There are more than just bananas in there...

Tag: campari

The Mean Fiddler

I was thinking about the devil tonight and his gambling habit. Seemed like the right thing to do, don’t ask me why. I recalled the lyric “Now, you play a pretty mean fiddle boy…” and thought to myself, what constitutes a “mean fiddle”? Does it bite? Refuse the rosin? Whisper insults in your ear while you play? It would make more sense for the devil to be the one playing the mean fiddle, then I would understand it better. A mean fiddle is one that refuses to sound like a violin and goes with a funky bass thing. You’d be surprised just how long I went down this path, before I came up for air. It was definitely long enough to get a thirst, so won’t you join me now as we stand and make The Mean Fiddler. 

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Last Man Standing

It’s another bartenders handshake. So if you haven’t embraced the bitter, this one is not for you. Hell, it’s got Campari, so it may not be for me, but that is not going to stop us from making it. I’ll probably ramble on a bit about having to take the bitter with the sweet, maybe compare some films, who knows? I certainly don’t. Doesn’t really matter though, this is the drink we are making, these are the words I am writing and while I hope that you enjoy both, it’s really out of my hands at this point. So won’t you join me now as we stand and make The Last Man Standing.

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Psycho Killer

You know how things are fun, how you look forward to them, but one day those same things just become daunting and you dread having to actually do them? No? Huh? Just me, then. Ok. Well, I am glad you aren’t afflicted with this crippling fear, but I hope you can expand your imagination enough to relate. You ever have one of those days where you start a conversation, you can’t even finish it? I mean, you’re talking a lot, but you’re not even saying anything. This is one of those days for me. I am tense and nervous and I can’t relax because it is my buddy Jenn’s birthday. That means I need to find a drink that encapsulates what she means to me and then write nice-ish things about her. I have done it for other folks, and it feels like a thing I do now. It just sort of happened organically the first couple times, but now that it is a thing, I get worried about it. Weird, huh? So, it is only natural, that I should extend this courtesy to Jenn, it is the polite thing to do and I hate people when they are not polite. So join me now, as we stand and make a drink that just screams Jenn, the Psycho Killer.

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We stumbled upon this one a couple of weeks ago and it caught my attention. It comes from the Milk & Honey bar in New York and is a cross between a Negroni and a Gin Sour. I don’t care for Negronis, but I love Gin Sours, so I thought that maybe this one was for me, plus it is said to be “the ideal drink to introduce a novice to Campari!” Since, I have struggled with Campari I figured I’d give it a shot, plus it has whole white grapes in it and when I got home I found that Laura had gotten fresh white grapes at the store today, I figured it was a sign. So, join me as we stand and make, the Enzoni.

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Jimmy said there’d be “good days and bad days and going half mad days” and I suppose it is true. I know that I have more than my fair share of half-mad days. I have had some damned good days though, along the way. Today, I am thinking about one of them in particular. One of my weird best days, a day on the road, seeking adventure and passing the time on the north coast of Africa in Tunisia. On this particular day, I remember drinking mint tea, plenty of that, some lovely Carthaginian White Wine and a refreshing gin and tonic, along with several liters of water. It was hot, dreadfully so. When I think of that wonderful day, I always think of a particular drink, one that I, not only, did not have that day but that did not even cross my sun-dazzled mind. We will get to the why in a bit, but first, join me as we stand and make, the Negroni.

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Jungle Bird

Pa told me that about 90% of what you accomplish in life comes down to choosing the right partner. Speaking of that, when I got home this afternoon Laura stopped mowing the yard long enough to let me know that she’d hollowed out a pineapple for me, that it was inside on the counter and that a tiki drink would be lovely. I ran through my mental catalog and selected a classic. So join me as we stand and make, the Jungle Bird. 

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