And what’s with the curious cache of vodkas produced in France? What’s good for the GreyGoose is good for…?

The crime?

Serving cocktails – specifically a very tasty one dubbed the Earl Grey MarTEAni – made with raw egg whites.

Naturally, the New York cocktail scene is whipped up with worry that [...]]]> The New York Times just posted a story online about some goofball health inspector recently citing Big Apple cocktail mecca Pegu Club for alleged health violations.

The crime?

Serving cocktails – specifically a very tasty one dubbed the Earl Grey MarTEAni – made with raw egg whites.

Naturally, the New York cocktail scene is whipped up with worry that the city will start cracking down (okay, even I’m cringing at these puns) on the use of eggs in drinks.

Now, I come across plenty of folks who, when I tell them I’m making them a cocktail with egg whites, scrunch up their face and say, um, isn’t that dangerous? Fair enough. But when a health inspector in New York, a person who routinely pokes around in some of the world’s greatest kitchens, is this maddeningly ignorant, well, WTF?!

Pegu Club mixologist Audrey Saunders, whose Earl Grey MarTEAni creation has bartenders around the city scrambling (sorry) to figure out if they’ll soon have to pluck all egg-containing cocktails from their menus, is quoted in this same NYT piece saying she’s looking into sourcing organic eggs – which may placate health officials.

I’m betting this whole misunderstanding gets cleared up soon. That eggs won’t be tossed from Pegu’s – or any other bar’s – menus.

But she does bring up something that I agree with: that you always want to use the freshest, highest-quality ingredients, in your cocktails.

So here’s my two cents about selecting eggs – be they for an Earl Grey MarTEAni or an eggs Benedict. It is true that raw eggs can harbor dangerous kooties such as salmonella. But if you exercise the same judgment you would in selecting any other food, you’ll be fine.

Of course, as with most foods these days, shopping for eggs never used to be so complicated. Today you’re faced with eggs that are “certified humane” or “American humane certified,” omega-3 fortified, cage free, free range, or any number of designations awarded by a constellation of federal and state agencies.

Here’s all you need to remember: Pick eggs that are Grade AA (best quality) and have the USDA organic emblem, which means they meet the standards of the U.S. agriculture department’s National Organic rogram. This means that, among other things, the birds are kept cage free and with access to the outdoors, they are not given antibiotics (even if sick), and their food is free of animal byproducts and made from crops grown without the application of pesticides, fertilizers, and/or raw sewage and that haven’t been irradiated or genetically engineered.

Eggs can still be organic if deemed so by an independent or state-run program, but verifying this can be more trouble than it’s worth. The same goes for eggs bought at farmers’ markets.

Come to think of it, here’s a cocktail made with eggs that’s one of my favorites, courtesy of mixologist John Hogan…

Pineapple Caipirinha with Sweet Lime Espuma

This cocktail is a zesty, airy confection that deftly uses contrasting textures—foam and firmness—to highlight how well lime, pineapple, and the sugarcane brandy cachaça play together.

Half of an organic lime, cut into 4 pieces

Four 1⁄2-inch cubes organic pineapple

4 organic sugar cubes

1 ounce freshly squeezed organic lime juice

1 ounce organic agave nectar

1 large organic egg white

2 ounces organic Cuca Fresca cachaça

1 spiky organic pineapple leaf (optional)

In a cocktail shaker, muddle the lime, pineapple, and sugar cubes until the mixture has an even consistency. In a separate small shaker, combine the lime juice, agave nectar, and egg white to make the espuma. “Dry shake” (shake without ice) until the mixture is thickly frothy, about 30 seconds. Add ice cubes to the muddled mixture and pour in the cachaça. Shake vigorously, then pour the mixture, unstrained, into a tall glass. Top with the espuma and garnish with the pineapple leaf, if using.

Small-minded people might characterize it as pitifully inept.

I’d just turned 16. It was in driving school, and I had just met an impossibly lovely and exotic French girl. Let’s call her Laurence G (in case she decides to sue me for [...]]]> You could say my initial approach to creating the perfect Valentine’s Day date was misguided.

Small-minded people might characterize it as pitifully inept.

I’d just turned 16. It was in driving school, and I had just met an impossibly lovely and exotic French girl. Let’s call her Laurence G (in case she decides to sue me for assaulting her with traumatic memories). More improbable than her beauty was how I had somehow mustered the guts to ask her out. She said oui, and we set a date. And, wanting to make a big impression, set about to find something to wear that showed what a hip and international guy I was.

So I went to a fashion boutique about the size of a broom closet in Washington, D.C. and spent a lot of my parents’ money on a shirt whose style could best be described as Proletarian Poodle.

It was gray and puffy enough to fit three of me, with a collar open nearly to my belly button.

When at last we met for our group date, Laurence and her couples friends showed up dressed like preppy Americans. In other words, just like I dressed on any day but this one.

I’d like to say my charm won over my wardrobe … but that would be, as they say in France, un big fat lie.

Laurence’s friends were very nice to me, in the way that bright, well-adjusted people are to the criminally insane.

To calm my nerves, and find ways to drown out her friends’ increasingly more obvious mirth at my get-up, I drank. A lot. Stingers. Screwdrivers. Rum and Cokes. Rum and rums.

If this tactic helped endear me to Laurence, I can’t remember. You see, at some point in the evening I’d fallen asleep (that’s nice-talk for passed out dead drunk) – and woken up in the backseat of her friend’s car. Sans Laurence, of course.

I was mightily bummed to have blown it with Laurence. But as far as I know she and her friends mercifully took no pictures of me in that shirt.

So while I may not have learned since then how to dress better, I have learned how to drink better (I’ve also learned that girls aren’t all that into guys who dress like extras from Les Miserables).

Most any bibulous beginning to Valentine’s Day should begin with bubbly.

While you can’t go wrong with the real stuff – Champagne, that is – domestic sparklers are often as good – and less expensive.

Among the best I’ve tried recently are produced by Domaine Carneros Brut Cuvee (about $26 per bottle), made with organically grown grapes.

You’d find an excellent value in Korbel California Brut Champagne ($18), also made with organically grown grapes. This is Korbel’s first crack at bubbly fashioned from organic grapes, and it’s quite good. Incidentally, I’ll soon be posting a Q&A I recently did with the winemaker.

For price and taste – and with an Italian accent – go for Mionetto Organic Prosecco ($16). This one was a wonderful surprise. While I’ve long been a fan of Mionetto’s proseccos, this organic version had a delicacy of flavor and bubbles that won me over for good. If I can score an interview with one of the winemakers, I’ll ask how he/she pulls this nifty trick off.

I’ll have some Valentine’s Day cocktail recipes up in the next day or so…

Not the only green D.C. consumes…