In Soviet Russia, vodka drink you!
As part of my ever-broadening horizons, I went with some friends to a lovely little bar on Santa Monica Blvd last night called Bar Lubitsch. As you can tell from their handy little logo, they’re you’re average, adorable little communist-themed bar. While I have few political commonalities with the nice Stalin-loving factory workers of Russia, I do share the same love of pierogies and vodka. This made for quite the entertaining evening. It started in the front room of the bar, where they have quite the selection of vodkas. Our little group wanted something special, and thus decided to invent a drink on the spot: Potato Vodka + Tonic + Splash of St. Germaine + Lime + Twist of Lemon. We christened the drink (and rechristened several more over the course of the evening) bestowing upon it the name “The Ouch Potato”. While I did not wake up on my friend’s couch, I did wake up in the spare bed feeling rather “ouchy”. Our ability to name alcoholic beverages is still unrivaled.
The evening took an interesting turn when we realized that there is a second bar and a dance floor in the “secret room” behind the hallway to the bathrooms. I say “secret” because we were all a little too Ouch Potatoed to venture beyond the bathrooms… the dance floor/second bar space is entirely visible from the bathrooms and was actually recommended to us by the bouncer when we first walked in. The crowd was definitely in favor of hipster music, the new banner songs of the communist movement: Foster, Duck Sauce, etc. But the real win for the evening came when Katie and I were given dance lessons by a voluptuous woman who clearly had experience in the field of shaking her hips. Among other things, she showed me the proper way to “get all up on that.” I took the babushka’s advice and like to think that by the end of the evening we could have given the Soviet Beyonce a run for her money. And if not that, we could have drunk her under a table. Because if there’s anything I learned last night, it’s that when in Bar Lubitsch, do as the Lubitschians do. Prost!