It’s a topsy, turvy world, baby! Lot of stuff going on out there. It often feels like we are tossed from one crisis to another as folks try to find new ways to stir the pot and be upset over one thing or another. I try to stay above the fray, but still it can be mind-blowing to try to keep up with who is mad about what on any given day. Obviously, it’s all meant to keep folks distracted, fighting with one another instead of coming together to demand results or change or a damn fine cup of coffee, depending on what you are in to. Still, with all of this anger and anxiety floating around, real life is happening. This week my niece got married, a friend lost his sister after a long battle and another lost his son, unexpectedly; life changing happiness and sorrow. Real joy, real pain and nary a politician or pundit around to comfort anyone or to tell folks how they should feel about it. Like usual, it is the work of us simple folks to do the everyday business of living and dying and picking up the pieces. With all the manufactured outrage floating around it is easy to let the things that really matter get lost in this era where we always feel like we are on shaky ground. So with a nod to cutting through those things meant to pull us apart, let’s try to find some common ground as we stand and make the soon to be classic, Sea Legs.

An interesting name for an interesting drink. The term “sea legs” was first used in 1712 and has come to mean “adjustment to the motion of a ship at sea, indicated by the ability to walk steadily and by freedom from seasickness.” The drink is much younger, conceived in 2019 by the late Alejandro Olivares for the menu at Under Current in Salt Lake City. He described it as having “a nautical feel without the kitsch” saying “It’s smoky from the Islay Scotch and Mezcal, with a lot of Tiki influence.” That appeals to me on so many levels, because I love to bring the smoke and I am intrigued by the unusual choice of celery bitters to round this one out. So, let’s throw it together and see what all the buzz is about.

Grab your tins and toss in 1 ounce of Islay Scotch, I chose Laphroaig 10 Year; 1 ounce of Mezcal, I went with a Brutos Espadin that we picked up in Oaxaca; 3/4 of an ounce of both Orgeat and fresh squeezed lime juice and 2 dashes of Celery Bitters, I opted for some small batch stuff from The Cocktail Experiment. Toss in some of that artisanal ice and give it a good shake to the beat of Jimmy Buffet’s overlooked classic, “If The Phone Doesn’t Ring, It’s Me.” Double strain into a coupe and garnish with splashed dash of Angostura Bitters.

Well, ain’t that something? It’s not quite what I expected, but in a good way. I came into this one thinking it would be a total smoke bomb, with a full ounce each of smoky mezcal and Laphroaig, but the orgeat really tempers things down, making it so smooth. It is smoky, but not overpowering. The lime comes in and gives this one a definite tropical feel, but the Celery Bitters really steal the show here, giving a herbaceous, green bottom end to the flavor for all the other elements to play in. On my second try I salted half the rim and it really leaned into the nautical feel and taste. Turns out, that when it was on the menu originally it was served this way, for good reason. It was an excellent cocktail already and that saline touch just makes it sing. Definitely a great addition to any menu and one we are going to put into rotation here.

Getting your “sea legs” is shorthand to let folks know that you are figuring things out or, better put, that you are coping, under the circumstances. The deck may be pitching, but in spite of the environment, you are holding things together. I feel like that’s how a lot of us are living these days. We are making it, getting by, but it feels hard to thrive when the world we have come to know suddenly doesn’t feel so solid below us. So we adapt. We find ways to get through the day. Adaptation is generally good on a broad scale, like the survival of a species or group, but what does it mean to an individual. What is lost when we find ourselves having to change to navigate the myriad expectations of our friends and families or, worse yet, society at large? I wish I could tell you, but I don’t have answers, just more questions.

We all fight to find our way in the world, to figure out how we fit in and, hopefully, how we can use our identities to make things a little better for our fellow travelers. We don’t always accomplish this, but I feel that to be a good human I have to at least try to make things easier for others when I can and leave the place improved when I finally shuffle off this mortal coil and discover the answer to that ultimate question. That means constant adaptation. The last couple of years have been a challenge trying to figure out how to be that good human as the sands of my reality shifted considerably. You take a hit, you get back up, get your sea legs back under you and start moving forward again; and repeat, ad infinitum. Hopefully, you learn something each time that makes that next hit not land quite so hard. I am not special, we are all doing this to some extent and my sea legs have served me well.

Recently, we got away from the house for a week. We did not plan any grand adventures, we simply spent the time with friends with nothing solid on the agenda. It was not my kind of vacation. The high stakes monotony of my current life makes me crave distraction. The next new band or bar or restaurant or hike or anything else that brings excitement and novelty is my usual thing. But, there I was in a quiet place, surrounded by people I love, with no agenda and only two books.

That is when I discovered that sea legs go both ways. If you have spent any time on small boats in big water, you know the feeling. When you walk down the gangplank and step onto shore, the very solidity of the world makes you feel off kilter. You are so well adapted to the sea that land feels unnatural and foreign. That was me. I had been so long on the deck of my ship, fighting storms and scaring off the monsters of the deep that when I found myself on firm soil with no responsibilities besides enjoying the company of my wife and loving friends, I was lost. I had real troubles making it through that first day, worrying needlessly over things that were not my problem, at least not that week. I am ever thankful for my long suffering wife and friends that they put up with my childish behavior as I floundered trying to reconnect to a style of life I had forgotten to dream of and, with their help, I ended up having a wonderful time.

I think that happens to a lot of us. We get used to turmoil and perpetual crisis and that becomes our standard. We are coping. We have adapted so well that when normalcy returns for a moment we don’t know what to do. We crave balance, crave it so much that we will find ways to manufacture drama and turmoil where there is none, only to feel for a moment that we are in control. All of those little tricks we discovered to keep us sane during hard times, become instruments of torture when we find ourselves at peace. It’s hard to find the right path, but we have to keep looking.

Seeing friends hurting is hard, seeing folks not caring or so wrapped up in their own troubles that they can’t find grace may be harder. Those are bad days. But, then I see my niece looking at her groom with nothing but love in her eyes. I hear a child laughing as she dances between all those adults wrapped up in their own problems. I look out across the fields as I work on the farm and see the inexorable march of time as the seasons change. I feel the love when my son gives me a hug for no reason at all. Like Jimmy said, “I’ve had good days and bad days and going half-mad days”. The last little bit has been challenging but there are better days a coming, if we can only have the wisdom to see them. So get your sea legs under you, but remember, you can’t always trust them and keep on smiling, even through the tears as we all stay safe, stay sane and stay hydrated my friends.