As Withnail’s uncle said, “Come on, lads, the sky’s beginning to bruise, night must fall, and we shall be forced to camp.” Why do I mention it? Not quite sure, myself, but there has to be something there in the first line to entice you to begin reading. Naturally, that should be followed with some sort of cohesive thought meant to grab your attention, perhaps a bit of a head fake to throw you off the scent of where this one is going. On the one hand, it should be obvious that whatever I’m talking about in the beginning should segue smoothly into me asking you to help in the creation of the drink, which I then reveal in the last line of the first paragraph. To be fair, it is usually done in a manner that is a bit strained, a nod to me trying to be a bit too clever, while just getting enough words in that I feel good about the opening since I rarely mention what I am really thinking till after the break and often not until the drink itself is made. So, with that in mind, won’t you please join me as we stand and make, The Full Monte.
Sartre said, “She believed in nothing. Only her skepticism kept her from being an atheist.” when talking about his grandma. Journey said, “Don’t stop believing.” talking about an unidentified small-town girl living in a lonely world. I figure the truth of the matter lies somewhere in between, after all you’ve got to believe in something even if that is nothing. But what do we do when our beliefs turn out to be wrong? It’s not our fault, we have all been lied to about lots of things for most of our lives, maybe we just picked a bad belief system or more likely had one assigned to us by our circumstances and surroundings. Could happen to anyone. Seriously, though, what do you do when you find out that the things you believe are simply not true? We have all been there. We have all had that moment of disappointment when we find that those truths we cling to are based on a flawed premise at best and an outright lie at worst. It is hard to not get discouraged when you find out you have been lied to. It’s also hard to not get angry, especially as you navigate a world that isn’t what you thought it was. Some would argue that it is easier to not believe in anything. They are wrong , of course, but they will argue it with you, endlessly. So, in honor of those who believe in nothing, allegedly, please join me as we stand and make the Nihilist Sour.
We made it to Christmas, but this is not the holiday we were expecting. I had planned a very different post today, but with the events of this morning, I just can’t. Life goes on and we are making a drink, but like so much in 2020, we are going to make some accommodations and not pretend for a moment that any of this is remotely normal. So in that spirit, please join me for this last of our The 12 Drinks of Christmas. Sing along at home, if you like, because, “For the twelfth drink of Christmas, Uncle Monkey made for me, Yule Love Amaro”.
The best of wives made homemade lasagna this afternoon. This is important because it is imperative that you understand the difficulties of trying to write through a food induced coma. Dinner was so good, but it doesn’t make you clever, it makes you sleepy. If you can stay awake, please join me now as we stand and make the Little Italy.
The things that really frighten us aren’t witches or ghosts or werewolves or zombies. Sure, those are great for jump scares in the cinema, for scary stories around the campfire during a full moon, but they are also a safe kind of fear. Things we, as a culture, have decided are an acceptable form of scary. But for something truly frightening, something dangerous, we have to look no further than ourselves and the secrets in the human heart. So join me now as we stand and make, In Cold Blood.
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.
It’s rainy and yucky and full of ennui today with more of the same in the forecast, but that is no reason to not have a drink. It does make choosing a little more challenging. Part of me wants to go tropical or tiki, part of me wants to do something scotch heavy and autumnal and part of me wants to skip the whole thing and curl up with a good book. However, duty calls, so I am going for a riff on an old friend adapted for a dreary fall day. Won’t you please join me now as we stand and make, The Final Ward.
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.
Ok, I won’t make a variation in The Last Word today, but I’m still on that bitter liqueur kick. I guess it is a good thing, I have acquired this taste, since we have had many bitter pills to swallow recently. I’ve been at work since 5 this morning, I need a shower, I was also the lunch lady and bathroom monitor for our in office one room schoolhouse and I have to drive an hour and a half roundtrip to pick up ramen takeout for dinner because that’s how we get our t-shirt at the end of Otaku Ramen’s Kaiju Summer; so what do you say we cut the prologue short today? Cool. Then I ask you to please join me once again as we stand and make, the Fernet Sour.