Sidecar

As it turns out, a Sidecar is really quite fantastic.  No really, I could probably drink it all day but for the fear of ending 'tits-up' before noon, as one's husband would say.  And I am really quite relieved, because I was beginning to assume that it was one of those drinks that is easy to romanticize -- but not actually all that easy to drink, if you know what I mean.  Sidecars create all sorts of atmosphere in my mind because they sound/are so 1920s flapper-ish.

We had them yesterday after Michael spent the day (yet another day) sanding and sanding the ceiling in the living room.  And then priming (...and then sanding ... and then priming) until I declared I would surely leave him forever if he didn't knock it off already.  Seriously, there comes a time when one should simply say, 'Let's leave well enough alone!'  The ceiling looks marvelous, though, and it is such a liberating feeling to be officially popcorn-less.  To wit, the house looks decidedly less 1970s now, which is always a bonus in my mind.**   

Anyway, a gorgeously smooth ceiling aside (which was a labor-intensive couple of months in the doing, I'll have you know), isn't it grand to have a husband who will gladly drop his sandpaper and trowel in order to make a nice drink because it strikes his wife's fancy? 

The recipe is as follows, and while it does not call for ice, I find it simply spiffing to add it.

** Now then, what else shall we do before we slap a For Sale sign in front of this jalopy?

Sidecar
(Makes one drink of deliciousness)

1 ounce brandy
1 ounce Cointreau
3/4 ounce fresh lemon juice
Flamed orange peel, for garnish

Shake all ingredients with ice and strain into an iced old-fashioned glass.  Garnish with flamed orange peel.  (Recipe from: The Craft of the Cocktail, by Dale Degroff.  2002, Clarkson N. Potter Publishers.)

Michael's Ginger & Lime Restorative

All I have to say is consider yourself warned.  The first time my lovely, lovely husband made this cocktail for me, I told him, 'Yum, I could drink this all day!'  It is fabulous and oh-so refreshing.  You can actually feel the ginger warming you up, and the lime cooling you down.  Talk about absolute perfection in a glass.  I'm fairly certain that it will cure whatever ails you.  And if not?  Well then, you'd better have another.  Just to make sure.

Blue Ginger Gimlet
serves 2

3 ounces vodka
2 ounces freshly squeezed lime juice
2 ounces ginger syrup
lime wedge, for garnish

In a cocktail shaker (or a rather large Kerr jar, like we have), combine all the ingredients.  Add a decent amount of ice, and shake well.  Strain into martini glasses.

Ginger Syrup
makes about 3 cups, which is why we always cut it down

2 cups sugar
2 cups fresh ginger, peeled and cut into 1/8-inch slices (about 2 large 'hands' of ginger)
2 cups of water

In a medium saucepan, heat the sugar, ginger, and water over high heat.  Reduce the heat and simmer until it has reduced by half and is syrupy.  The syrup should hold the line of a plate.  Strain the mixture and reserve the syrup in the refrigerator until needed.  (Recipe from -- our latest discovery -- Ming Tsai's Simply Ming.  Episode 410.  Airs on PBS.)

Apple & Thyme Martini

A couple of weeks ago, Michael and I thought we had the best idea ever.  We were going to start a new tradition: Friday Night Cocktails.  The plan was that we would try a new (and hopefully lovely) cocktail every week.  And the plan was that we would do it right when he got home from work, before dinner, while pretending that we were on the set of Mad Men or something.  (We don't actually have cable, so we've only seen this show here and there while at other people's houses.  Seems quite good though.)

Anyway, after the first week (that would be the marvelous Rossini, A Venetian Cocktail) we basically tossed our new tradition over-board.  If one is going to sit down and enjoy a nice cocktail, it is best to do just that -- sit down and enjoy it -- and not be in the middle of making dinner, getting Miss Milia in the bathtub, doing dishes, folding clothes, and all the other activities that make it feel like bloody Groundhog Day over here.  Otherwise, you'll have downed half a bottle of vodka and won't know what in sam-hell is even going on anymore, and why haven't we eaten dinner?!  And what kind-of-monkey-operation is this anyway?!

And so, we changed it.  Instead, let's get the babe into bed, and then sit down with our drinks.  Nice in theory, but difficult to do when it is going on midnight and we should all just be in bed.  Now our plan is to have a nice cocktail when we darn well feel like it, so long as we aren't rushing about and can actually take a moment to notice it.

This is another great cocktail for spring.  (Would be lovely to have on a Friday evening, really, whilst sitting on the deck.  Try it and let me know how it works.)  Anyway, Michael made them and did a splendid job.  The thyme is what makes the drink;  the fragrance and the earthy taste are so refreshing -- it's practically a health tonic, I'm sure.

Rossini, A Venetian Cocktail

I drink champagne when I'm happy and when I'm sad. Sometimes I drink it when I'm alone. When I have company I consider it obligatory. I trifle with it if I'm not hungry and drink it when I am. Otherwise I never touch it -- unless I'm thirsty. (Madame Lilly Bollinger)

This is a perfect drink for springtime.  Gorgeous to look at, and if you're not careful, you will have downed the whole bottle in no time.  Bliss.

Rossini (Cheers!)
1/2 cup ripe organic strawberries
1 flat teaspoon sugar (or more, depending on your strawberries)
1 teaspoon lemon juice
1 cup very cold prosecco

Hull and then quarter the strawberries.  Sprinkle with sugar and lemon juice.  Puree until absolutely smooth.  (Michael used the marvelous hand-held blender and a Pyrex for this.)  Pour into 2 glasses, divide the prosecco, give it a good mix, let is settle, and serve immediately.  (Recipe from Venezia: Food and Dreams by Tessa Kiros.  Andrews McMeel Publishing, 2008.)

