Cocktails for Two
Life's in an uproar.
Our president is listening to our phone calls. Chris Daughtry was tossed off American Idol. Howard Dean's an ass. Rufus Wainwright is channeling Judy Garland at Carnegie Hall. Mary Cheney, the bitch, has written a book no one wants to read. Will & Grace is one episode away from it's conclusion.
I, of course, am concentrating on the important stuff. Reading the New York Times, I came across this.
Children, what are you thinking? Are you all that bored? Are your palates that jaded?
Furthermore, may I say: Yuck.
I'm a simple man. I prefer a simple cocktail. Trust me, a Cosmopolitan is something I find way too fussy and way too modern. Call me a Luddite.
If we're going to have cocktails, these are the rules:
I'd like vodka, please, straight up, very dry, with an olive. By vodka, I mean Stolichnaya, and none of those fruity flavors, if you will. I like Stoli because you can actually taste it, as opposed to Ketel One or Grey Goose. I love the sensation of the first Martini, as that silver ribbon of vodka travels down your throat, saying howdy in turn, to various regions of your alimentary canal. Ahhh. By dry, I mean I want you to pass the bottle of vermouth over the glass in a sort of benediction, but don't actually pour any in. No. I kid. I want you to pour a bit over the ice cubes, coat them and then throw out the excess. That's enough.
I prefer a bourbon Manhattan. And I'm pretty happy with whatever bourbon you have on hand, with the exception of Jack Daniels. Which isn't bourbon anyway. It's sour mash. Marker's Mark, Knob Creek, Wild Turkey, hell...even Rebel Yell will work just fine. Now here you must follow the traditional recipe. If you make it like a Martini, it will be undrinkable. Here's how:
2 parts Bourbon
1 part sweet Italian Vermouth
Dash of bitters
A good cherry
If you make this I will drink several. If you'd like to get me in an amorous mood, give me at least two.
In the heat of summer, I can be tempted to drink Gin and tonic. A gin Martini is purely for those heading down those twelve steps.
On cold winter nights, a wee dram of single malt whiskey is lovely. I'm a fan of Lagavulin and Oban.
Holiday dinners at our house always seem to end with Port. Tawny and 20 years old, please.
Bourbon and soda is a fine drink for hanging out in bars as random as Ty's and the Townhouse. Actually those two are not that random, are they?
And if pushed I will consume Miller Lite by the gallon. Actually, you don't have to push me.
However, if you approach me with a glass of alcohol that's been sweetened with the essence of a lasered vanilla bean, or chilled with nitrogen, combined with agar agar, or otherwise bastardized with such foolish frippery, I may slug you.
There. Doesn't that look refreshing?
I'm going to have at least two of these, and possibly three tonight when I reach Tim's house.
What better way to cast off the day, and unravel the sleeve of care.
I'm so glad I have my very own personal bartender.