A mentor of mine, amongst other things, blogs and runs courses about Food History. Gillian recently asked for people to help test drinks that could/would be served with a menu for a Prohibition Banquet (I believe). Being one to valiantly step forward when everyone else has stepped back, I elbowed my way in and was given two recipes. WOW those Prohibition days were all about the fun, weren’t they? Recipes and names of drinks are withheld to protect and surprise any guests at the Banquet – probably just as well, anyway.
Stepford Husband handed me this drink saying ‘Your specimen, Madam,’ which I didn’t get until I looked at the color. I must admit, I do try to live my life by many varied bits of advice, one being: don’t eat yellow snow. Well, I’m happy to extend that to: don’t drink yellow liquids, as well. This one looked as above and smelt like mouthwash. Sip – wince. Sip – GAK. Sip – Bleuughhh. Yeah. I do learn things the hard way. SH said he didn’t find it offensive, and I handed what remained of my drink to him. Unheard of. It was THAT bad. I suggested Gillian not use this drink with food. It was a peppermint candy cane from 1972. It was drinking vodka and orange – straight after brushing your teeth. It was for getting drunk quick and smelling minty fresh, before the cops busted you, that’s what it was!
This one, now, a different case study indeed. Without giving away the recipe and spoiling the surprise for anyone who may be going to the Prohibition Banquet, two ingrediants in this drink were Brandy and Port wine. Mmmm Hello mellow. Very warming and spicy. Very snuggle by the fire. This was a nice red meaty stew drink. And about 12 standard drinks per glass I reckon, judging by my slur and complete lack of grammar immediately after imbibing. Apparently, I was so jazzed by the whole experiment that I decided not only to write an email immediately to Gillian telling her the outcomes of my testing, but to also entertain the better part of my emailing list. For that I sincerely apologise. To make matters worse, SH doesn’t mix well with Port wine. So I had his drink as well. Apparently forgetting that I had a full (and early) days work at the new restaurant the next day. Mother’s Day. We were fully booked. Fully, fully booked…and then some. With brand new teenaged staff, and the restaurant open for a week.
I am writing now, as you can see, so I survived the weekend. But in the middle of lunch service, let’s just say things were a little dicey for a minute or two there. Eating was not high on my priority list for a good few hours, and a long (rare) bath at home, with dim lights improved my constitution, as it is wont to do.
Had I put a little thought into the consequences, this experiment would have been a fine and fabulous thing to do on a quiet weekend night. But I’m learning consequences with about the same speed as my middle child at the present. No matter, it was fun! And I’d do it again. The night before my day off, next time. Those Speakeasy sneakers were crazy people with guts of lead and heads of – well, hair of the dog? It cured me!