So as one
week lethargically follows the next, I find myself thinking about spirits a lot of the time, these days, what with one thing and another,
mostly
as a way to lighten the present burden. Gin, whisky. Whisky, gin. And
sometimes, just sometimes, my thoughts are echoed by, say,
this snippet
which I come across
from Luis Buñuel:
After
the dry martini comes one of my own modest inventions, the Buñueloni,
best drunk before dinner. It’s really a takeoff of the famous
Negroni, but instead of mixing Campari, gin and sweet Cinzano, I
substitute Carpano for the Campari. Here again, the gin - in
sufficient quantity to ensure its dominance over the other two
ingredients - has excellent effects on the imagination. I’ve no
idea how or why; I only know that it works.
Talk
about an intelligent use of one’s drinks cabinet. And gin as the
great imaginative stimulant:
of
course.
It always comes back to gin.
Then,
a few days after my encounter with Buñuel, someone emails me with,
among other things, another snippet, this time from that
fake F. Scott Fitzgerald letter which was circulating a while back -
the one about being quarantined during the Spanish ‘Flu epidemic -
especially and not least the bit which goes:
The
officials have alerted us to ensure we have a month’s worth of
necessities. Zelda and I have stocked up on red wine, whiskey, rum,
vermouth, absinthe, white wine, sherry, gin and lord, if we need it,
brandy. Please pray for us.
I
mean, if I hadn’t subsequently discovered that this started life on
McSweeney’s, well, I’d still be musing on the exact
quantities Scott and Zelda were planning. It still seems alarmingly
plausible, even now. Plausible because, not least, of the absinthe.
Gin and absinthe: I must try it one day, if I can ever get any
absinthe. If I can ever get out of the house.
And
then what do you know but a day later, on A
Drinker’s History Of London,
I find another piece of pandemic-themed invention:
The
‘Quarantini’ could consist of any remaining dregs of booze you’ve
got left in the house after two weeks’ isolation (e.g. a mouthful
of grappa, a half-drunk bottle of Nigerian Guinness, an in-flight
Beefeater miniature, an ex’s Tia Maria gift set) mixed and chilled
as appropriate and gently imbibed.
To
which some bright spark has added a more specific Quarantini recipe
in the comments section at the bottom:
4
Parts Deaths Door Gin
1 Part
Killepitsch Liquor
Several
Szechuan Peppercorns
The
world is turning inwards as a result of Covid 19 and what it
finds in this process of involution is that its collective
mind
is turning to spirituous liquor, as so often in the past. To put it
another way, my
mind is turning to spirituous liquor
and I’m not alone.
Wine won’t do it
any more,
it’s too frivolous. Wine can’t address the needs of the current
ghastly situation. At the moment my own
Quarantini
is whisky and soda, which I reckon has powerful antiseptic and
antiviral properties, especially if drunk in a seated position. Next
thing is to try it lying down, as it might be,
in bed, recovering. Then maybe walking around at a distance of two
metres from passers-by. Then lying down again.
I
admit
this particular Quarantini isn’t new, nor
exactly a recipe, more a statement of fact. Then again, that Red Snapper thing from a few weeks back was
scarcely more complicated and it has its own fancy name, so I’ll
stick with the elemental ur-pairing
for now. Unless there’s something I could add to that whisky
and sparkling water mix which would elevate it to the level of
something something nameable without actually
ruining
the taste. I mean, no bitters or vermouth or anything like that. Actually I'm thinking: Paracetamol.
CJ
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: only a member of this blog may post a comment.