“Our leaders suck, religion’s bunk
Fuck it all, let’s get drunk!”
—Postupack family saying
1. social instability resulting from a breakdown of standards, morals, and values
2. personal unrest, alienation, and uncertainty that comes from a lack of purpose or ideals
Life, as any thinking and feeling person knows, is difficult. So it comes as no surprise that yours truly, your humble narrator and mixologist, afflicted with the aforementioned anomie, occasionally draws solace and sanctuary through the well-made cocktail. Tonight, however, I will invite you in to the process itself, that of The Creator. Filled with anomie, I’ve already had three drinks (or is it four?). Two of my own invention, and the third, a classic—a “Gibson”, the vintage cocktail of choice of Roger Sterling of Mad Men fame; a savory martini with a Pearl onion floating about. (See RETRO COCKTAIL for October: The Gibson...) Then, my Pomegranate Martini (See “This Washroom Breeds Bolsheviks”). So I decided to invent a brand new cocktail as a nightcap with what ingredients were at hand. Expediency (and drunkenness) is (are) the mother of invention. The
Pomegranate Liqueur was already on the counter, so that was a given. Then, the last bit from the bottle of Stoli (and as the Gods of Mixology would have it, there was exactly one part left!). Next, I thought about St. Germain, but as I reached for the bottle, my hand jerked uncontrollably to the left like a spasm of delirium tremens, and I grabbed the bottle of St. Elder instead. And then in the corner of my eye, was the bottle of Aperol, that colorful, flavorful, bittersweet Italian amaro. Yes, this will go nicely with the Pama, my inebriated-self concluded. (And did you know that the word “inebriated” comes from the Latin “inebriatus”, meaning to intoxicate?) Some lime juice, since I already had some squeezed out from the first drink, “The Métropolitain” (from my most excellent memoir, TALES OF INSOMNIA DESPAIR & THE PERFECT COCKTAIL). And then, as I gazed into the refrigerator, I saw a little bit left in the bottles of white cranberry juice
and Peychaud’s bitters. Some ice was tossed into the shaker. And as I cheerfully shook it up, I noticed the slice of cucumber used as a garnish from the above-mentioned “Métropolitain”, still in its cocktail glass. Serendipity!
I must admit, after the first sip of this drunken improvisation, I was dubious. But ever the scientist, I took another sip, then another, and I concluded that it wasn’t half bad. Satisfying and flavorful, in an offbeat way, with an intriguing taste going off to the
right of the palate, like a drunk driver veering off the road towards a tree. I’m finishing it up now as I write this, drunk as f#@! (which was the original name for this drink), taking heart that the creative process is present, drunk or not.
Postscript: I must confess, the following day I went through and edited the above, which I found almost unreadable in the original. Here’s a sample of how it looked:
lidbng, gO fUcKyOuRsElFnüigef zl\ n’ka lsaob sk9 nea[ ihugpgzzzopu, dbu choppe suey! EaTmEaoosav asbo7, Hn jfi7a oiegco. OpRaHsUcKs fReDdIeMeRcUrYNC HWEUY75 sObLoWmE ABIFYWO nwadoa.
See what I mean. Cheers!
1 part Stolichnaya Vodka
1 part Pama Pomegranate Liqueur
½ part Aperol
½ part St. Elder
½ part Ocean Spray White Cranberry juice
½ part fresh-squeezed Lime juice
dash of Peychaud’s bitters
Shake over ice. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass.
Garnish with a slice of cucumber and a hangover.