It doesn’t take much for me to find a quick and easy theme and throw a dinner party around it. In this instance the gold rim of these cocktail glasses provided all the impetus Andy and I needed to surround ourselves with four of our favorite people. The earliest hints of the upcoming holiday season glittered in the background as I served up a few Ginger Gold Rushes, recipe below.
GINGER GOLD RUSH
1 ½ OZ. BOURBON (BLACK MAPLE HILL)
1 ½ OZ. GINGER LIQUEUR (CANTON)
½ OZ. FRESH LEMON JUICE
SERVE WITH CITRUS TWIST.
Of course the real secret to a good dinner party is not in the cocktails or hors d’oeuvre, not in the tablescape or entree, but always, and only, in the guests. Which is what made this gathering one of the best.
“Well, you never knew exactly how much space you occupied in people’s lives. Yet from this fog his affection emerged–the best contacts are when one knows the obstacles and still wants to preserve a relation.” ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald
Libation literature would have it that a classic cocktail has to be tried and true with minor but not major room for variation. The Martinez defies this, made in several wildly differing forms, each one just too drastically separate from other incarnations because in this one every ingredient is vital, and every change results in a totally new drink. For my purposes, I used one of the more common versions to get a feel for the usual before branching out into anything outrageous. Only when you know the rules can you break them.
With its gin and sweet vermouth base, this is largely considered the love child of a martini and a negroni. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about that, since I love each dearly, and can’t picture a happy hybrid. Fortunately, like its parents, the Martinez is distinctive enough to stand on its own. Consider it the Liza Minelli of cocktails. Here’s the recipe I used for my first try:
The Martinez
3 1/2 ounces Old Tom Gin
1 3/4 ounces sweet vermouth
2 bar spoons maraschino liqueur, preferably Luxardo
4 dashes orange bitters
Ice
Orange twist, for garnish (optional)
They say Old Tom Gin is the traditional one for this, but I used the Bombay that was already open. For me, the key to this drink being good is in the sweet vermouth. There’s a lot of crappy sweet vermouth out there, and more dangerously, the longer vermouth stands on your shelf, the worse it gets. It’s imperative to use fresh sweet vermouth – the Carpano Antica Formula is delightful, and it conveniently comes in smaller bottles to avoid a batch getting stale. (You can also drink enough on a regular basis so that this isn’t even a question.) In a negroni, the campari is so prominent that you sometimes get away with less than stellar sweet vermouth – in this one you need the best, because there’s no disguising it.
The other trick is to get that bottle of maraschino liqueur – you will use it for the Last Word if you have any sense. And bitters. Orange bitters. They will accentuate and highlight the orange peel with a deeper complexity and resonance than if you make one or the other stand alone. The devil may be in the details, but heaven is there too.
This shameless and lazy social media cross-pollination post is only to gain more followers and friends, but when one is so transparent and honest about it, some of the sassiness gets blunted, no? Here is my please for you to follow me on Instagram or Twitter. Here is my ask for you to friend me on FaceBook. On all three, I’m a little more candid and up-to-date than I am here. Raw. Open. Hard-core. And you thought it couldn’t get any more naked…
Nipper appeared to be the dog at the end of the rainbow, but as we approached it became clear the rainbow ended somewhere else. Did you ever try to find the pot of gold espoused by folklore? I always knew such talk was nonsense, but as a child when I saw a rainbow hovering near the end of my street I decided to give it a go. I bounded down the road and into the field that led to my school. Across the clover and the unmown grass, I sprinted and gave chase to the elusive pastel bands of color. As fast and as far as I ran, almost halfway to McNulty, the rainbow remained constantly ahead, always out of reach. It faded even as I tried to hold my focus on each color. I’d look away for a moment, then back, to try to catch it in its escape. It began to only appear when I shifted my gaze, and soon I couldn’t find it at all.
Tomorrow we crown the next Triple-Time Hunk of the Day. The votes are in and there was an indisputable winner who took the lead early on and kept it (thanks to a kind retweet for his many fans). As I mentioned in the original post, a little promotion goes a long way. In case you missed out, here’s one more brief look at the contenders, because they’re all worthy:
Nick Adams – triple threat of the Broadway stage
What a strange fall it’s been. The light has been… queasy. I don’t know if that makes much sense, but I do know I’m not about to explain it. I know what I mean. On a recent afternoon, before the world went cold so late in the season, I stood outside as dusk descended. The last light of the day lit up the clouds in shades of amber and salmon and mauve. Slivers of lavender ran through the filament of the sky. The raw and random outlines of weathered pine trees stood silhouetted by the dying sun.
It had been a rainy day, but before the light went to sleep it would have its moment. Raindrops fell from the tips of leaves still confused by the extended warm weather. The spiky seedpods of an enormous castor bean plant looked even more ominous as light continued to drain from the day. I quickly clipped a few of the ones that had dried to a dark brown. They’d already begun splitting and spitting out their seeds, so I hastened indoors to save some of the precious cargo.
