Incorrigibly situated in the heart of Encino, The Mahi-Mahi Room graciously tolerates Cyrano and Señor Amor broadcasting from their broom closet. From this snuggest of harbors, your hosts set sail on a doomed voyage from the monkey-laden temples of Bali to a dangerous disco in Delhi, finally easing into a run down Steak House in Paso Robles. Rising every Tuesday at 11PM like the crew of the Flying Dutchman, The Molotov Men pilot their sinking ship through the fog and hit the sandy bottom at the stroke of midnight.

Charles Mingus uses the rigging as bass strings while Charles Bukowski pours cheap brandy into the starboard cannons and offers you a swig. They invite you to take a stroll along the plank with them and remember that all drinks are bottomless when you're 50 fathoms down.

Sip the bouquet, inhale the aroma. Is that Scotch or gunpowder? Like all good libations, the Molotov concoction remains simple yet stimulating to the taste buds:

Mod Groovers Crisp as a Cracker
Smoky Latin Jazz and Hits from Havana
French Pop from the Sexy Sixties
Afro-desia from the Funky Seventies
Nefarious Jazz, Bursting Blue Notes
Organ Grinding, Rambunctious R& B.
German Sci-Fi and Italian Soft-Core soundtracks to make Barbarella blush
Tandoori Tunes to heat up Bollywood Brilliance
60's Jamaican Soul colliding with Original Ska
Vanity records of Has-Beens and Never-Was-Beens*

* with all respect due, this phrase is attributed to Pat Tierney