Christmas in a Glass and Fresh Orange Bellinis

In one of Jamie Oliver's cookbooks he has a recipe for a drink called Christmas in a Glass. Essentially it is fresh oranges (mandarins, tangerines, and the like) squeezed into a glass with a sprig or two of fresh mint. The scent of orange and mint is heavenly together and really smells like Christmas. And it tastes absolutely perfect — just like Christmas in a glass.

Last year we discovered Mario Batali's recipe for Blood Orange Bellinis. And again, it is a match made in heaven, although obviously not a drink for the little ones.

This year, on account of not being able to find any blood oranges at Whole Foods, I opted for Minneola oranges (tangelos is the correct term, but really, that sounds absolutely ridiculous). They are a good choice because they yield a lot of juice, but the flavor is really not the same as a blood orange. Maybe we should have dropped a few raspberries into each glass, as that would have been a bit closer. Either way, just remember to make sure the oranges are very cold before pouring the juice into your glass. Otherwise you end up with a room-temperature cocktail, which just seems to cheapen the whole experience. But that is merely my opinion.

So this is what we made Christmas day during nap-time and sipped while we made our feast. Once Emilia was up from her nap she got some freshly squeezed juice and sparkling water in a sippy cup. However, after a few sips she was quite finished. Apparently she does not appreciate it when anything is added to her 'Perrier Drink'. 'More Perrier Drink, please!' is something I typically hear several times throughout the day. And while she may be a girl after my own heart, it would appear that I have created a monster. I mean really, the girl isn't even two.

Christmas in a Glass

A variety of mandarins, tangerines, and clementines (about 5 per person), squeezed

Mint leaves

(Recipe from: Happy Days with the Naked Chef by Jamie Oliver, Hyperion Publishing, 2002.)

Blood Orange Bellini

1 bottle prosecco, chilled

2 cups blood orange juice, chilled

Place glasses in the freezer (you are supposed to use champagne flutes, but we used martini glasses) for 20 minutes. Open prosecco and let sit for a few minutes.

Pour ¼ cup blood orange juice into each glass. Top off with prosecco, leaving within ½ inch at the top. Serve. (Recipe from: Holiday Food by Mario Batali, Clarkson/Potter Publishers, 2000.)

A Very Pink (Pomegranate) Martini

For Mother's Day this past year, Michael got us tickets to see two shows — the first being Good Night Moon, the second being Pink Martini. While Good Night Moon was clearly a fine production, I don't know that I'd recommend it if you don't have kids. Pink Martini, on the other hand, is another story altogether. We just saw them this past Saturday at Chateau Ste Michelle (a beautiful winery in Woodinville, Washington where you sit outside on the grass and eat the picnic you've brought with you). I adore them.

If you are not familiar with Pink Martini's music (for shame!), it is a bit difficult to describe. It is retro and glamorous, like an old-fashioned Hollywood film. At the same time, they are multi-cultural and terribly modern. Many of their songs are in other languages — French, Spanish, Japanese, and apparently Turkish. (They have re-done a song that Eartha Kitt made famous, and sang in Turkish, about a dirty handkerchief. Or maybe it was a scarf.) And their song Je Ne Vuex Pas Travailler was a hit in France when it came out a few years ago. And rightly so; that song is fabulous.

They have three albums, and their fourth will be coming out the end of October. Of their albums, the one I live and breath is their second, Hang on Little Tomato. When Emilia was born, 18 short months ago, we actually called her our Little Tomato. Her little head was perfectly round and she was bright red, particularly when she screamed. And every night before we would go to bed I would dance with her to this album until she fell asleep. Michael would be in the kitchen doing dishes while Miss Milia and I danced. She loved it — the music, the movement, the swaying — and, of course, she loved just being held. I haven't danced with her like this for months because now she just goes to bed after several books and a very difficult teeth-brushing. Besides, the girl weighs thirty pounds.

In honor of Pink Martini, I decided to pull out The Craft of the Cocktail and search for an actual pink martini. As it turns out, no recipe actually bears that name. I almost went for the Rosy Martini, but it calls for more alcohol (three different kinds to be exact), whereas the Pomegranate Martini calls for less alcohol and incorporates both pomegranate and lemon juices. As you can see, we still ended up with a lovely pink martini. If I were doing it again, I would skip the simple syrup and replace it with more pomegranate juice, as I found it to be a bit sweet. Also, I would learn how to do the flamed orange peel properly. I tried to snap the peel and then light it with a match over the glass, but alas, it would not work. We ended up with singed orange peels, which is not a very nice thing to put in your drink. So we opted to do fresh orange peel instead.

Finally, I suppose you should know that I am not the biggest boozer that ever was. Don't get me wrong, I could drink half a bottle of red wine with dinner and not bat an eyelash, but spirits are an entirely different story. And unless we are at a terribly important family affair (always on my husband's side of the family, mind you), I typically stay away from the stuff. But really, why must Uncle Richie always ply me with so much Sambuca? And then why must I insist on dancing to Eminem? At any rate, I think I am getting sidetracked.

A Very Pink Pomegranate Martini

2 ounces citrus vodka

½ ounce fresh lemon juice

¼ ounce pomegranate juice

1 ounce simple syrup

dash of rosewater, if available

flamed orange peel, for garnish

Shake everything up with ice and strain into a chilled martini glass. Garnish with the flamed orange peel. (Recipe from The Craft of the Cocktail, by Dale DeGroff, Clarkson/Potter Publishers, 2002.)