This is another Cocktail Talk found in an older mystery story featured within one of the wonderful British Library Crime Classics collections (you can read more by perusing past British Library Crime Classic Cocktail Talks, a phrase rather fun to say). In this case, the collection is Final Acts: Theatrical Mysteries, so, as you might gather but in case you didn’t, all mysteries circling around the theater in one way or the other, some closer to the stage, so farther away. The collection was put together by the indefatigable writer and editor Martin Edwards, and contains works by lesser-known and widely-known UK authors from the late-1800s, early-1900s. Somewhat in the middle of the “known” ranges falls the writer Anthony Wynne – aka Robert McNair Wilson – who penned both with this penname and under his own a whole bunch of books, while also being a surgeon and politician and probably more things, too. Quite popular I believe in his time, if not as well known today. The beautiful below wine quote (and the inclusion in the British Library Crime Classics collections) will hopefully re-balance his rep.
He raised his glass to his lips and sipped the exquisite wine, which it contained, very slowly. It was white Clos Vouget, the pale sister of the immortal red Burgundy of that name. Golden points of light shone from its clear depths. He set the glass down again and once more turned to Lalette; in some mysterious fashion she resembled the wine. It might even be possible to call her insipid if one had developed a taste for more exuberant gaiety. Men who drank red wine habitually, he reflected, were ignorant as a rule of the profound simplicity of white, that quality which transcends all the vintners’ descriptions.
Whether its Mother’s Day, or graduation, or Memorial Day, or just a darn good day for a party, many occasions for serving a group of people drinks are coming up. Make it easy for yourself and pick up a punch bowl and punch it up. That is, if you don’t have a punch bowl already, but maybe you do? I was on the radio (you kids might not remember such) once, on a call in show, talking about having two punch bowls, one fancy, one not, and a caller called in to say they had eleven punch bowls! Eleven! Now, that person knows how to party. Not saying you need eleven, but one or two, yes. And then, you can make this punch in one of them. It sounds like a Shakespeare character, and admittedly hearkens back in a way back-a-ways, with a hearty red wine base (like a Cabernet or other robust red wine) mingling with some juice (grape, here), and sweetened with some simple syrup. But then! We are also adding mysterious French herbal liqueur Bénédictine, and a heaping helping of brandy, plus club soda (which helps lighten it up, and make it okay for brunching as well as later affairs). The first item in that list really gives this punch an intriguing personality, and one that is sure to make your late April, May, and June events memorable (as well as events in the other nine months, to be clear). Punch it!
1. Add the block of ice to a large punch bowl, or fill the bowl halfway full with ice cubes. Add the brandy, grape juice, Benedictine, and simple syrup. Stir well.
2. Add the red wine to the cast, and stir again.
3. Smoothly add the club soda, and stir a final time (or maybe a few final times—you want to get it good and combined). And a handful or two fresh red seedless grapes, if you want. Sometimes I feel the grapes, sometimes I don’t. I’m weird. Serve in punch glasses. Or with straws.
I decided that I needed to have a second Cocktail Talk from the Georges Simenon novel Maigret’s Revolver (starring Inspector Maigret, as you might surmise). Be sure to read the Maigret’s Revolver Part I Cocktail Talk to get an overview of the book, and if you haven’t, read all the past Maigret Cocktail Talks, so you don’t miss a sip. Here, the sipping is a Pineau des Charentes, which I was chuffed to see as they tend to be delicious, and I like the idea of Maigret drinking a glass of it.
There was invariable a surprise at Pardon’s dinners, perhaps a special wine or liqueur, or in this case a Pineau des Charentes which a vineyard owner in Jonzac had sent him.
“None for me!” protested Madame Maigret, who was usually tipsy after a single glass.
The chatted over the wine. Here too, the windows were open; life was going on at a leisurely pace on the boulevard, the air was golden and the light gradually faded into a rosy glow.
For our last dally (for now, at least) into Anthony Trollope’s novel The Prime Minister, we’re ending with two of the (in my opinion, ‘natch) great characters in Trollope’s oeuvre, and perhaps in English fiction itself, Plantagenet Palliser and Glencora Palliser, his wife (Lord and Lady and then Duke and Duchess if you’re feeling formal). Their marriage and early days kick off the whole Palliser series of novels, and they surface here and there throughout the series, sometimes as bit parts, sometimes more supporting, sometimes starring. Which means it’s only fitting we end with a little brandy banter between them (don’t, of course, miss the earlier The Prime Minister Cocktail Talks, part I, part II, and part III, to learn more about the book, and for that matter, why not spend some with all the Anthony Trollope Cocktail Talks – you’ll have fun. Promise)!
“If you ask me, Plantagenet, you know I shall tell the truth.”
“Then tell the truth.”
“After drinking brandy so long I hardly think that 12s. claret will agree with my stomach. You ask for the truth, and there it is,—very plainly.”
“Plain enough!”
“You asked, you know.”
“And I am glad to have been told, even though that which you tell me is not pleasant hearing. When a man has been drinking too much brandy, it may be well that he should be put on a course of 12s. claret.”
For our fourth (but not our last!) visit within the pages of the Charles Dickens delight, the criminally under-read Barnaby Rudge, we get a view into some family relations, here between the, I’d say, villain of the piece, or one of such (perhaps the most villainous, though also well admired by many), and his son – who is, by curious ways and means, one of the heroes of the piece. While Mr. Chester, the father, may not be one who induces admiration within a reader (or not many of such), you can’t fault him for his views on wine in the below. Which goes to show that few are totally irredeemable. One hopes at least. Avoid being such yourself by reading the Barnaby Rudge Cocktail Talks Part I, Part II, and Part III (and really, checking out all the Charles Dickens Cocktail Talks will probably make you heroic, too).
“My dear Edward,” said Mr. Chester at length, with a most engaging laugh, “do not extend your drowsy influence to the decanter. Suffer that to circulate, let your spirits be never so stagnant.”
Edward begged his pardon, passed it, and relapsed into his former state.
“You do wrong not to fill your glass,” said Mr. Chester, holding up his own before the light. “Wine in moderation — not in excess, for that makes men ugly — has a thousand pleasant influences. It brightens the eye, improves the voice, imparts a new vivacity to one’s thoughts and conversation: you should try it, Ned.”
“Ah, father!” cried his son, “if —”
“My good fellow,” interposed the parent hastily, as he set down his glass, and raised his eyebrows with a startled and horrified expression, “for Heaven’s sake don’t call me by that obsolete and ancient name. Have some regard for delicacy. Am I grey, or wrinkled, do I go on crutches, have I lost my teeth, that you adopt such a mode of address? Good God, how very coarse!”
Out final Vanity Fair Cocktail Talk, before we leave the legendary Thackeray (at least until I re-read or read another book of his!) in whatever afterlife bar he’s hanging out in today. But before leaving him and the book, we’re going to go along with one of the book’s large cast of characters for what I can only call a mighty mighty impressive day of drinking and eating. It’s, well, legendary (as are the Vanity Fair Cocktail Talks Part I, Part II, and Part III, which you should read).
Having partaken of a copious breakfast, with fish, and rice, and hard eggs, at Southampton, he had so far rallied at Winchester as to think a glass of sherry necessary. At Alton he stepped out of the carriage at his servant’s request and imbibed some of the ale for which the place is famous. At Farnham he stopped to view the Bishop’s Castle and to partake of a light dinner of stewed eels, veal cutlets, and French beans, with a bottle of claret. He was cold over Bagshot Heath, where the native chattered more and more, and Jos Sahib took some brandy-and-water; in fact, when he drove into town he was as full of wine, beer, meat, pickles, cherry-brandy, and tobacco as the steward’s cabin of a steam-packet.
We’re in that time straddling summer and fall (though I fully realize fall doesn’t start specifically until the 22nd), which means days that can shade summery but then delve into a crisp fallness pointing to the colder days to come. To make the straddling smooth, it’s preferable that you have a drink that does the same, and if it’s a regal one, too, well, all the better! The Lord Charles fits that bill, with its full-bodied red-wine works-in-winter keep-you-warm Malbec base, mingling with simple syrup, citrus-y lemon juice, smooth dry sherry, and bubbly club soda, that which, with some ice, brings this drink into a level of refreshingness that summer (if you personify) would certainly appreciate. You’ll dig it, and it will dig you (if you think drinks dig people, which maybe they do, why not), and help you do that straddling we talked of. Enjoy!
1. Fill a cocktail shaker halfway full with ice cubes. Add the Malbec, simple syrup, lemon juice, and sherry to the shaker. Shake well.
2. Fill a highball glass three-quarters full with ice cubes. Strain the Malbec mixture over the ice cubes. Fill the glass with club soda, almost to the rim.
3. Twist a lemon twist over the glass and drop it in. Stir briefly. Enjoy the seasons.
A second Cocktail Talk from the Oxford Book of Ghost Stories (see “The Empty House” Cocktail Talk for a bit more background there), here from a story called “The Taipan,” by the legendary W. Somerset Maugham. An author who has many books I’ve liked, by the by, though this story wasn’t the strongest in the book by a ways, and might not even be a ghost story. Folks can quibble about that. What you can’t quibble about is that the main character can put down a lot, a whole lot, of booze with lunch. I had to include the below, just cause I was so impressed with his ability to walk after the liquid consumed below.
But he smiled, for he felt in an excellent humour. He was walking back to his office from a capital luncheon at the Hong-Kong and Shanghai Bank. They did you very well there. The food was first-rate and there was plenty of liquor. He had started with a couple of cocktails, then he had some excellent Sauterne, and he had finished up with two glasses of port and some fine old brandy. He felt good. And when he left he did a thing that was rare with him; he walked.
