October 15, 2013
A few posts ago, I talked about my recent purchase of The Compleat Imbiber #5, and said there’d be more to come from it – and I didn’t lie, because now here we are and have another delightful Cocktail Talk quote straight from that august compendium. This particular one is from a story called A Party for the Girls, by H.E. Bates, in which a hero is tasked with making a Moselle Cup, but he can’t quite remember how it goes. So, foraging his path via experimentation, he ends up with a drink that ends up being “genius.” Sometimes it takes a little luck . . .
‘You said mint. What about mint now? Shall I go and get it? We’ve got lemon mint, too, I think’
Horace, who was trying hard to remember the exact proportions of the cup’s ingredients, put a dozen cubes of ice in a jug and coloured them with a golden film of brandy. Hesitant about something, he stood biting his lip. Oughtn’t there to be a dash or two of curaçao? Something seemed to tell him so.
‘You haven’t a spot of curaçao, I suppose?’
No, but they had maraschino, Maude said, and she thought also a little Cointreau. By now Horace was mildly confused. He couldn’t remember for the life of him whether it was curaçao, Cointreau, or maraschino that the cup demanded and again he stood biting his lip with that shy perplexity that affected Maude far more sharply than any look of open appeal.
–H.E. Bates, A Party for the Girls, The Compleat Imbiber 5
October 1, 2013
Those chosen few, who have dawdled here on Spiked Punch since days of yore, or since days of long ago, may have been blessed enough to chance across a Cocktail Talk post featuring some wit or wisdom from one of the Compleat Imbibers that I am lucky to own. If you, rascal that you are, missed one of those earlier posts (my guess is you were out chasing whiskey bottles up trees), then by all means, go read them. Now you know that The Compleat Imbiber was a series of anthologies covering everything about drinking, with lots of wine talk, some boozy poems, some pictures of glassware, some etching of famous tipplers, and more. Overall, awesome. And during my recent trip to the U.K., I managed in a London bookstore to find a copy I didn’t yet own, number 5. So, expect some quotes over the next little while from it, starting with this one from a short essay by C. Gordon Glover about those who might bore you at the bar with their chatter.
‘Good gracious Fossbridge! Never seen you drinking gin before.’ ‘Hollands, dear boy. And chilled. I always telephone Mrs. Mason in the afternoon if I propose to drink a glass of Hollands in the early evening. She puts a bottle in the refrigerator for me. But not gin, as you understand it – definitely not the brutish juniper. . .’
Of course, there is no need to suffer it at all. There is always the snug fireside. But yet, and yet – they would be missed. And we, too, possibly, may bore the dying nightlights out of them!
– C. Gordon Glover, Boring at the Bar, The Compleat Imbiber 5
September 24, 2013
Just last week, I talked about finding and reading and digging the book by Madison Smartt Bell called Straight Cut. Go read that post if you haven’t. Back now? Great, that means it’s time for you to dive right in to some more Cocktail Talk quotes from said book. The first is about grappa, and the second, for balance, is about rum.
In the early evening I went to the trattoria for an early supper and mainly to get out of the house and there I remembered about grappa. There’s no language difficulty about ordering grappa. You just say “grappa” and the man brings you some, in this case a sizable portion for the equivalent of about thirty U.S. cents.
On the Bayswater Road, near the corner of Kensington Gardens, I found a booze shop and bought a quart of dark naval rum. Circling back about Queensway, I picked up some plastic cups at a grocer’s and then I went back to the room. It was time to get drunk and think it over.
— Straight Cut, Madison Smartt Bell
September 17, 2013
I recently picked up a random read from Madison Smartt Bell called Straight Cut. If I’ve ever read a book by Mr. Bell, I’ve forgotten it (sorry!), but this one was from the reliable Hard Case Crime label, had a great cover, and at least (so the cover told me) takes place partially in Rome. I’m all for all three of those, so I dove in. And it’s a dandy read, sort-of a thoughtful caper revolving a bit around films and film-making, with lots in Rome, and lots (which is why I’m mentioned it here on this blog) of nice drink-y moments. Enough so that I’m going to put a couple Straight Cuts quotes on here – two posts worth! Starting with this one that starts with a question and ends with mint:
Did I want a drink or did I want a drink? I reached out my hand then thought, don’t get belting it out of the bottle, that’s not the way. Get a glass and some ice at least. Then I decided I’d do it fancy, go out in the field and pick some mint for my drink.
