My new favorite weekend cocktail

The carajillo at Cicatriz is certainly (and by far) the best I’ve tasted, but it is not, I’ll admit, the one I crave. Because my platonic carajillo is not, by any rational standard, a good drink. It’s cloying and unbalanced and, as Patan pointed out, both utilitarian and over-the-top. It’s irresistibly fusty, the sort of thing my Manischewitz-swilling, Irish-Catholic great-grandmother would have loved. It’s served, as it was the first time I drank it at the classic Cantina Mirador de Chapultepec (a favorite among the city’s famously corrupt politicans), in an oversized brandy snifter under the gracious eye of a bow-tied bartender, elbow-to-elbow with people who couldn’t possibly care less whether it’s actually “good” or not.

It’s a drink that makes you say carajo—fuck it.

From Mexico City’s Party Drink Has Old Roots @ PUNCH

This is Fun

The guts of a La Spaziale Mini Vivaldi.

I keep telling myself that.

I started getting a small hiss out of the steam boiler. After pulling the lid and inspecting it, it appeared that the seal around the temperature sensor had gone. It was due for a descaling, so I pulled the vac breaker and the drain plug and flushed it with descaler (2 tablespoons citric acid power to 1L of water) a few times. I also pulled the temp probe.

Indeed, the teflon tape on the threads of the vac breaker and the temp probe were old and brittle. New teflon tape and we appear to be back in business.