April 12, 2011
Lawrence Block is one of those crime/mystery/thriller who I have a strange relationship with, in a way. I’ve read a number of his books, and probably three-quarters of them have left me thinking I probably wouldn’t need to read another. They weren’t bad, but neither were they good, or original, or full of characters bursting with life. However, the other quarter of his books that I’ve read are everything opposite, and quite good. The number of good has been high enough that if I run into one of his books at a sale, or on the shelves of a country home in Italy that I’m staying in, I’ll probably give it a whirl. Which was the case with In the Midst of Death. Sadly, it didn’t rock my reading world. But it was okay, and did feature this nice quote about lunchtime (or shortly thereafter drinking):
I went over to Johnny Joyce’s on Second and sat in a booth. Most of the lunch crowd was gone. The ones who remained were one or two Martinis over the line now, and probably wouldn’t make it back to their offices at all. I had a hamburger and a bottle of Harp, then drank a couple shots of bourbon with my coffee.
–Lawrence Block, In the Midst of Death
April 7, 2011
Picked up some dark rum not too long back (at Domini, the best winery in central Italy, funny enough–Diego, the owner and swell fella, is nice enough to stock some other, non-wine, bottles as well) and it lead to me craving a cocktail that had more of an island, and a little less of an Italian feel, but as this was made while living in Italy, and features an Italian tamarind syrup (though really, it’s thicker than a regular syrup—almost molasses-y) by Carlo Erba (a Milan company), I still consider it an Italian drink. Hence the name, which hits both sides of the drink:
Ice cubes
1-1/2 ounces dark rum
3/4 ounce pineapple juice
1/2 ounce freshly squeeze lime juice
1/2 Carlo Erba Tamarindo
Lime slice for garnish
Pineapple slice for garnish
1. Fill a cocktail shaker halfway full with ice cubes. Add the rum, juices, and tamarind. Shake exceptionally well (that tamarind needs a bit of serious shaking to play nice).
2. Strain into a cocktail glass, or whatever good glass is nearby. Garnish with the lime slice and pineapple slice (both to add flavor and in case you need a snack).
April 4, 2011
When we think of Roald Dahl, we (and here, I’m talking for the world, like an old tottering professor type) tend to think of him as not being ripe for Cocktail Talk posts, cause he’s probably best known for books in the Children’s section (fantastical, imaginative, adults-read-them-too books, though), such as James and Giant Peach, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and more. However, he started as a short story writer, and wrote non-Children’s-section books as well, including a silly-ly naughty one supposedly pulled from the journals a fictitious Uncle Oswald. Oswald was supposedly the greated fornicator of all time, thanks in part to the Sundanese Blister Beetle (which when ground up was a sex bomb of sorts). Oswald’s adventures start, however, listening to a description of whiskey on a hot day:
‘One evening,’ he began, ‘I was sitting on the verandah of my bungalow way upcountry about fifty miles north of Khartoum. It was hot as hell and I’d had a hard day. I was drinking a strong whiskey and soda. It was my first that evening and I as lying back in the deckchair with my feet resting on the little balustrade that ran round the verandah. I could feel the whiskey hitting the lining of my stomach and I can promise you there is no great sensation at the end of a long day in a fierce climate than when you feel that first whiskey hitting your stomach and going through your bloodstream.’
–Roald Dahl, My Uncle Oswald
March 31, 2011
I have a whole host of Dr. Strange posts over on my Italy blog (if you don’t know who Dr. Strange is, then, well, I pity you pal. Go over to Neilalien and do some learning), and have already posted this pic up there, but I liked it so much I wanted to double it up and post it here, too. The long and short is that we were in Florence, having a Negroni at Giacosa (which is the spot where the Negroni was born), and Dr. Strange was thirsty and he wanted one, too. Which was wonderful by me:
March 25, 2011
In the post below, I mention my theory on the Bronte sisters as wild wing-ding women, and while some might disagree, those disagreers are probably also the people who no one invites to parties, and who sit at home chewing their cud and cursing their mealy-minded lonesome parched existences. The below quote, also from Charlotte’s underappreciated Shirley, is one of my favorite short, one line quotes that utilize drinks in a way of describing a facet of existence. It’s almost a maxim, in a way, to live by—or at least can be applied to life. If you don’t agree, well, it’s probably because you’re boring. But if you want to argue, let me call up those bubbly Bronte sisters–do you really want to argue with the ghosts of three famous English writers? I mean, who’s more dangerous than that?
