey is to work "New Jersey" into as many lyrics as loudly as possible. "Scream for me, New Jersey!!!!!" Here (and you can also almost hear as) the crowd responds.

I was proudly among them, albeit from a considerably higher vantage point. Enjoying every last blast. Special thanks to John's pal Howie for putting this all together, and one of the most entertaining rides back to Manhattan ever.