The Stanley Cocktail

This is gonna be one of those babbling brook o'consciousness posts I write from time to time, lending special credence to the word "babbling."

Sean and I made this cocktail a couple weeks ago -- before my Moms swooped into town for a week-long six-day (she'll correct me in an e-mail if I don't do it now) stay. Why don't I cocktail *more* when hosting family? God knows I need it badly-er during such times. Oh, right. I'm up the spout. Good thing that I don't forget that too often.

Anyway, my home office is also our guest room, so when we've got folks staying here I basically don't write, don't work, don't check e-mails, and generally grow more and more discomboobulated and unmoored from real life. Which is probably why I sound the way I sound right now. Me no typie so good when brain cloudy with word farts what is thesaurus?

So, the Stanley! Why did we make the Stanley? We made the Stanley because we had lemon juice about to turn in our fridge and because after many sadistic false starts, Mother Nature has finally gotten her big, compostable ass into gear up here and delivered a proper Montreal spring. (I am the last person who should be making fun of other women's fat asses at this point in my life/pregnancy, but she is not a real person so she can suck it.) The Stanley, rather audaciously, combines gin and rum, two liquors that a) you rarely see mixed, yet b) speak to the same joyous thermometer creep that ought to be celebrated with a proper cocktail, preferably including them. Grenadine and lemon juice take away from that audacity, make it more like the Banality of Cherry Coke than the Audacity of Hope (the Audacity of Hooch?) but we decided to give the Stanley a go all the same.

We got the Stanley from our trusty-dusty Old Mr. Boston Official Bartenders Guide. Sometimes this book -- as much as I insist upon treating it with reverence, for it is really old and its starchy pages smell wonderfully like pickled dust -- is like a big clusterwuh? Like when it gives you a girly-ass drink called the Stanley. Who invented this shit, or at least named it that? It is very pretty, though. In fact, I bet if I just keep looking at those pics above my head fog will lift before long...

Every time I say "the Stanley" in my head, I picture two things in quick succession. One, Mrs. Roper. Two, Pretzel Day.

I like Pretzel Day...

The Stanley Cocktail

(as per the Old Mr. Boston Official Bartenders Guide)

1 ounce Bombay Dry Gin

1 ounce Bacardi

1/2 ounce freshly squeezed lemon juice

1/2 ounce grenadine

Combine all ingredients in an ice-filled cocktail shaker. Shake vigorously and strain into chilled cocktail or coupe glass.

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The Between the Sheets

"A belly laugh is like a cocktail without the hangover."

Nobody said that; I just made it up to justify today's post, which had me LOLing so hard I ran out of time to write!

The following is what my friend P. wrote in a card that arrived in the mail the other day. It included a check as a wedding gift. Our wedding, it is important to note, took place a year and 24 days ago. It's also important to note that Sean and I are moving to Montreal at the end of July, hence the Canada references.

Do not make a Between the Sheets -- a 1920s classic cocktail, my Little Book of Big Drinks tells me -- and then read this, because you'll wind up slarfing your Between the Sheets out your nose:

Sean + Rosie -- Hi. I'm certain that this letter is arriving after you two lovebirds have celebrated your first anniversary. I realize the faux pas, but I hope you might overlook this on account of my being a douche moron asshole. Seriously -- I missed so many good opportunities for some well-timed humor. For instance: "Yes, I waited several months to celebrate your nuptials w/ a monetary contribution to RoseSean, LLC, but while you don't remember which uncle gave you that dinette set which you used this morning, you might remember your good friend Pat helping you pay for Christmas/NYE/either of your birthday presents/spring break in Panama City/income taxes/March Madness pools which you inevitably lost because both your teams sucked/new socks (move to Canada, eh!)."

Instead you're just getting a shitty card that bounced around my back seat for no less than three weeks. Seriously, look how fucking beat up this envelope is! The good news is that I invested your present and it appreciated by $8.47. You're welcome. xoxoPB

p.s. Why don't they make humorous wedding cards? How about a "Congrats on your first marriage?" Anything? I settled on this one because there is a quote from some French asshole [Ed. note: Antoine de Saint-Exupery] and I figured that would be topical w/ your moving to Canada and shit. You may have moved to Canada by the time this card gets to NYC. FUCK! Missed a good one...

p.p.s. I had lots of fun at ya'lls wedding.

p.p.p.s. I seriously hope you can read my wicked handwriting and can forgive my multitude of typos.

p.p.p.p.s. Hope we'll see you soon!

p.p.p.p.p.s. I'm getting my money's worth for this card ($2.99). Fun fact: This card will be worth more when you move to Canada, eh! [Ed. On the back of the card, it notes that it costs $4.25 Canadian.]

p.p.p.p.p.p.s. I wrote this card on June 13th, but I had misplaced my last checkbook. Found the remains in the dryer later that week. New checks arrived June 24th. I have always intended to be a better friend. PB"

The Between the Sheets

(Adapted from Mini Bar: A Little Book of Big Drinks by Mittie Hellmich)

1 1/2 ounces Brinley Gold Shipwreck Spiced Rum

3/4 ounces Remy Martin

3/4 ounces Grand Marnier

1/2 ounce lemon juice

Powdered sugar and lemon twist, to garnish

Combine all liquid ingredients in an ice-filled shaker and shake vigorously. Strain into a martini glass rimmed with powdered sugar. Garnish with lemon twist.

Tasting Notes:

I doubled the amount of spiced rum that the original recipe called for. The flavors needed a leader!

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