There are more than just bananas in there...

Tag: rye (Page 1 of 3)

The Patriot

We are always in transition. It’s the nature of the game, but we don’t always realize it. Sure, we get the graduations and marriages and all of those big days, but lots of life changing moments pass us by without fanfare, only recognizable in hindsight. For most folks, you don’t know when it happen and that’s, mostly, a good thing. As a kid, how long would you hold on if you knew it was the last time your mom was going to pick you up? How tight would you hold your own child if you realized how soon they were going to grow too large for you to carry them in from the car. We wouldn’t be able to function. How would you ever be able to say goodbye and walk away if you knew that this was the last cup of coffee you were ever going to share with a friend? Sometimes, we are blessed by ignorance. We know that all of those things are going to happen, eventually, but that’s off in the future and nothing to worry about today. So, with a nod toward those little moments, the firsts and the lasts that sweep us by, won’t you please join me now as we stand and make The Patriot.

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Count Mast

He did not want the drink I had offered him. I got that. On some level, it made sense. After all, I had been making custom shots from a multitude of ingredients for everyone else, and I simply poured him a long pull of Jägermeister. Was it a bit lazy on my part? Sure. To be fair, he had been talking about doing bombs in college, while waiting in line, just moments before in a way that seemed a fond remembrance. What to do now, as we found ourselves in a bit of a stand off. I did not want to argue, but I was making the shots, so I got to call them. I just locked eyes and waited. After a pause, he opened, “it’s just that, well, in college, umm, well…” then I got it. He’d been poorly treated by this spirit. No wanting to prolong his discomfort, I poured an apple whiskey, topped it with blueberry schnapps and pushed it across the bar to him, before slowly and deliberately picking up that Jäger shot for a silent toast, before slowly drinking it down. As he walked away, I thought, it was a shame that he wasn’t willing to give it a chance. There are lots of things that hurt when done to excess that can be heavenly, in moderation. So, with a nod to the ghosts of college parties past, won’t you join me now as we stand and make the Count Mast.

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Menthattan

Restraint. There is a lot to be said for it. It’s not necessarily one of my strong suits, but I am trying. This is one of the very few areas where I am getting better with age. The older you get that easier it is to let things slide. To be fair, I am way more likely to pull hard on the reins now, when I take them in hand. Of course, that’s just the other side of the same coin, someone has to hold them after all. So, grab some leather and hold on as we stand and make the Menthattan.

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Monte Carlo

“You can’t just jump in to the middle,” she said, the exasperation palatable in the air. “These things take time, you have to build a world before you can live in it.” I knew she was right, of course. It was careless of me to have let this happen in the first place. I should have stopped right then, but I figured I would get away with it. No one was getting hurt after all. That’s what I told myself, but with every incident I found myself falling further down the well of denial. I knew what had to happen. I had to fix things, but how could I do that now? I could always go back and pretend it never happened in the first place, create evidence, obscure the trail, but that did not seem right. Better to just own up to the facts and make things as right as I could. So, in the spirit of correcting dead ends and restoring the sacred narrative throughline, won’t you join me now as we stand and make the Monte Carlo.

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The Brooklyn

Sometimes you get lucky and things just fall in to place. That happened to us last week as we made a quick stop on the road home from Atlanta for lunch and some cocktails to go. We got a great meal, some local ciders to bring home, a drink for later and I scored an ingredient I needed for this drink and a few others. So, in the spirit of things working out, won’t you please join me as we stand and make The Brooklyn.

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Bananarac

One of the greatest difficulties we face today is a growing gap in cultural literacy. In addition to basic history, which we hope against hope will be covered in the kids curriculum, there are also thousands of fandoms, movies and music that a person needs to have at least a working knowledge of, in order to be a clever productive-ish member of society. Nobody told me that helping to educate the next generation would be so daunting. Just today I found myself explaining concepts I barely understand myself as the lad asked “What is a hollaback girl?” That shit was bananas, b-a-n-a-n-a-s. So, in the spirit of seeming clever by staying one step ahead of the class, won’t you join me now as we stand and make the Bananarac.

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Lorikeet

Truth is, I just felt like making a tiki drink. You ever just get that urge? It may not be for a tiki drink, it could be for a Kit-Kat or a smoke or some Persian poetry. Who knows where those impulses come from, where our desires live when they aren’t driving us. It is funny how you can go for weeks or months or years and never once think about quiche or scuba diving or the company of a friend from long ago, but once they cross your mind, they just seem to linger there, an inexplicable, but gnawing hunger to feel those things again. That’s where I find myself this evening, with an uninspired, yet insatiable want for something tiki. I had an unused glass and the ingredients, so I decided to indulge. In the spirit of nearly forgotten appetites, won’t you please join me now as we stand and make the modern tiki classic Lorikeet.

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Braulio Sour

One of the cool things about this “Cocktails from Quarantine” journey has been the discovery of new ingredients and techniques. While I have no practical, real world way to use these new skills, unless someone is looking for a guest lecturer to teach their cocktail classes, I have really enjoyed expanding my horizons and trying new things. I was already digging on bitters and liqueurs, but over the past year, I have learned way more about the bitter amaros than I ever expected to. For the most part I did not like them. I understood the concepts and I got why other people enjoyed them, but they just weren’t my thing. It is kind of like wine, I often enjoy wine, but I don’t really understand it the way true aficionados do. I get why terroir matters, in all things, but I am lost when it comes to the nuts and bolts of pairings and why this grape brings that flavor. My early experiences with amaros were mostly centered around bartending buddies who all seem to eventually gravitate toward the bitter side of the table and delight in creating “handshake” drinks made to turn the tongues of unsuspecting dilettantes inside out. My own tentative steps into amaros have only served to show me the depths of my ignorance, but I am beginning to get it. There is something really lovely hiding just beyond the sorrow in the depths of bitterness. So, in the spirit of expanding our horizons, won’t you please join me as we stand and make the Braulio Sour.

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Her Majesty

I don’t generally follow the news of “royals” whether they are from Kansas City or the UK. I wish them both well, I just don’t get the fascination. I’m not knocking it, just saying it’s not my bag. That kind of luxe just ain’t for us, as the kids say. Apparently, there was some hullabaloo over an interview between Oprah, Meghan and the Harry formerly known as Prince. Some family business was addressed publicly, some feelings were hurt and the gods of ratings rejoiced. Honestly, I am only marginally aware of this because it seemed to dominate the morning news cycle, perhaps when I learn more, I shall care more deeply. Perhaps not. The point is, my choice of drink today has absolutely no bearing at all on this coincidence. I saw something that looked nice, I wanted to try it and I indulged my desires, with agency. So, in the spirit of going ahead and doing your own thing, even when circumstances conspire to make that unnecessarily confusing, won’t you join me now as we stand and make Her Majesty.

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Coco Bitter

After a year of days running into each other, it seems like overkill to have this week of ice and snow. I already barely knew what month we were in and I awoke this morning to a grey, ashen sky over an endless sea of white to discover that it was Wednesday, and not just any Wednesday, but Ash Wednesday, which means I went right on through Mardi Gras without realizing it. To be fair, I should have known, mom had homemade King Cake at dinner Sunday, so I knew it was coming up, it just never really registered that it was upon us. I had planned to make a New Orleans classic, but that did not quite work out, so, won’t you please join me now as we stand and make the Coco Bitter.

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