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There are oh, so many things that are inappropriate about the Fort Washington Flip at the time of this writing. One: It’s clear from a quick scan of the cocktail’s ingredients — nutmeg, people; nutmeg – that it ain’t really meant to be quaffed in hot weather. (And it is hot up in herre, good people of places other than Montreal. It is so hot in Montreal today.) Two: Then I actually bothered to read the write-up this drink got on Serious Eats, like, four years ago (a time lapse that, while not outright inappropriate, surely gives away my occasional, self-loathsome tendencies towards procrastination) and, turns out, it was invented by a Cambridge, Mass. bartender in honor of Easter. Easter four years ago. An Easter that was an “early Easter” that year. So again, faux pas sur moi. (If anyone else was surprised to read “Easter,” because the nutmeg made you think Thanksgiving/Xmas… me, too!)
The Easter connection was represented through the use of a whole egg — hence, this cocktail’s proper nomenclature as a flip. (Flip = a whole, raw egg in the drink. There isn’t a term for when you just use raw egg white, like in my World’s Greatest Cosmopolitan.) I made this drink the other day, I made it myself and I made it diligently, not half-assed, and I poured it for the PhoBlograpHusband and for our next-door neighbors and then I poured some for myself (a teensy portion, I swear) and then I drank my teensy portion and then I went home and like 30 minutes later I said, “Oh God, Sean. I’m pregnant and I just drank raw egg.”
Time moves more slowly in Canada. I move more slowly with child. Put ‘em together and what’ve you got? A 35-day month, but one that’s worth the wait, for at the end of it lies the Month-Old Manhattan.
When I first mixed this drink in May, having gotten the recipe’s inspiration from a restaurant‘s cocktail menu in St. Louis, I commended its use of old-school rye whiskey instead of bourbon as a base and marveled at the inclusion of curacao, which gave it a more playful (but still not juvenile) flavor. I’m paraphrasing myself here, but I described its unaged taste as appealingly scratchy-smooth-sweet on the palate.
Well; what a difference a five-week month makes. After spending that span of time sealed tightly in a Mason jar, the Month-Old Manhattan now boasts a shooting-out-of-the-gate upfrontness, like it couldn’t wait to get down somebody’s gullet, pronto. What may surprise you most, though, is which parts of its original profile are doing the tastebud-grabbing and the ass-kicking. This cocktail is, first and foremost, orange. Like, woah, orange. Like, oh!-range. And that’s despite that fact that I’d subbed rail-quality triple sec for top-shelf curacao.
So the Triple Crown wound up being a big bust this year. And even though the news is kinda bittersweet/poignant/ironic for us alkies who thought we’d finally found our spirit animal in a horse named I’ll Have Another, it’s no bigs. Let’s keep sippin’ juleps all the same. Let’s just make ‘em stiffer to take the edge off.
Came across this recipe from so-awesome-I-must-slay-him-in-order-to-become-him David Wondrich on Liquor.com and knew we had to try it. Have I ever done a white julep before? Wait… have I never done a white julep before?!? Where’s my brain? (Blotto’d on moonshine, obvs.)
MmmmmMMMMmmmmm nom nom NOM NOM NOM NOM
Now, I have never started a post with such gustatorial, guttural nonsense. So you must realize, people, me reeeeeally likey this cocktail.
And how could I not, as it contains the greatest food known to man: Mint. Chocolate. Chip. Ice. Cream. Zomg. (Mark Bittman would argue it’s not a “food” at all. Mark Bittman can suck it.) Srsly, I could live on mint chocolate chip ice cream, in either of its two glorious hues: au naturel white or 50s-sci fi green. It’s my ambrosia and my manna rolled into one. It’s my manbrosia!
The following all actually happened.
I was watching TV a few days ago when on came a commercial for the new Bud Light Lime Mojito. My first reaction was to groan, and to recall the cases of Coors Light Iced T that have been stacked near the checkout lines at my local supermarket for weeks; those also make me groan, anew, each time I must sidle by them to pay for my
thrice-weekly pint of ice cream habit groceries.
But my second reaction to the mojito beer was, shockingly (shocking I say!), this: That sounds pretty good, actually.
PhoBlograpHusband: “What do you want to do for our [second] anniversary [on June 5]?”
Blogtender: “Let’s, like — let’s go out and see Montreal, some part of the city we keep saying we should see but haven’t yet. Not anything too crazy, obvs [because I’m seven months pregnant] but something different.”
PhoBlograpHusband: “Yeah, we need to get off our couch this summer.”
Two nights ago:
Blogtender: “You know what I really want to do for our anniversary? I want to make cocktails and eat junk food and watch TV. On our couch.”
Ah, yes, while I believe the traditional second-anniversary gift is something like clocks or coffee or leather, chez Lorre it was a much more sublime trifecta. Smiley face-shaped chicken tenders and Mad Men (we just subscribed to this season on iTunes, NO SPOILERS LA LA LA LA) and, among other libations, this Lemon Raspberry Mint Ouzo-Ade.