August 27, 2010
A little serious (with the seriousness of gin), but with enough fruity overtones to ensure no one gets ponderous in conversation or step, the Après Coup is easy enough to make on a whim but layered enough in flavor to support a whole party. As long as the partiers weren’t opposed to staying up late. Cause you know a drink with Maraschino is going to have you up past midnight, right? I mean, the Maraschino (and I go Luxardo, because that’s the way I roll) is all about living after midnight. So much so that Rob Halford used to carry a whole crate of bottles of tour with him. Think I’m fibbing?
1-1/2 ounces gin
1 ounce Chambord
1/4 ounce Maraschino liqueur
1 dash Peychaud bitters
1. Fill a cocktail shaker or mixing glass three-quarters full with cracked ice. Add the gin, Chambord, Maraschino, and bitters. Stir well.
2. Strain into a cocktail glass (or, if there aren’t any clean ones left, any old glass that isn’t tattooed with lipstick or halfway full with an old drink works).
December 9, 2008
Okay, I can throw this out there for all the William Makepeace Thackeray fans to get up in arms about (cock your slings and arrows-delivering devices now): I’m not a huge fan of Vanity Fair. I mean, I like it all right. But Mr. Thackeray just doesn’t get me involved in the way other novelists (English novelists, two specifically, and if you’ve read this blog you can guess who I mean) do. He always feels like he’d sit in the corner at any party pooh-poohing the people laughing loudly and spilling peanuts on the floor. And I’m usually one of those people. But, I did buy some maraschino liqueur last Friday, and I do really love it, and at least like Vanity Fair better than, say, 92.3% of the books published last year. And I would thoroughly enjoy having someone administer maraschino to me. That sounds divine. So, this quote seemed well-timed:
“The cook was there with blackened face, seated on the beautiful chintz sofa by the side of Mrs. Raggles, to whom she was administering Maraschino.”
–William Makepeace Thackeray, Vanity Fair