Word: bourbon
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...much as $250 million in tourist dollars from cancellation of the festival. Normally jammed this time of year, the city's hotels are half empty. Meanwhile, despite protection by 350 state police and 600 national guardsmen at a cost to the city of $100,000 a day, Bourbon Street merchants began to complain of lost business and increased shoplifting. They promptly smacked a $30 million damage suit on the striking cops and the Teamsters, the union that represents them...
...voice of experience. There is a sordidness and crudity in many of the renditions reminiscent often of Joel Grey in Cabaret. Furthermore, Masiell's carriage, and four husky, underdressed, female sidekicks make the whole performance seem almost to take place in a decrepit, dusky bar over bourbon. Like West Side Story, Not at the Palace acknowledges the world's callousness, and only then take an optimistic approach. Masiell embodies the 20th-century myth of the lonely, common man who in defiance of the world's many inequities, stubbornly perseveres...
About the only thing a driver can't get at Transport City is a bottle of beer or a shot of bourbon. No alcohol is available because, says Ralph Hutchinson, one of Transport City's developers, "drinking and driving don't mix." In the 99-unit motel, drivers can rent functional, two-bed rooms for $13.50 a night. They rarely stay that long. The occupancy rate usually runs from 100% to 130%, as truckers slam in, grab a shave, a nap, fill up and head out again...
...paperback) is not so much a collection of recipes, of which there are a Julian abundance, as a matter of celebrations and consummations. There is a Dinner for the Boss that runs through consommé brunoise, standing rib roast and macédoine of fruits in champagne with bourbon-soaked chocolate truffles. Anyone who serves anyone such a repast must have a very good boss or richly deserve a raise. Julia also has suggestions for such events as a birthday dinner ("roast duck and a big gooey cake"), a Sunday night supper, a chafing-dish dinner and a buffet...
...great hunt began when Namo and I awoke on the floor of someone's house somewhere in Vermont. We had been on a bender; that much was clear. Namo smelled of gin, I smelled of bourbon, and all around us on the floor were Strangers. Who were these people? No matter. Some past folly, no doubt. I looked at Namo. He was awake...