There wasn’t enough moon to make much light, and I went stumbling over clumps of uncut grass until my eyes adjusted to the dark. The ground here on the flat was spongy from the rain, and it was pleasantly cool. The mint grew wild in a ditch somewhere about halfway across the field, which I found by tripping into it, soaking myself to the knees.
I picked a handful of broad leaves and a couple of tops for decoration. The fine sweet smell rose from the stalks as I broke them, and it covered both of my hands. I tore a leaf and chewed it on my way back toward the house. It was a quiet night. No drunk teenage drivers for me to pick out of my fence, not yet anyway.
I thought I might not want a drink anymore once I’d had my healthy little walk, but I was wrong. I did. In fact, I wanted two big drinks.
— Straight Cut, Madison Smartt Bell
August 27, 2013
I have to admit – I don’t know a whole lot about G.B. Stern. She (full name: Gladys Bronwyn Stern) was a British writer, who wrote a whole lot of things, including a short story called Gemini, which was printed in The Pocket Book of Mystery Stories from 1940. That collection is pretty swell, if you ever come across it, with a wide range of stories and (as the back cover lets us know), “Gasps and Ghosts Galore!” But only one story has slivovitz in it, and that’s the one by G.B. Stern.
I was going to mix the cocktails and have them ready, just before any of you turned up, when it struck me that I might invent a new one with a strain of slivovitz in it.
—G.B. Stern, The Pocket Book of Mystery Stories
August 20, 2013
Those who are regular readers (and who among can admit that you are not? None of you, that’s who. Cause then I’d cry, and pout, and do the whole crying-pouting thing, which would make everyone a little embarrassed, so just say you read this blog all the time, okay?) will remember that I’m a big fan of the works of Anthony Trollope. So much so, I have to admit, that I own every book of his that’s readily available, and a number that aren’t as readily available. But there are still a lot that I haven’t read – he was a prolific dude. To track one remaining Trollopean holdout, I had to find a copy via a company called Forgotten Books, which prints facsimiles from old old texts. So, no footnotes here. But that’s okay with me, cause I’m knee deep in another Victorian country tale, one that started early with the following quote (said quote why the book is being mentioned on this blog. But you might have guessed that) talking about the town and about the townspeople’s drink of choice:
There rages a feud in Bullhampton touching this want of a market, as there are certain Bullhamptonites who aver that the charter giving all rights of a market to Bullhampton does exist; and that at one period in its history the market existed also – for a year or two; but the three bakers and the two butchers are opposed to change, and the patriots of the place, though the declaim on the matter over their evening pipes and gin-and-water, have not enough of matutinal zeal to carry out their purpose.
¬ Anthony Trollope, The Vicar of Bullhampton
July 30, 2013
Way way back where here on this here blog, I posted some (though no one, I hope, would say too much) about the fine, fine collection Everyday Drinking by Kingsley Amis. If you’re interested in writing about drinking, or drinking, or reading, or any of those things jumbled up as in a blender in some way, then I strongly suggest you read said collection. But also check out Mr. Amis’ novels and such, cause they’re darn fine as well. And sometimes have amazing Cocktail Talk-ing going on, like in the below.
Shorty recovered himself, no mean feat after the MacKelvie-provided shot of green Chartreuse, and the Fishwicke-provided shot of Bénédictine he had thrown down on top of everything else.
—Kingsley Amis, Ending Up
July 23, 2013
Some say (or, said, cause after I caught up with ‘em they didn’t say any more.*) that the Cocktail Talk posts here shade too much to the pulp, noir, and mystery side, with only the occasional 1800’s English writer for balance. Pish posh, I say. But, I do believe in balance mostly and mainly, so this time, a little something that could be said to be more lit’rary. And French. And what’s more lit’rary than that? Nothing. This quote is gold, too, and reminds me of many an afternoon that started so purposeful and ended up sorta derailed. I’ll bet you’ve had those days, too, yes?
They entered a small café and took an absinthe together, then resumed their walk along the pavement. Morissot stopped suddenly. ‘Shall we have another absinthe?’ he said. ‘If you like,’ agreed Monsieur Sauvage. And they entered another wine shop. They were quite unsteady when they came out, owing to the effect of the alcohol on their empty stomachs. It was a fine, mild day, and a gentle breeze fanned their faces.
— Guy de Maupassant, Two Friends
*Kidding! I’m not so tough. I’m a cuddler.
