When growing up, we owned a bunch of horses. And yeah, I showed them and all that (though not nearly as well as my sister). But, even with this bit of background, and my admiration for men in a certain type of suit, I never have spent much time at the track (that’s the horse track, for those of you still thinking Olympics). Which is probably one of the reasons I haven’t read much Dick Francis, who writes a lot of his mysteries around the tracks of England and the folks that hang out at or near them. But when on an extended trip to Italy once I was in a need of a book, and there was a Dick Francis number where I was staying, and so I read it, and liked it pretty darn well. It was called Whip Hand, and was horse-y, and had the following quote which I was quite fond of:
We met most weeks at noon in the upstairs bar of the Cavandish Hotel, where a pink gin for him and a whiskey and water for me now stood on prim little mats beside a bowl of peanuts.
It’s summertime (still—honest) and the living is wine cocktails-y. At least it should be cause wine cocktail are refreshing, and un-snooty, and fun, and delicious, and all that. And recently, as if me saying it aloud and in digital form wasn’t enough, I did a little interview with Woman’s World magazine, so it’s in print. And print is forever. So, pick up the most recent issue of said magazine. I also have the page with me here below (but the whole issue is fun, naturally), which has some wine cocktails talk, two recipes from the book Wine Cocktails, notes about how wine and wine cocktails are healthy (including protecting breasts, which I’m all for and which is just another reason why cocktails are the definition of awesome), and something about Ladybug Bling–which can’t be bad. So, read up:
Who wouldn’t want to make their day or summer or life better (or gooder)? I mean, even if you’re walking on sunshine, walking on sunshine with a good drink is going to make it a more memorable experience (provided you don’t have too many and slip off the sunshine. But I digress). Which, if you follow along to a logical conclusion, means that every life could be better (or gooder). But how, you may ask me, how can that be possible? Well, one way to start might be with the Good Life Report. Just look at the name—it implies a life that’s good. Now, to take it up a notch, I’m gonna suggest that you look at two pieces I recently had in said Good Life Report: A Somewhat Sicilian Summer Cocktail Star and Give the Imbibable Power to the People. Both contain tasty drink recipes and words of making-life-better wisdom. Okay, that last bit is probably BS, but hey, at least the drinks are tasty, and could probably get you walking on sunshine. That’s enough of a thing to get you over there reading them, right? Right!
If you read this blog much in the last six months (and if you haven’t, where you been pal?), you know I recently taught a cocktail class called Locatails at the swellest spot, the Pantry at Delancey. It was on two nights, a Friday and a Saturday, and all my students were the tops, and the cocktails we made were delicious I believe (all using local spirits, by the way), and fun was had hopefully by each and every person in the room. It was definitely had by me. Actually, I was having so much fun that I nearly forgot (as I tend to in classes—they’re too much fun) to snap any snaps of the drinks. Eh gads. Luckily, two of my students, Sarah and Emily, took some photos, and sent me an awesome one of the Alexander:
If you don’t know, the Alexander is the emperor of sweet drinks, the top dessert drink perhaps ever, and one that too many people have forgotten about. Its gin-chocolate-cream combination isn’t going to be atop too many health food fanatics’ top ten lists, but anyone who loves a smooth, rich, lovely-tasting cocktail will sure adore it. But don’t take my word for it, try the below recipe (which is from Good Spirits), and if you don’t fall in love with the drink, well, I’ll drink it for you.
Ice cubes 1 ounce gin (I suggest Voyager gin, or another juniper-forward brand)
1 ounce crème de cacao
1 ounce heavy cream
1 strawberry slice, for garnish
1. Fill a cocktail shaker halfway full with ice cubes. Add the gin, crème de cacao, and cream. Shake well.
2. Strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with the strawberry slice.
In the post below this one, I introduced a book that I was destined to like (and had a long story about why—go read it why dontcha, if you haven’t), called The Man with a Load of Mischief, by Martha Grimes. What I didn’t say (cause I was going on and on too much) was that the title actually refers to a local pub in a small English village, and that a murder takes place at said pub along with three other murders at other local pubs. It’s a pub-murder-a-thon (which, on the page, I’m all for), and as you might expect with that set up has more than one quote that needed reproducing, which is why there is a Part II in the title above. But hey, just read and love the quotes, don’t worry about semantics.