That’s the other part of fall – saving things for the future. Putting stock in what will come up next year.
This questionably-monikered Thanksgiving Cactus began blooming a couple of week ago, which is why I’m considering it more of a Halloween cactus at this point. Such a strong pink is more apropos for that holiday rather than the amber and autumnal hues of Turkey Day anyway.
Did anyone else catch that ‘60 Minutes’ piece on the Millennium Tower in San Francisco? The high-rise building is sinking a few inches per year, and starting to lean as well. For those of us not paralyzed with fear at such a height, it seems lofty living is a desirable, if expensive, goal. The older I get, the more afraid of heights I grow, so I’m good with crawling around the lower levels of this planet with all the other human ants.
Sometimes, though, we yearn to fly and soar as high as we can go, and looking up at the tops of buildings and cathedrals and skyscrapers has always thrilled me. There’s something to be said for a bird’s-eye view of the world. When I was a kid, I used to climb a very tall evergreen in our backyard. The higher I went, the more exhilarated I felt. A little terrified too, and at times I would cling to the sturdy trunk and close my eyes to calm myself before carefully climbing back down.
I’m better at more reasonable perches, such as the two-and-a-half story vantage-point of our Boston home. (I say two-and-a-half because the first floor is actually above street level by quite a bit, in the brownstone tradition.) From there, one has a decent view of the street, and the John Hancock Tower. If you lean out the window a bit and strain your neck you can also glimpse a bit of the Prudential Center.
It was here that I spent a single night last weekend to prepare for the holiday season events. There’s the annual Holiday Stroll with Kira, and the relatively new Holiday Children’s Hour with Suzie’s family (and hopefully a few other kids to keep Milo and Oona company). Both have become happy holiday traditions which I’m hoping to keep going. Since I won’t likely be in Boston again until December, I had to decorate, do some laundry, and get a few things together beforehand. It was gleefully anticipatory work – my favorite sort of work – and I loosely plotted out possibilities in my head. ‘Tis almost the season…
We turned back time like Cher could only imagine, and now the nights come earlier than ever. It’s only going to get worse until December 21 or so, and we better get into the holiday spirit to lift that kind of darkness. Thankfully, I’m already in holiday planning and preparation mode. If I get enough done in advance, I can simply lounge in silk pajamas when things get really stressful. A look back at the last week…
To all of us who get on the roller coaster, throw our arms in the air, open our eyes and scream for glee and glory.
I see you thinking twice
Wish I could read your mind
Move up or out of line
Too late for praying
I know we might lose our breath
We might be scared to death
This chance is like a step
Just got to take it
Hold on tight, slide a little closer
Up so high stars are on our shoulders
Time flies by, don’t close your eyes
Kiss by kiss love is like a thrill ride
What goes up might take us upside down
Life ain’t a merry go round
It’s a roller coaster… It’s a roller coaster
Can’t lie and won’t pretend
I know what’s round the bend
Too late to start again
Won’t take it slower
Let’s slip right off these tracks
We’ll fly or we might crash
Don’t look down, don’t look back
Cause it ain’t over
Hold on tight, slide a little closer
Up so high stars are on our shoulders
Time flies by, don’t close your eyes
Kiss by kiss love is like a thrill ride
What goes up might take us upside down
Life ain’t a merry go round
Lockhart Brownlie has been a Hunk of the Day here not once, but twice. This isn’t quite his third, but it goes some way toward establishing that as his next goalpost. He seems to be going by Locky these days, as you’ll see on his super-fun YouTube page. Check him out there – he’s even better in motion.
It really wasn’t all that out-of-the-ordinary or strange, when you consider it in the pantheon of outfits I’ve worn over the years. A ceremonial Indian wedding coat, adorned with a few sequins and some sparkle, and some beadwork around the neck. A bright marigold-orange silk, paired with a loose pair of turquoise pants. I’d worn it to one of the Beaujolais events a few years back. On the rainy day we were traveling to Amsterdam to check out my brother’s new house, it seemed a fine choice.
Andy and I pulled up to the house, and I texted my brother to help us with the potted palm I’d brought to warm the place. We entered and were dutifully impressed by the results. My brother had worked hard on the house, and he and Landrie welcomed us in as the twins ran rambunctiously around.
We talked home decoration and I offered what little guidance I could. They had already done quite a bit, and the living and dining rooms were mostly complete. We sat for a drink before getting ready for dinner with our parents.
As we were leaving the kids looked at me and asked why I was dressed like this. “Like what?” I asked.
“In a dress,” one of them said. “It’s weird.”
For one brief moment it stung, just a little.
“Aww, you hurt Uncle Al’s feelings,” Andy explained gently as we went out into the rain. But by then there wasn’t much hurt left. This was how kids talked. I understood they didn’t mean anything by it.
I just hope the rest of the world will be as forgiving as me.
