December 9, 2014
You might not think Cranford, a classic about 1850s small-town English life, especially the life of single older ladies, would have a bunch of cocktail moments. And, it doesn’t, necessarily (by the way – read it if you haven’t. It’s a swell selection of stories that all intertwine around these ladies). But if there’s one thing 1850s ladies in small towns in the U.K. like, it is a little sherry-like sipper on special occasions. Or, very rarely, cherry brandy. Here is one of those times.
Miss Barker, in her former sphere, had, I dare say, been made acquainted with the beverage they call cherry-brandy. We none of us had ever seen such a thing, and rather shrunk back when she proffered it us – ‘just a little, leetle glass, ladies; after the oysters and lobsters, you know. Shellfish are sometimes thought not very wholesome.’
— Elizabeth Gaskell, Cranford
November 25, 2014
Earlier this month, I admitted to having only a tenuous relationship (until recently) with Edmund Crispin and his fictional English detective Gervase Fen. Since I’m in the admitting mood (hah, no, I’m not admitting that, yet), I should also say that until recently I hadn’t read any books featuring an even more famous detective, Inspector Maigret of the Paris PD, as written by George Simenon in 74 novels and 28 short stories. Whoa! I don’t even have the cat vs. dog excuse in this case. But recently I picked up three Maigret novels to see what I was missing, and completely dug them – a bit dark, a bit French, a bit rainy for some reason, but full of murder, mysteriousness, and a lot of food and drink. They do take place in France, after all. And I can’t wait to read more, especially when they contain Cocktail Talk like the below:
He had drunk only one glass of Champagne. Then rest of time he had drunk mostly wine, then, God knows why, anisette.
Who had ordered anisette? Oh yes, it was the dentist. A retired dentist to be precise, whose name escaped him. Another phenomenon. There was nothing but phenomenon on the island.
—My Friend Maigret, George Simenon
November 4, 2014
There are far too many detectabulous fictional detectives to begin to name even my favorites here (just scroll through the Cocktail Talk posts and you’ll see many of them). But one that I haven’t been too closely acquainted with is literary mystery-unraveler Gervase Fen, created by English writer Edmund Crispin. It’s not surprising in a way, because Crispin was a cat person, and I’m a dog person. But I overlooked that when reading The Case of the Gilded Fly lately – which was the first of I believe nine Gervase Fen books. And I think I’ll read more, even if the dogs look at me sidewise when I’m reading them. Mr. Fen is an Oxford don, and I tend to like Oxford, and pretty witty besides, and the murder was nicely raveled and then unraveled. Not to mention that the book contained the below quote, ideal for Cocktail Talking.
There followed the ceremony of mumblings, apologies, and recognitions which always occurs when a group of people only partially acquainted are brought together, and a great and complicated maneuvering of chairs. Nigel, about to go off once again to the bar, was forestalled by Nicolas, who as he ordered pink gins contemplated with unconcealed glee the extremely uncomfortable relationships which were likely to be established within the next few minutes.
—The Case of the Gilded Fly, Edmund Crispin
October 7, 2014
I’ve had a couple Cocktail Talk posts with quotes from Peter Lovesey books, though neither books feature his Bath, UK detective Peter Diamond – who is one of my favorite fictional police detectives, both for his rotundness and his crime-solving acuity. Sadly, he’s not much of a drinker, outside of the beer. But Mr. Lovesey also writes shorter fiction, and I recently picked up his collection Do Not Exceed the Stated Dose, which feature a whole host of good whodunits and other such tales, including the one this quote is from (said quote being ideal for here due to the whiskey. But I also like the “meat raffle.”)
He lowered his face until it was inches from hers. Not even nine in the morning and she could smell sweet whiskey on his breath. “I won it, didn’t I?” he said, daring her to disbelieve. “A meat raffle in The Valiant Trooper last night.”
–Peter Lovesey, The Proof of the Pudding
September 23, 2014
I recently picked up a couple Trollope books I hadn’t read before (which is rare – if you don’t know of my Trollopean love, go check out past Trollope Cocktail Talks), thanks to Powell’s, and as long-time readers of this here blog could guess, I was super excited to find them. Both because I could happily read Trollope all day long, and because the books tend to contain a nice bit of Cocktail Talk, too. For example, one of the books was Ralph the Heir, about a somewhat ne’er-do-well running into trouble before some inheritance kicks in, along with being about his much nicer cousins, and how they all end up and with who. It’s fantastic, really. But having a ne’er-do-well means, naturally, that there’s some time spent in clubs and bars, which leads to the below quote – one of the best about how service is sometimes driven.