Adventure is to stagnation as Champagne is to flat porter.
—Shirley, Charlotte Bronte
March 23, 2011
When they’re talked of (which is a lot, one hopes), the Bronte sisters (Charlotte, Emily, and Anne) aren’t usually referred to as party animals. This is, of course, a crying shame. As their books are filled with well-rounded characters, and usually contain a wee tipple or tippling, or a bar, and mostly entertaining writing that pulls you in, as opposed to pushing you out, my thought is that for the years they lived within the sisters were a rollicking good time, and probably were thought of somewhat in the same way we think of modern party animal writers like J. Robert Lennon and Andrew Greer (at least when those two modern scribes are wearing hoop skirts). In any case, the Spiked Punch is going to dwell for two posts on quotes from Charlotte’s novel Shirley, published in 1849 and as worthy a read (I think) as her much more fawned over Jane Eyre (though admittedly I like me the Jane Eyre, too). This first quote falls into the “bar” shelf in the Cocktail Talk kitchen, and describes lovingly a 1800s watering hole (and I have a confession–I think longingly of whisky-and-water myself on occasion):
He looked for certain landmarks–the spire of Briarfield Church; farther on, the lights of Redhouse. This was an inn; and when he reached it, the glow of a fire through a half-curtained window, a vision of glasses on a round table, and of revelers on an oaken settle, had nearly drawn aside the curate from his course. He thought longingly of a tumbler of whisky-and-water.
—Shirley, Charlotte Bronte
March 19, 2011
Even though I’m currently living in the world’s most wonderful land of liqueurs (that’s Italy, yo), I still like to make a few of my own (homemade liqueur freaks like me are like that, yo). Recently, I noticed that in the yard we had a ton of winter herby stalwart rosemary, and though, “why not a rosemary kinda liqueur, yo?” I wanted to have my new liqueur be a colder-weather one (matching up to the rosemary and the season I made it within), which led to picking apples as my other main ingredient. The end result was a rich, textured mix, one that I’ve been having solo, but one I can envision mixing with everything from cider to rum to mornings, yo. Just be sure to swirl and swirl, cause the apple and rosemary need to be cuddle up well—it is chilly, after all.
1-1/2 cups fresh rosemary
4 cups vodka
1 lemon peel
2 apples, cored and chopped roughly
2 cups simple syrup
1. Place the rosemary in a large glass container with a good lid. Muddle it up a bit, but don’t beat it to a pulp.
2. Add the vodka to the rosemary and swirl it around. Then add the lemon and apples, and swirl a bit more. Seal the container, and put it in a cool, dry place away from the sun. Let sit for two weeks, swirling every day or so.
3. Open the container, add the simple syrup to the mix, and stir. Seal and again place in that cool, dry spot. Let sit for two more weeks, swirling occasionally.
4. Strain through cheesecloth at least once, and maybe twice if extra-cloudy, and then pour into large bottles, small bottles, or straight into your mouth.
A Note: Yo.
March 17, 2011
Okay, first, apologies for the lack of posts recently. Living in Italy (as detailed on my Italy blog) lately has included lots of jolly visitors, which leaves little time for blogging (but lots of time for wine, amaros, art, and eating, if you were feeling sad for me). So, if you’ve been crying over a lack of Spiked Punch, forgive me. At least you weren’t shot in the back by one of your own posse while finishing up the war, then (after surprisingly living with no-one knowing) having to go on a Treasure Trip tour around the west to track down said war posse to find out who and why. Which is what happens to the main character in Richard Powell’s Say It With Bullets, another of the rad reprints from Hard Case Crime (the book was originally published 50 plus years ago). Touring around with vengeance in your heart does make you thirsty, however, and vengeance needs refilling—what better drink for both than the reliable Tom Collins. Read on:
The town of Winnemucca was about six gas stations long by four taprooms wide. But the place had quite a hotel. It was sleek and modern and had a tiled patio decked with gay umbrellas around a swimming pool. He relaxed in his air-conditioned bedroom and studied the play of light on the swimming pool below his window and on the Tom Collins glass in his hand. Things were going to look brighter as soon as he got outside the Tom Collins and inside the swimming pool.
—Say It With Bullets, Richard Powell
