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Cheeky Monkey 2A million years ago Last year, I did some damage to a bottle of yellow Chartreuse. Actually, it was only half a bottle; a Francophone friend up here in Montreal asked me to bootleg him back from the States a 375ml-sized bottle of the stuff, and as I could only find the 750ml size, I shared it with him.

Anyway, I’ve had some yellow Chartreuse on hand, is what I’m saying, and it’s one of those liqueurs (like ouzo) where a little goes a long way. Especially since it’s got a peculiar flavor that doesn’t go with every Old Tom, Dick and Harry. Even more especially because yellow Chartreuse, unlike its green cousin, is super ‘spensive, so you want that shizz to last.

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Spring has come to Montreal one day ahead of schedule, and man, has it come correct. It’s a splendiferous afternoon up here, one I’ve happily wasted flitting around like a little butterfly, gazing through my office window as neighbors garden their front yards and stray cats strut about the sidewalk, repeatedly checking to see if the snow in our backyard has completely melted (it has not) and just generally jumpy as a junebug and grinning like an idiot. Seasonal affective disorder — what a real thing that is!

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A regular of mine at The Royale (one of the ones I had a crush on) came in one night many years ago and ordered “a Manhattan, put it up on skates.” I shot him one of my perplexed Charlie Brown faces; he unfurled a devilish Cheshire grin (catnip to a female bartender who was fed up with her boyfriend at that point). He’d just heard this phrase, probably earlier that night during his own shift, and couldn’t wait to test it out on me. My demurely flirtatious reply: “What the fuck does ‘put it up on skates’ mean?”

It meant, shake the shit out of a Manhattan so hard that when you strain it, perfect, adorable little ice floes, teensy shards small enough to scoot through the coils of your Hawthorne strainer, dot the surface of your cocktail. To this day I know of nobody else who’s ever heard of or used this expression, but it’s always stuck with me as quite a cool thing to say… although yes, nowadays we know that all-alcohol cocktails like the Manhattan ought to be stirred, not shaken, lest you “bruise” their precious molecules. (See: “Don’t ever shake that drink, or you’ll kill it.”) Someday I’ll side-by-side taste-test that theory, but for now what can I say except that it was the 00′s; we were the young and the reckless, and I was really hoping to kiss this guy soon.

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