How much poetry do you get in your daily life? Seriously. Do you get the chance to read much poetry these days? Do you thrill to the imagined sound of the words flowing from the page when you see those rhyming couplets inset from the text or do you just sort of naturally gloss over those passages to get back to the meat of the narrative? I claim to enjoy poetry and will often take a few moments to read a bit, not everyday, but a couple of times a week. Not as much as I probably should, but I figure fewer than some and more than most. I can’t take too much at one sitting though. Not sure why. I can read non-fiction or novels for hours on end, but a quarter hour of poetry and I am mostly done in. Tonight is Robert Burn’s Night, a celebration of the National Bard of Scotland, so with him in mind, won’t you join me as we stan’ and ma’e, the Bobby Burns.
Tonight, I am thinking of a Christmas gift from long ago. In college, a dear friend gave me a book of poetry inscribed with one of her poems and the most lovely message. I have been carrying it around for nearly thirty years and it is in surprisingly good shape for the miles. Not sure I can say the same for myself. So, in honor of the gift and the impulse that inspires the giver please join me now as we stand and make, the Poet’s Dream.
We all knew it was coming. Well, a couple of thousand of my closest friends did, anyway. I should be in Rome this weekend, laughing with friends, eating at Jamwich every other meal, setting new records in their escape rooms, grabbing drink at The Forge and generally having a great time. We couldn’t get together for our long weekend of foolishness and adventure this year, but we’ve still got our memories. So, in honor of the fun we’ve had and the fun yet to come, won’t you join me now as we stand and make The Racketeer.
Welcome to my report on the drink that I made today. This is the drink chosen for October 3rd. I made this drink, because today they ran a postponed horse race that was originally scheduled for May. If you want to make this drink, then join me as we stand and make The Preakness.
One of the hardest things to do in life is to sustain anything. We’ve been going on for a while now and it is sometimes tough to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Hard to keep on keeping on, but what are you going to do, give up? That’s not really an option. The world doesn’t change because we are tired of it and wishing just burns up stars. So let’s make a drink and forget for a few moments that things are pretty weird right now and not the fun kind of weird. Won’t you please join me now as we stand and make the Gypsy Queen.
Oscar Wilde said, “Experience is simply the name we give our mistakes.” That may be true, he was a clever fellow who said lots of witty but true things, so we will give him the benefit of the doubt on this one. Experience is also about managing expectations. Sure, we all want to experiment and try new things, but we use our experiences to guide that exploration. For good or for ill, the things we have done help decide what we will do next. That’s a big part of why we learn or, more accurately, why we keep learning. One of the most interesting things about these last few months of daily cocktails, is how much I have learned along the way. Sometimes, it is a new technique or flavor or tool that I discover. There has been a cumulative effect that is way cooler than any eureka moment. My approach to drink making has evolved as I have learned more. I choose different tools now, as I upgrade from my basic kit, to things that fit me and my style better. Which couldn’t happen early on, because I did not have a style. I have noticed that my shaking style now is far different than it was when I started taking classes at Corsair, my pours are different, my attention to detail much more clear. This did not happen overnight and I am still learning and continuing to evolve, but I can see a real difference. That difference is experience and as we learned way back at the beginning of the paragraph, we get experience by making mistakes and I have made a lot of them. I am going to continue making mistakes, that is important. My grandpa always said that the only people who don’t make any mistakes are the ones who don’t do anything, so in that spirit I ask that you, please, join me once again as we stand and make the Donna Maria.
Ever just wake up in a bad mood? I do all the time. I did it today. No good reason, I slept well with a roof over me in a comfy bed, love of my life beside me and my wee little scrap of a man snoring gently in his room. Still, something about today just hits me wrong. I don’t care for the cut of it’s jib, the way it wears that stupid hat. You know how it is. I’m used to managing my idiosyncrasies, so let’s get to it as we stand and make The Ghosts of Black’s Beach.
I’ve been thinking about New Orleans lately, a lot. I’m not sure if I am missing it or if it is missing me, but there is something in the air. Who am I kidding? I am missing everywhere. I’ve been having dreams about dinners in truck stops in Oklahoma and driving across Kansas. Both noble activities, but hardly exciting, well except during tornado weather. Where was I, oh, dreaming about cafe au lait and beignets, green ones and yellow ones and wondering if the room is spinning or if it’s just me in the bar at the Hotel Montelone. Yeah, I know what it means to miss New Orleans. So, join me as we stand and make a Crescent City classic, the Vieux Carre.
I had other plans for tonight, but when I got home Laura had brought me a big cup of pebble ice with a request for something tiki. I ran through my mental Rolodex (that’s an old school contacts app, for you kids) trying to find something I had all the ingredients to make and sounded appetizing. I settled on a classic Singapore Sling, but after making it, taking pictures and drinking it, I decided to switch and make an infinitely more interesting variation, the South Seas Sling.