Since Mrs. Withersby’s oracular powers were somewhat dimished by gin, not many people listened
In the meantime, Twig had shuffled in and taken their order for drinks. A pink gin for Agatha, a martini for Melrose. She leaned her ample bosom on folded arms and said, “Now, my dear Machett, let’s have Murch in here.”
Jury wasn’t used to such etherealized cup and china. His cup was shaped like a conch shell, the handle an airy spindle of green. He was almost afraid to pick it up. On a plate were tiny cakes, prettily iced.
“And were you in the Jack and Hammer on that Friday evening?”
“I popped in about six-ish for a Campari and lime, yes.”
Sometimes, it doesn’t take long to know you’re gonna like a new book. I’m talking about a completely new book here, by an author you don’t know, and not say the 32nd book in a series by your all-time favorite writer (which I’m guessing is Garth Marenghi). Sometimes, it takes a few pages, but sometimes, rarely, sure, but sometimes by the end of the second sentence you know the book’s gonna snag you. Or at least has serious potential. I recently had this very phenomenon happen, with a book called The Man with a Load of Mischief, by Martha Grimes, who I’d never read word one from before. As this blog isn’t one of serious literary merit (wait, are any?), you probably have guessed that there’s some boozy mention in said second sentence. And you’re right. But what you probably couldn’t guess is that the boozy mention is of an English beer, one that’s not prevalent in the U.S., but one whose distillery I’ve actually been to! Amazing. It was a few years back, and I was traveling the U.K. with wife Nat and pals Markie B and Leslie P and we were in the Yorkshire region tooling around before seeing the Mighty Boosh, and ended up in a village called Masham, where the famous Theakston Brewery resides, which we visited. And, to bring it all full circle, at Theakston they make a renowned beer call Old Peculiar, which we had (and which Markie B has since lobbied to get in Seattle—successfully I might add) and loved, and which is mentioned in the second sentence of the book, which I talked about like an hour ago at the top of this paragraph. But hey, you wouldn’t want me to leave the story unfinished, right? The payoff is the quote itself, which is right here:
Outside the Jack and Hammer, a dog growled. Inside, his view of the High Street obstructed by the window at his shoulder, Melrose Plant sat in the curve of the bay drinking Old Peculiar and reading Rimbaud.
Now, don’t get jealous, loyal Spiked Punch readers (or, reader, as the case may be). But I’ve been blogging again for the fine folks at Seattle Magazine. It seemed like a good summer thing to do, spreading around the cheer like one of those sprinklers that spreads cheer around (okay, you may think there’s not a sprinkler that spreads cheer around, and you may be right. But what if you’re wrong? Think of how awesome that would be. Just think of it). In case you are only a reader here, I thought it’d be nice of me–and I am seriously nice, especially if you’re buying me a drink. Or three–to put up a little list of five of the bubbly, stirred, and shaken posts I’ve Seattle-Magazine’d up recently. So, here they are:
At my wonderful Locatails class last weekend at the wonderful Pantry at Delancey, one of the wonderful assistants (there was a lot of wonderful last weekend) asked me in passing about drinks made using rosé. I was going to round a few up for her, then people started coming in, I started talking, and somewhat forgot. Until now, when looking at the weather and realizing that we might, actually, be in for some more sun this week in Seattle. And when the sun’s out, a light-but-interesting drink like the Rosé Squirt is in (said drink from Wine Cocktails doncha know). So, now, I’m belatedly answering the question from last weekend and getting a wonderful drink on.
Ice cubes
1 ounce maraschino liqueur
3 ounce dry rosé wine
Chilled club soda
Maraschino cherry, for garnish
1. Fill a highball glass three-quarters full with ice cubes. Add the maraschino liqueur and rosé. Stir briefly.
2. Fill the glass almost to the top with chilled club soda. Stir again, a bit more than briefly. Drop a cherry on top and serve.
When growing up, we owned a bunch of horses. And yeah, I showed them and all that (though not nearly as well as my sister). But, even with this bit of background, and my admiration for men in a certain type of suit, I never have spent much time at the track (that’s the horse track, for those of you still thinking Olympics). Which is probably one of the reasons I haven’t read much Dick Francis, who writes a lot of his mysteries around the tracks of England and the folks that hang out at or near them. But when on an extended trip to Italy once I was in a need of a book, and there was a Dick Francis number where I was staying, and so I read it, and liked it pretty darn well. It was called Whip Hand, and was horse-y, and had the following quote which I was quite fond of:
