As our producer and director owns stock in the BBC, our “season” lasts a mere six episodes (much like the Snuff Box). Which means (grab those hankies now) this is the last episode in this new season. And, if I can preen the feathers a bit, it’s a humdinger. In this finale, I’ll not only sing and dance (really!), I’ll also teach you to make the somewhat sultry Bedroom Eyes, a fine number that puts I think I delicious cocktail capper on another season of the show about cocktails and drinking and good times, the Good Spirits Cocktail to Cocktail Hour. But wait! Before clicking on the “play” button and icing up the shaker though, I must take another moment to thank our sponsors in writing (it’s a contractual thing—hey, every little helps). So, raise your glasses in a cheer for Holt’s Hangover Helpers, Fuller’s Homemade Liqueurs, Cash and Harley’s Fund for Young Bartenders, Butler’s House of Garnishes. And of course, raise another glass in a cheer for yourself, our viewers. Without you, well, we’d have to drink more ourselves.
It’s hard to believe that there could be two more beautifully booze-y quotes from this Ed McBain book, quotes as good as those below, but I’m going to say, drink in hand raised to the sky, that these may be as good. At least, they manage to mention a whole array of classic mixes—and both mention the Zombie. Is there another book (outside of drink books, duh) that mentions the rum’d out Zombie twice? I have my doubts (but would be happy to be pointed in the direction of another one). Does this mean you should be sure to have rums on hand when you read the Gutter and the Grave? Well, of course.
It was Park Avenue mixed with the slums, it was cocktail parties and pool parlors, theater openings and all-night movies on Forty-Second Street. It was her world and mine, mixed like a Zombie, four thousand kinds of rum, but blended because underneath the exotic name it was all rum.
The man handling our table wondered back. ‘Sir, the bartender says he is not equipped to make hot rum toddies, sir. He suggests, if you care for rum, a Planter’s Punch, or a Cuba Libre, or a Zombie.’
Sometimes, an image just speaks for itself. Other times, there’s a rubber hand in the image, and it does the talking. On yet other times, there are two drinks that have colors you might expect to see if you hit your head on a rock—on Mars. On yet other times, you catalog bad ideas just by seeing them in print (Bacardi, a once brilliant brand, making premade cocktails that obviously must only be touched with fake hands). On yet other times, all of the above happens at once. It’s a wonder, to me, that the world didn’t implode. At least, as the ad says, “they taste like fresh tropical beauties should taste” on Mars. Well, that’s what they meant.
It’s still early for many on the West Coast (and, depending on when you read this, whichever coast you’re on, wherever you are, it may be early for you, too), especially those who are drinkers and/or criminals. I know a lot of the former, but really none (that I know about, unless you mean those that are criminally talented or something) of the latter, except those I meet in books like The Three-Way Split, by Gil Brewer, which is about a guy trying to live a simple life with some amazingly hot waitress he’s met and some treasure buried at sea he knows about, but due to his deadbeat-and-illegality-loving dad, he ends up roughed up by thugs, who also try to get the treasure. The story echoes your own life I’m sure. How does it turn around and reconnect with morning, and it being early on the West Coast? It’s the quote, below, which is about coffee and rum—a favorite breakfast for many.
He banged two pint mugs on the table, poured in steaming coffee until they were two-thirds full. Then he brought down one of those bottles of rum, black as tar, popped the cork, and filled the mugs to the brim.
He filled the plates and we ate. The rum was like a hot rasp running across the tongue.
Some days (January days, often, as it seems January is not only a cold month temperature-wise, but also a cold month life-wise, being the month of re-orgs, and silly resolutions, and uncomfortable whatnots. And if not all those actually happen, there tends to be the threat of all those, anyways) you need a bit of boozy medicine. If you’re in need, then you’ll especially like this quote from an old pulp called Murder in Havana. Which is about, funny enough, a bunch of murders in Havana, that our main character “Andy” tipsily stumbles in to (it’s not my pal Andy Sweet–who was one of the writers of Battleship, Battleship, Battleship–though it could have been, cause both are go-get-um guys). Anywho, Andy thinks that sometimes you just have to take your medicine (booze, that is). Here, see for yourself:
His bag was already on the customs bench and he opened it for a uniformed inspector who made but a cursory examination until he found the leather-covered flask. He unscrewed it, sniffed rum, grinned. ‘Medicine,’ he said. ‘Medicine.’ Andy grinned back at him and opened the briefcase.
Why are modern booze ads so lame? There’s always some moodily lit scene with some medically enhanced bimbo and a guy wearing a billion dollar suit, or the same bulimic piece-of-work at the pool wearing so little fabric that Gypsy Rose Lee would blush (not that I mind, completely, but the IQ should at least be higher than the number of feet of water in the pool), or a talking horse or lizard, or some knuckleheads trying to come up with an asinine catch-phrase (“what it isssssss” or “hey yeahhhhhhh”) that trails off into a series of consonants boring enough to make you drink, sure, but only anything besides what’s being advertised. Instead of this jibber-jabber, let me present the below ad, which pal Philip (check out his baby, the cutest in the land, at the blog A Lifetime of Worry) sent me, after he found it on the Edwenden blog, which took it from the March 1953 issue of Men Only. The incredibly happy and devious cat is drinking the rum, after the high-kneed kid poured it in the bowl, as father looks on sadly. That, friends, is the definition of genius. The cat is drinking the rum–and look at his eyes! Genius. And I am going to buy a bottle of Lemon Hart rum right now. Which shows that genius ads can work.
What the heck–it’s the 16th of June already? And I’m only just having my first “buck” drink? And it’s not even an Orange Buck, but the sultry-cousin-who-sits-in-a-loose-dress-on-the-porch-driving-the-neighbors-mad-with-desire-while-at-the-same-time-barely-perspiring-and-looking-all-kinds-of-languid New Orleans Buck? And I’m using the Nicaraguan-made Flor de Cana Grand Reserve 7-year-old dark rum (which, I have to admit, so you don’t think I’m some kind of un-admitting flunky, was sent to me in the mail not too long ago from someone in New York–who I’m thanking right now, cause really, it’s tasty rum)? All of this probably leads many old Kansans (pals KT and Markie Mark, for two) to saying one thing: “that’s bucked up.”
But really, my old Orange Buck brethren, forgive me. The New Orleans Buck is darn refreshing, and is a very close relative of the O.B., and part of that legendary Gin Buck family that traces back, oh, to at least the 1920s. And if you’re new to this whole “buck” thing, let me promise you: you’ll be happy to dive in here, because this is a happening and cheery summer drink, one that fits backyard kick-backs remarkable well. You can slim the rum down a snitch if you must (I like the umph, but wife Nat thinks a little less booze bring the refreshment factor up a notch. Take your pick pals, and let me know what you think), to say, 2 ounces. But don’t you dare mess with the ratio of ginger ale to orange juice. That has to stay at 1:1. Or the universe will implode. Which is a messy situation anytime, but especially sticky in summer.
Ice cubes
3 ounces dark rum (or a little less, as mentioned)
2 ounces freshly squeezed orange juice
2 ounces chilled ginger ale
Lime wedge for garnish
Lime slice for garnish
1. Fill a highball glass three-quarters full with ice cubes. Add the rum.
2. Carefully add the orange juice and the ginger ale at the same time. Stir briefly.
3. Squeeze the lime wedge over the glass, then let it join the mix. Garnish with the lime slice.
A Variation: For an Orange Buck, substitute gin for rum, and for a Nordic Buck, sub in vodka. For a classic Gin Buck, make it with gin and no orange juice.
PS: Hopefully this isn’t too mercenary a mention, but this here drink is featured in a book called Dark Spirits, which doesn’t hit the shelves until fall of ’09, but which you could, if you wanted, pre-order right now, so as to insure you’re the first on the block with it in your pretty little hands.
This fun-and-fizzy number adds effervescence to any ol’ weekend or weekday evening, or noontime, or, for that matter, breakfast (hey, it’d be great for the upcoming Memorial Day breakfast, to be topical). A combination of rum, lime juice, the delicious Domaine de Canton ginger liqueur, and a touch of simple syrup, all topped off by rosé sparkling wine, I believe if you bring this to breakfast you’ll get praised from here (or wherever you are) to Tampa. If you wear a Tarzan costume while serving the Tropicaliana, you’ll get praised from here to Tanzania. Of course, I’ve never been to Tanzania, so this is partially a guess. But I have seen you wearing a Tarzan costume, and it’s as cute as a cheetah’s spots. I mean it. Now, show a little more leg next time and we’ll be in business (not sure what kind of business, exactly, but anytime you trot out “show a little more leg” in a sentence you have to follow it up with a phrase like “next time we’ll be in business.” It’s a boozer’s law. Know what I mean? No? Ah, go drink your Tropicaliana).
Ice cubes
1 ounce white rum
1/4 ounce fresh lime juice
1/2 ounce Domaine de Canton Ginger Liqueur
1/2 ounce simple syrup
Chilled rosé sparkling wine
Lime slice, for garnish
1. Fill a cocktail shaker halfway full with ice cubes. Add the rum, lime juice, ginger liqueur, and simple syrup. Shake well.
2. Strain the mix into a flute. Top with the rosé sparkling wine. Garnish with that lime slice.
As our producer and director owns stock in the BBC, our “season” lasts a mere six episodes (much like the Snuff Box). Which means (grab those hankies now) this is the last episode in this new season. And, if I can preen the feathers a bit, it’s a humdinger. In this finale, I’ll not only sing and dance (really!), I’ll also teach you to make the somewhat sultry Bedroom Eyes, a fine number that puts I think I delicious cocktail capper on another season of the show about cocktails and drinking and good times, the Good Spirits Cocktail to Cocktail Hour. But wait! Before clicking on the “play” button and icing up the shaker though, I must take another moment to thank our sponsors in writing (it’s a contractual thing—hey, every little helps). So, raise your glasses in a cheer for Holt’s Hangover Helpers, Fuller’s Homemade Liqueurs, Cash and Harley’s Fund for Young Bartenders, Butler’s House of Garnishes. And of course, raise another glass in a cheer for yourself, our viewers. Without you, well, we’d have to drink more ourselves.
