We are going to have some fun with our seventh entry of The Thirteen Drinks of Halloween. Think of this as an “after dinner” drink because it’s on the sweet side. Let’s be honest you can’t even see the dry side from where this drink stands, but what would Halloween be without some tricks and treats? So, please join me now as we stand and make The Eternal Kiss.
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.
The world used to be a bigger place. There were lots of corners to hide in. Remember the days of regional delicacies? Stuff you could only get if you went to a particular area or place. Hatch Green Chiles in New Mexico, cheese curds in Wisconsin, scrapple in Pennsylvania or Jersey’s Taylor Ham. You could live a couple of hours away and have never heard of a loose burger, fry bread or chislic. I kind of miss those days of culinary exploration, even when it wasn’t remotely fancy. Twenty years ago, we always stopped at Culver’s when we were in Wisconsin, Five Guys when near DC or Jack in the Box in L.A. Today, we can visit any of those within a mile of each other in Franklin, Tennessee. We have more choices, but as these local flavors expand across the country, even in these standardized ways, we are getting a bit more homogenized, a bit more boring. So, in honor of a shrinking world, please join me now as we stand and make my version of a Texas classic, Smoke on the Ranch Water
It’s not always that complicated. Occasionally, these drinks happen without a lot of thought going into them. Well, not a lot of thought on my part, anyway. Sometimes you stay out too late and just want to crank up some good tunes and make a drink for the pure pleasure of it. That’s what we have here tonight, just enough words to get us to the break and a heck of a drink to boot. So join me now as we stand and make the Rusty Switchblade.
I had today all planned out. I had bananas I need to use, a hankering for something chilled, some new rum I wanted to try, an impassioned rant about the present state of local school systems and what you are not hearing about on the news, but then I had to throw it all out. Why? Well, it is all Alicia’s fault. She decided she had to be born today, well today, some indeterminate number of years ago, probably in Texas. I am not even sure how long ago she arrived on the scene. I mean it is easy to love her as a friend and supremely decent human, but do I have to respect her as an elder? Chalk up her excesses to youthful exuberance? I do not even know. It is all very confusing for me and, par for the course, now that she’s involved in the day things are getting complicated, but infinitely more interesting. So, let’s make a drink for her, something I can reasonably justify as being chosen especially for her on her special day, as one does. Won’t you join me now as we stand and make, the Tia Mia.
For the most part, I write like I speak. When I am writing I think in speech patterns, kind of like I am talking to you directly. I put in commas where I would naturally pause. I use semicolons for soft stops, a longer pause that continues on in the same vein. I love ellipses because sometimes…just, sometimes…you need to take a longer moment to reflect…before going on. I don’t worry about the grammatical rules so much, since we are gathered here virtually and informally, but I try to get most of them right. Except for run-on sentences, I simply adore them. I try to break it up. Honestly, I do. Sometimes. I love the rhythm of speech and there are times when you just have to let your words run free, unrestrained by grammatical bridles, to communicate, to create images of the mind, to stream along till their obvious, or not so obvious, conclusion. I am not doing this for a grade, so I’m not gonna sweat the details, but I do sometimes worry about them. After the drink, we will continue our education theme this week and delve into why writing here causes a bit of internal tension. But first, will you please join me as we stand and make the Bow & Arrow.
This morning we went to the farmer’s market, as we do most Saturdays. It is nice to see folks, get some great stuff and support our local economy. Plus the dog gets to go, so it is wins all the way around. This time of the summer is great because of all the fresh produce and our weekly menu is always influenced by what we can find. Today, there were lots of tomatoes and peppers. Such good peppers. I bought several types and could not wait to get home and make something with them. So, join me now as we stand and make the Last of the Oaxacans.
Don’t you hate it when you believe a thing to be true only to find again and again that you were wrong, have most likely been wrong your whole life and you have no one but yourself to blame? Yeah, me either. I have spent my whole life avoiding drinks topped with sparkling wines, but the more I make them the more I see that I was just buying into some hype. That I was hating on a whole class of drinks because I was told they weren’t any good, or not manly enough for a fella to drink. Well, they were wrong and I was wrong to listen and now that I know better, I am going to be better. So here we are, back with another sparkling wine cocktail, inspired by our success with the French 75 we decided to tempt fate, yet again, with a Southwestern riff on a champagne cocktail. So, join me as we stand and make the Lone Ranger.
We spent the day working in the backyard, cleaning up, hanging new lights, trimming branches, burning a bunch of wood in the fire pit. You know, good honest work. It wasn’t till I walked inside for a drink that I realized I smelled like a campfire and that’s when I decided I needed a real drink, something smoky and rugged, like me. Looking at my recent acquisitions, a new stirring pitcher and a fresh bottle of mezcal made this one an easy call, the Oaxacan Old-Fashioned.