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Guest post by Sean Lorre, PhoBlograpHusband

Cocktail inspiration can come from that cool new bottle of bitters at the liquor store, a request from a friend, or a competition. Other times it’s from a cookie that you hid from yourself  in the back of a kitchen cabinet months before…

Many of your may remember the Drink our Booze-fest that Rose and I held for our NYC friends at the end of July. Late that very night, the Gingerman was born. While searching the kitchen for mixers, I discovered this little guy hiding behind a box of evaporated milk. (Don’t ask me why we had a two-pound box of evaporated milk). He was just the right muse for my bourbon-soaked brain, and though I have no recollection of the creative process as it actually took place, the result was good. At least I must have thought it was good because I took pictures of it and even texted myself the recipe –

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I’ve been commuting all week to Battery Park City (which I call Faketown, because it’s like a squeaky-clean, shooting-a-movie-in-Vancouver-and-calling-it-Manhattan bizarro world) to see my dog. The dog’s staying with friends while Sean and I look after two other dogs who once belonged to Sean’s father and now need new homes. Steve and Demian, our Faketown-living, dogsitting friends, love making cocktails as much as we do. They are particularly fond of drinks with ribald names (The Sandy Vagina, The Butterface, The Big Red Gay; I am literally retyping these off a chalkboard in their apartment), drinks that taste like edible things (the PB&J), and trompe-l’oeil drinks, like Little Beers.

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Ah, Fridays at five. If ever a quittin’ time cried out for a cocktail of its very own, you are said time. Regrettably, once another endless week wends its way to you, rarely am I of sober-enough mind to do you justice.

Yours should be the crowning achievement of my five days’ labor — I, Charlotte! My magnum opus, thee! Alas, by the time your sweet siren of surrender sounds… yeah, see, I haven’t even got enough of the witty wordplay left in me to finish my lede, let alone actually, like, name you.

So here’s how we’ll roll on Fridays. I’ll offer up one of my cocktail creations as per yoozh, but as far as what to call it — as Otis once sang, I’m depending on you, dear blog followers. (Some of you aren’t my relatives, right?) In other words, I’d like you to name that drink. Title that tipple! Christen that cocktail! Whatever the opposite of Alcohols Anonymous would be! (Again, bad wordplay.)

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Contrary to 100% of this blog’s content heretofore, there are plenty of things I’m up for discussing besides weddings. For example, Calvados, which I was lucky enough to try for the first time on its home turf about 13 years ago at an inn in Normandy. I remember a dining room resplendent with golden amber tones, although that may have just been the view down my nose into the bottom of my snifter. In fact, considering I can’t remember much else about that night, let’s go with that.

So anyway, back to weddings. One of my most favorite things to do, as perhaps you’ve already gleaned, is write a cocktail recipe. I love it so much that I’ll even craft a cocktail I have little interest in drinking. Last fall, my friend Harley asked me to write an appletini recipe for her brother’s nuptials. (Google docs is suggesting I correct “appletini.” First choice: Appleton. I hear ya, Google docs.) Read the rest of this entry »

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