IN THE SPIRIT of open-minded exploration and the "living well is the best revenge against neofascists who assume power through judicial coup" ethic, I headed out at dusk one warm evening with my special lady friend, Maya, for a dinner picnic in Washington Square Park. We stopped at Gira Polli near the corner of Union and Columbus to pick up the $6.95 early-bird special: a nicely browned, wood-roasted rotisserie chicken seasoned with lemon and rosemary. After buying the bird, we stopped a few doors over at Coit Liquors for something to help wash it down. Maya felt like some champagne to accompany the festive mood, but all of the bottles were either too highly priced or (let's be honest here) not highly priced enough. Luckily, in the fridge case, there was a range of alternatives. We settled on a $10 bottle of Col de Salici prosecco, an Italian form of sparkling wine, and walked across the street to the park to spread our blanket on the grass.

The good thing about champagne alternatives like prosecco is that they're usually cheaper than their French-crafted siblings. Champagne must be produced in particular regions in France using particular processes in order to legally be called champagne. Even domestic sparkling wines that use the méthode champenoise (the procedures "true" champagne makers use) to mimic the quality of champagne tend to be pricey. While some complain that sparkling wines lack the refinement of champagne, it's essentially an unfair comparison.

The Col de Salici extra dry was tart, lemony, and very, very dry, with virtually no lingering taste. It not only complemented the chicken, but also the bubbles gently scrubbed our tongues and made the next bite or sip even more savory. Because prosecco is made differently from champagne, its bubbles are a bit larger and more resilient. Consequently, it reacts very differently in the mouth. Champagne tends to be almost silky, like thousands of tiny beads rolling between your tongue and the roof of your mouth. The pop of prosecco bubbles makes the tongue tingle as if it's gone numb for a second, and Col de Salici's dry finish makes it seem almost as if the wine has evaporated before you can swallow it.

We lingered to finish the bottle as the sun began to dip below Russian Hill, and after packing up the remnants of our repast, we went in search of dessert. We wandered over to Jianna, a quietly sophisticated spot just off the park on Stockton Street. Although Maya would have opted for a citrus sorbet and/or a nice sauternes to round off the chicken and prosecco, I'm a firm believer that all desserts should contain chocolate. She gracefully indulged my bias, and we shared the "chocolate ooze cake," a warm chocolate cake-bomb with a molten chocolate center, and feeling particularly indulgent, I had the suggested 1999 Jessup cabernet port to accompany. The sweetness of the port, with its light, syrupy consistency, acted almost like a ripe plum-and-black cherry coulis spiced with a dash of cinnamon as it mingled with the dark chocolate lava of the ooze cake. Frugal types should note, however, that the single, small glass of port cost almost as much as the entire bottle of prosecco.

Our movable feast complete, we repaired to Tony Nik's bar just two doors up from Jianna for some supplementary cocktails. In the continuing spirit of exploration, I ordered a sherry wood-finish Glenmorangie while Maya enjoyed a vodka and cranberry. The sherry cask-finish lends the whisky sweetness with its honey and caramel flavors. It's a fairly light scotch, though it does linger nicely in the mouth. Adding a couple drops of water opened up the flavor and liberated the vapors a bit to allow citrus scents to emerge, but it was gone all too soon.

Seeing my eyes scanning the rack for something interesting, the bartender suggested Fernet, the rich person's Jägermeister. I asked for something more exotic, and he held up a bottle filled with what looked like some faintly luminous ectoplasm: Green Chartreuse. According to lore, only three French monks know the identity of the 130 herbs, roots, flowers, and essences used to concoct the 110-proof, naturally green elixir called Green Chartreuse. Chartreuse seems especially to please bartenders who never got that chemistry set for their eighth birthday. In fact, Tony Nik's has hosted an annual Chartruese cocktail competition, which has yielded such creations as the Carthusian Candle, a flaming, multilevel masterpiece made from Grand Marnier, Green Chartreuse VEP, and Chambord with, of course, a sugar-dusted cherry on top. I took mine straight.

Green Chartreuse tastes fresh, like spearmint, but it's relatively light, invigorating rather than ass-kicking. It's nowhere near as syrupy as peppermint schnapps or as sinus-searing as those cinnamon- or peppermint-scented college favorites, Goldschlager and Rumplemintz. Thanks to its minty taste and potency, Chartreuse makes an excellent staffa, or "stirrup," the Italian equivalent of "one for the road." It gets you back on the horse with fresh breath and enough fuel to go the distance, and with my spirits revived, that's just where we were headed. Salute and cin-cin.