tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you, tomorrow

Tomorrow it will have been forty days since I began the Limoncello, and have thus reached the halfway point.  It will be celebrated by mixing a simple syrup and adding it the infusion, and beginning the search for proper limoncello glasses in which to serve it and bottles in which to preserve it (hah!  it will be gone so fast my head will spin (or so I hope)), but still I plan to decant it into proper bottles.   Tomorrow, tomorrow ...

Meanwhile, today I sip a Hendricks martini, with a twist, which was waiting for me when I got home today from having my hair cut.  Hair stylists always want to blow my hair dry into a silly poodle-do, and then I have to come home and make it simpler, and I make a bee line for the bathroom like an embarassed, newly sheared dog hoping that no one sees me along the way.  My husband was smart enough, that is, he took direction well enough, to have my martini poured and his eyes closed when I got home -- what a man. 

ROTFL

Oh man, I needed that.  It's been about 12 hours since I first read it, and it still makes me laugh so hard that my tummy muscles ache.  It's the New York Times Magazine this morning, with its' recipe for Hisbiscus Punch -- good enough ingredients (basically it's Red Zinger, but who's counting?) -- but the part about vodka being optional?? There I go again ... whew ... it hurts so good to laugh this hard ...

KIcking and Screaming

and Crawling and Gasping.  There are times when that's what it takes to stay out of the rabbit hole, and no amount of Bartender's Guide guidance will help;  in fact, no amount of Guidance is exactly the right amount. Ahhh, as they say, the wisdom to know the difference.  All is well -- wishing you the same.  Love. 

It's Official

It's official -- I'm a snob.  Last night at a local snobby restaurant I actually heard myself order, and I quote myself, "a Hendricks martini with a twist, unless you don't have Hendricks, in which case the liquor store is right across the street." 

I'm insufferable, without even being vegan!  The other night I came t-h-i-s close to a vegan meal I tell you, a quinoa pilaf that was absolutely perfect and vegan and at the last moment I decided that some asiago cheese would take it over the top, and I was right (again).  Rone' tells me that I'll never become vegan because I can't grow dreadlocks, and I think she's right (again).  It's so good to be us! 

!!!News Flash!!!

News Flash!  You heard it here first!  I have it on good authority that the Gin Mellow should not, I repeat, not be made with Gordon's Gin (the one in the plastic bottle); neither should cherry brandy be substituted for the apricot brandy.  Repeat:  no Gordon's, no cherry brandy.  Unless, one is hanging out with certain folks whose company requires quick administration of a cocktail, regardless of what rot gut is immediately available.  In said case, anything goes.  Cheers. 

P.S.  Think flask

The Exploding Sidecar, or Too Blotto to Blog

Indeed.  I tried one last night, and it was good.  I tried another this evening, and saw himself.  Whoever that is.  First I wrote god, which didn't look right, so I tried it with a dash in front of the od, in honor of my Jewish friends.  That didn't look like something I'd write because, well, it isn't.  Then I wrote the G in front of the od, and it looked, um, odd, under the circumstances.  So I went with something less descript.  Himself. 

The Exploding Sidecar was named in honor of, because we don't have enough else to do, the movie The Hurt Locker, as one of several cocktails designed in celebration of movies nominated for Academy Awards in 2009.  The movie is explosive because of what it does to your mind; likewise the drink.  Actually, it's called that because it involves a flaming orange, not to be confused with the hetero variety.   I'm not at all sure that I've mastered the flaming orange trick, because the online video that demonstrates how to flame an orange (again, because we don't have enough else to do) makes it look far more dramatic than what I was able to achieve, which was a chunk of charred orange peel.   I dropped it into the drink anyway, because here in Texas we like just about anything charred -- rattlesnake, cactus, you name it. 

The Exploding Sidedar involves an ounce of brandy, three quarters ounces each Cointreau and lemon juice, served over ice and garnished with a flaming orange.  I used the last of my Meyer's lemons from Rone''s tree, which I think she'd approve of (Rone'?  are you reading this?  are you okay with it?)  Oh man, I'm going to miss those lemons.  But wait!!  I still have them to look forward to when the Limoncello is ready!  Yes, yes, something to live for!  Back to the Exploding Sidecar. 

To make a Sidecar, The Guide advises, and I use that term advisedly, Triple Sec rather than Cointreau, and half the amount of lemon juice.  Triple Sec does not deserve to live in your liquor cabinet (although it resides happily in mine), but the lemon juice could definitely be decreased, yes, even by half.   My face is just now beginning to relax, and there's probably not enough botox in the world to keep one's face from scrunching in from the lemon juice.  The good news is that I don't feel a single flu or cold symptom.  In fact, I hardly feel anything -- perhaps I'm too blotto to blog.  G'night.