I don’t usually think of my brown liquors (such as those in Dark Spirits—and yes, that was a blatant book shout out) in kissy-face terms. I mean, they’re often easy going down, and flavorful, and delicate in their whiskey-scotch-brandy-darkrum-etc way, but I still rarely utilize “smooching,” or “tongue-wrestling,” or “suck-face,” or “making out” when describing them, or even more rarified terms like “lip locking.” Which is dumb of me. Cause I’ve always thought kissing drunk people (only tipsy wife Nat for many years, of course) was dandy. And if they’ve been bourbon-ing or dark-spirit-ing, even better (as long as no smoking is involved, cause kissing a smoker is like kissing an ashtray’s ass). That (all that, rambling around) may be why I dig the Inver House Scotch ad below. Sexy, isn’t it? Besides the facts that her neck was probably broken to get that angle, and that Inver House isn’t as adored as it once was (at least it doesn’t seem to be among drinkers I know). Think of this ad next time you’re kissing, and then tell that favorite him/her, “You’re soft as Scotch.” I’ll bet you get even more kisses. Or slapped. One of the two.
Hopefully you read the below post about saving up cranberry sauce. If not, well, you’re crying now. And since we’re communicating via the interweb, I can’t hand you a tissue. But I can show you a lovely picture of my lovely Gizmo, which I made with Bluecoat gin (I love the Aviation which was pictured below, but at the last minute I switched, because the Bluecoat seemed to tie in well not only flavorly, but also thematically, which is important, right?), my sister’s homemade cranberry sauce, and simple syrup, following up the mastermind Jeremy Holt’s recipe as detailed below. And yes, I’ve linked to the below post three times. Now, one more note: this doesn’t have to be just for Thanksgiving. Give the cranberry sauce love room to breathe at other times, too–but just remember, save some for your Gizmo.
It’s Thanksgiving week, which means I’m too busy stretching my stomach to post much (and to anyone who says, “you don’t post much on any week” I say “go soak your head”), but I did want to remind you to save a little cranberry sauce from the big feast so you can be sure to have your Gizmo on Friday. Or Thursday night. Cause you wouldn’t want to miss out.
Wait, what, you don’t know the Gizmo? Well, it’s a dandy way to utilize those leftovers, a cocktail created for this very purpose by bar-and-kitchen-and-drug boy genius Jeremy Holt, aka, the HuksyBoy. Here’s the lowdown:
Ice cubes
2-1/2 ounces gin (Aviation is nice)
1 ounce homemade cranberry sauce
1/2 ounce simple syrup (optional)
1. Fill a cocktail shaker halfway full with ice cubes. Add the gin and cranberry sauce, and syrup if using (if you’re not into the sweets, omit the syrup). Shake exceptionally well.
2. Strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with a turkey leg. Or, for vegetarians, a hunk of stuffing on a toothpick.
A Note: Not sure about making homemade cranberry sauce? Try this (also courtesy HB): Add 1 bag cranberries, the juice and zest of 1 orange, and 1 cup sugar to a saucepan. Heat until required sauce texture is reached.
Now, you know why you need to save a little sauce. And why you should buy that Jeremy a drink next time you see him.
It’s rare that I like a movie or T.V. series or podcast or alien mind scan more than the book it’s based on (cause books are better. So there). But, in the case of The Irish R.M., I think the BBC series is, in fact, better than the collection of vignettes by E. OE Somerville and Martin Ross. Though the collection is nice enough, and gives us the below quote, and introduces us to memorable drunk Slipper (who is almost always “slightly advanced in liquor”), as well as the main character (a somewhat stuffy-but-sweet English fella who goes to rural Ireland to be a registered magistrate, and then gets taken in and involved in all kinds of hijinks with the crafty locals—in a way, it’s like the big city folks from Salina, KS, who would come visit us country folks in Lindsborg, KS, when I was growing up. We’d always be drunk and scheming and riding after foxes while they laughed bemusedly) and various others, it doesn’t have the same jolly resonance as the series starring jolly Englishman Peter Bowles. I strongly suggest it if you want to learn about shebeens (and really, who doesn’t?), and I also strongly suggest the following quote:
It was a day when frost and sunshine combined went to one’s head like iced Champagne; the distant sea looked like the Mediterranean, and for four sunny hours the Knox relatives and I followed nine couple of hounds in a tranquil footpace along the hills, our progress mildly enlivened by one or two scrambles in the shape of jumps.
–The Irish R.M., E. OE Somerville and Martin Ross
PS: Also worthy, this descriptive phrase: “a woman who had th’ appairance of having knocked at a back door.”
Gawd bless the hard-boiled folks at Hard Case Crime. I may not have fallen in head-over-guns love with every single one of their books (that I’ve read), but enough of them hit me square in my noir-loving solar plexus that I’ve been known to fall on the hard cold concrete yelling their praises. And that’s just for the covers. No, no, it’s for the innards of the books they publish, too, and for their deadly devotion both to newly minted murderous/suspenseful/chilly/mysterious/etc novels and to reprinting hard-to-discover classics on the genre/s. For example, I just wrapped up John Farris’ (writing as Steve Brackeen–they’re great at printing up stuff from writers’ various and sundry nom de plumes, too) Baby Moll, a book that pulls no punches and revs up quickly into a mash up of twists, turns, smacks, sips, hips, and your general “guy-wants-to-go-straight-with-hot-babe-on-beach-but-gets-pulled-back-into-underworld-activities-by-once-beloved-boss” plot. No messing around, solely good, rapid, action of all sorts. And boozing. Which, as you know, I’m fond of (excessively? Maybe). First one’s a bar quote (for my bar-working chums), and the second’s a hard-drinker’s quote (for my hard-drinking chums).