Mrs. Horsball got out from some secluded nook a special bottle of orange-brandy in his favour – which Lieutenant Cox would have consumed on the day of its opening, had not Mrs. Horsball with considerable acrimony declined to supply his orders. The sister with ringlets smiled and smirked whenever the young Squire went near the bar. The sister in ringlets was given to flirtations of this kind, would listen with sweetest complacency to compliments on her beauty, and would return them with interest. But she never encouraged this sort of intimacy with gentlemen who did not pay their bills, or with those whose dealings with the house were not of a profitable nature. The man who expected that Miss Horsball would smile upon him because he ordered a glass of sherry and bitters or half-a-pint of pale ale was very much mistaken; but the softness of her smile for those who consumed the Moonbeam Champagne was unbounded. Love and commerce with her ran together, and regulated each other in a manner that was exceedingly advantageous to her brother.
–Anthony Trollope, Ralph the Heir
Tags: Anthony Trollope, Brandy, Champagne, Cocktail Talk, Moonbeam Champagne, pale ale, Ralph the Heir, sherry and bitters
Posted in: Anthony Trollope, Brandy, Champagne & Sparkling Wine, Cocktail Talk
August 26, 2014
Charles Williams, the hard-boiled, pulpy, mystery, thriller-y writer, has shown up on this blog before a few times in Cocktail Talk posts. With good reason, as he’s one of the best 1950s/60s writers in all the genres mentioned. I’m always pretty excited to track down one of his books I haven’t read – his plots are crisp, his language is entertaining and right on, and his characters aren’t afraid of a good drink. Recently, I picked up his book Man on a Leash, which is about a young-ish guy trying to track down what happened to his recently-murdered and very larger-than-life father, and then getting into all kinds of predicaments himself. And having a Bloody Mary or two (not the normal drink, really, for pulp-ish books). Which is the where the first quote below comes from. The second has nothing to do with drinks, but is just a darn sweet quote. I’ve begun quoting it, actually, every day at work.
‘It sounds a little kooky, out here in the sagebrush, but would you believe a rescue at sea?’ She glanced at her watch and stood up. ‘But I’ve got to run. If you’ll stop by when you get through here, I’ll hammer together a couple of Blood Marys and a bit of lunch and tell you about it.’
Brubaker got up and began to pace the office. ‘Jesus Christ, when I think that I could’ve been a pimp or a geek in a sideshow, biting the heads off chickens!
— Charles Williams, Man on a Leash
July 15, 2014
I don’t know much about Mary Collins, outside of that she wrote 6 mystery books set in Cali in the middle part of the last century. The only one I’ve read is Death Warmed Over, and it’s worth tracking down. It’s mostly set around this Los Angeles boarding house during the war, where people keep getting knocked off, and has a plucky heroine who decides to do some detecting. But best of all, at one point our heroine is hanging with another LA sweetie, and they’re drinking B-and-Bs (or, brandy and Bénédictine). I love that (not so much the pre-bottled version, but the make-it-your-self version). Then they switch to brandy and soda! Neat. Check it all out in the below:
“Naturally,” she said, standing up. “Look, Janey, do you want some more B-and-B or would you like a nice plain brandy and soda?”
I said brandy and soda would be wonderful. When Jewel came back from the kitchen, we drank our drinks with unseemly speed. That’s the trouble with good liquor. It tastes so nice that a girl is likely to forget that aside from the taste, it also contains alcohol. With a few minutes we had drunk another brandy and soda.
—Death Warmed Over, Mary Collins
July 1, 2014
I probably don’t need to reiterate my love for English writer Anthony Trollope, but what the heck – I love me some Trollope. I’ve nearly, nearly, read all of his books (well, I’m still missing a few, but I’ve done a fair job and am hunting out the few that I’m missing), and re-read a ton, too. But somehow, the first time I read Doctor Thorne (one of the Chronicles of Barset), I skipped, or read but then forgot about, the below quote. Which is, admittedly, a quote about a character who has a serious probably with the drink. But still! It mentions some bottles that continue to be favorites today, including one thing that’s being in made in Seattle after a long absence by the Old Ballard Liquor Co. See if you can figure out which one!
His father had killed himself with brandy; the son, more elevated in his tastes, was doing the same thing with curaçao, maraschino, and cherry-bounce.
–Anthony Trollope, Doctor Thorne