The Rendezvous was a charming basement beer hall near the ship channel. It stank of spilled brew, dirty clothing, and the elusive scent of rare sin. The rest of the building was a honeycomb of rooms for furtive meetings, the exchange of smuggled goods, the viewing of strange sex acts. I had been there often in my fledgling days with Macy.
‘You go on to bed,’ Macy told Rudy. ‘Better get a hot bath.’ Rudy went out. ‘You want a drink, Pete?’
‘God, yes.’
He waved me to a small bar. I chose a bottle. ‘Give me some whisky,’ he said.
‘What do you want in it?’ I said.
‘I don’t want nothing in it!’ he said peevishly.
I gave him some whisky. He held it as somebody else might hold a flower. He drank it slowly. In between sips, I could hear the breath in his throat.
Down the blog calendar a bit, I talked about going to sweet ol’ San Francisco and shooting some drinking and drink-making tips with the rockingily rocking folks at Chow.com, specifically pal Meredith and cool camera jockey Blake Smith. They were so pro (and so good at things like editing and putting lots of Vaseline on the lens) that they made me look pretty shiny, at least in this first tip that I’ve seen. It’s called “What’s the Right Way to Shake a Cocktail,” and it’s all my opinion, so if you agree, that’s okay (as long as your way still delivers me a chilly mix with a smile). But how will you know if you don’t watch it? So, you’d better watch it. And make upload it to your facebooker friends or whatever it is you kids do. Oh, and check out my rad bracelet Sookie gave me for my birthday a while back. I am hard core.
PS: I think there are 5? 6? tips total (hey, they were drink tips, and I got a little hazy near the end–who knows what they filmed me doing), so come back to see more.
Hah, today’s weather report underlines a point I sometimes forget: Mother Nature is the boss. Last week I got all pining for the end of summer (with my reverie to the Champagne of Beers) and talking about how last Friday was the last day of summer, and how we should enjoy it, and sing Hüsker Dü’s Celebrated Summer (gawd, how I loved singing that at the end of every summer in my teenage years. Here’s a freakin’ quick toast to Grant, Bob, and Greg), etc, etc, and now this Friday is even nicer, and more summer-y (at least here in W-A). Well, she showed me. To get over this in-your-face from Mother Nature, I’m going to have to drink a tall Mike Collins. A lesser consumed cousin of the Tom Collins, the Mike Collins is ideal for a day like today, with one foot in summer and at least three toes in fall, because it’s refreshing but still has that underlying umph from a delish dollop of the Irish. Why not pour yourself one, and see if I know what I’m talking about? If you want to have a little guitar ice cube like in the fantabulousy photo, a photo by the best-cocktail-photographer-in-the-world Melissa Punch, than I say: rock out! Oh, both the photo and this recipe are from the almost available Dark Spirits by the way (more on that soon–consider this a teaser.)
Mike Collins
Ice cubes
2 ounces Irish whiskey
1/2 ounce freshly squeezed lemon juice
1/4 ounce simple syrup
Chilled club soda
Lemon slice for garnish
1. Fill a cocktail shaker halfway full with ice cubes. Add the whiskey, juice, and simple syrup. Shake well, in celebration of all Mikes.
2. Fill a Collins glass three-quarters full with ice cubes. Strain the mix over the ice. Fill almost to the top with chilly club soda. Garnish with the lemon slice (stirring briefly if you want Mike mixed more).
In honor of the two sorcerous folks who were able to say where the name “Tareva” came from in the drink “Tareva’s Tipple,” I thought I’d point you in the direction of two more drinks that have at least somewhat mystical sounding names. But first, a huge shout out to Paul de Senquisse from the blog Tears of the Night (which is in French, as Paul’s from France–that’s right, Spiked Punch is international) and to PTOR from the awesome Sanctum Sanctorum Comix blog, which is not only a blog devoted to my (and your, if you’re not square) favorite Sorcerer Supreme, but also one that features Rom: Spaceknight and the Man-Thing. That is a line-up good enough to make Stan Lee cry triumphant tears of happiness true believers. I owe those two drinks, when we’re on the same multi-dimensional plane at some point. But until then, sip on these pleasant potions picked out of the drinker’s blogosphere.
Vampiro: Buried a bit in a hangover post (which one might have on a weeked), this savory tequila-y evilicious drink of the underworld winds its way from the LUPEC Boston blog. Only fitting, really, since those ladies are known to weave wicked liquid spells of whooping wackiness with their wondrous cocktails. Whoopee! (I suggest you read this graphic novel while drinking for maximum mayham).
Zamboanga Cocktail: If (and I’m not saying it isn’t, I’m just saying “if,”) there isn’t a wizard and/or warlock of some standing residing within a little known tropical country whose name is “Zamboanga” then there darn well should be. Have a few of these Cognac-and-maraschino-and-more cocktails, utilizing the useful recipe from one of the most prestidigitatously powerful cocktail blogs present, Paul Clarke’s Cocktail Chronicles, and you’ll start peering at said wizard whether he (or she) is real (or not).
