Thursday, March 30, 2017

Jardine Libaire Misses Jack London

New York at the end of the 80's, before the Disneyfication of Times Square, before Black Monday decimated Stock Markets, when grit was glam and Twin Towers held sway - this is the setting and the time of Jardine Libaire's violent novel, White Fur.


I've called this novel tragic, dangerous, and sexy AF - and it's all that, but so much more.  It's Romeo and Juliet without punches pulled - which says a lot, or is should, because Shakespeare didn't do much in the way of pulling punches himself.

It's Elise Perez meeting Jamey Hyde - Hello irresistable force meeting immovable object.  Their affair is white hot, but the problem with a flame that's blinding and incendiary is that it's impossible to sustain without serious damage being inflicted on all comers. 


White Fir for Jack London:

3.5 oz. gin
.5 oz. vermouth
1 spritz Fir Essential Oil - (Aftelier Perfumes)
Cocktail onion for garnish

Combine gin & vermouth with ice. Stir well. Strain into chilled glass. Spritz with Fir Oil. Garnish with onion.

Wednesday, February 8, 2017

A Richmond Float


The first time I met Michelle Richmond was around the time her debut - The Year of Fog - arrived.  Ten years?  At least.  Have you read that one?  Go read that one.  I was a newish father when I was introduced to it - and it was an incredibly difficult read for that reason - but Ms. Richmond's prose is so rich, the story (about the disappearance of a child) so brutally seductive, that it's grip won't loosen until you're done.

So go read that because you'll have to wait until July for her latest novel, The Marriage Pact.


The Marriage Pact is deliciously creepy with ominous tidbits strewn artfully about that make you immediately worried for Alice and Jake.  Newly married, deliriously happy (at least Jake is - Alice is more guarded.  Happy?  Yes.  Verdict is out on the delirious thing).  Each is successful in their professions.  They live in the Bay Area, so they also have that going for them.  Happy days, right?

But then there's the Pact.

They're invited to join a jet-setting community of interesting souls who all share one thing:  they want their marriages to be successful.  What's the harm in that?

Did I mention the ominous tidbits?  The bracelet Alice is forced to wear because some members of the Pact question her commitment?  The warning Jake receives from an old friend about the dangers of the Pact, and oh yeah, he notices a nasty and fresh wound that she tries to hide?

Did I mention that the novel begins with Jake regaining consciousness, bloodied, the only passenger on a plane headed back to the bay area?  So yes, there's all that.

Time for a drink?  I think so.

Ms. Richmond was kind enough to comment on an earlier post and, because that cocktail had chocolate and heavy cream, she was all in.  Which gave me an inkling for where I might head for her own drink - and I ended up going there and then, perhaps, I went a little further (cue atmospheric / haunting music).

The woman who gives Alice the bracelet is caught off guard when, while she's introducing Alice and Jake to the idea of the Pact, they ask her to answer one of her own questions.  What's your favorite drink?  Vivian responds without hesitation:  Green Spot Irish Whiskey, 12 year, neat.


Ok, I have a bottle of Green Spot at home, but it ain't the 12 year.  I think they only bottled two hundred of those and they are long since gone for a very princely sum.  But I can work with it, because the Green Spot I have is good.

The bracelet I mentioned earlier?  Alice is told it'll be monitoring her, and so Jake lies and speaks into it, saying that he was so happy that Alice brought him vanilla bean ice cream (the lie being that he bought it for himself).  Vanilla bean ice cream?  Hmm.  Did Ms. Richmond indicate that she liked an earlier concoction of mine because of the heavy cream?

Are we seeing a trend?

More importantly, can I mix good whiskey with ice cream?  Of course I can.  Grab a spoon kids, and get ready for a Richmond Float.


Richmond Float:

2 oz. Green Spot Irish Whiskey
Root beer
Boozy Vanilla Bean Ice Cream*
Bourbon Maple Syrup

Drizzle maple syrup inside glass.  Add two scoops ice cream.  Fill glass with root beer - leaving room for the 2 oz. of whiskey.  Drizzle more maple syrup on top.



*For the Boozy Vanilla Bean Ice Cream:

2 cups heavy cream
1 cup milk
1 vanilla bean, split
3/4 cup dark brown sugar, packed
4 egg yolks
Pinch fine sea salt
3 Tbsp Green Spot Irish Whiskey

Set aside one cup of the cream in a metal bowl.  Place it in a container filled with ice water.
In a medium saucepan, combine the remaining cream, the milk, the vanilla bean, the sugar, and the salt.  Heat on medium until the sugar is incorporated and it just begins to boil.
Remove from heat.  Let sit, covered, for one hour.
Finely strain this mixture into the chilled cup of cream.
Add the whiskey and refrigerate for three hours.
Process in your ice cream maker.


Monday, February 6, 2017

Spoils of War


I don't often post two recipes on the same day, but I'm exceedingly fortunate to meet two authors this evening, along with the inimitable Lee Boudreaux, who just so happens to be VP and Editorial Director of Lee Boudreaux Books - the publisher of the novels we'll be celebrating tonight.  I already told you about the new work from Andrew Sean Greer.  Now it's on to the Spoils.

Spoils is the debut novel from Brian Van Reet.  Mr. Van Reet interrupted his schooling after September 11th, 2001, to enlist in the US Army.  He was awarded the Bronze Star for Valor as a result of his service as a tank crewman in Iraq.  And although war is devastating, and it's often difficult to see what good can come of it, I'm thankful that after his Honorable Discharge, Mr. Van Reet focused on writing.  Spoils is the culmination of his very long journey from America to Iraq and back again.

With his novel, Mr. Van Reet gives you the boots-on-the-ground view during the war in Iraq.  He doesn’t take sides – he ventures into much more difficult terrain by showing the war through both prisms, American and Iraqi.  The result is disturbing and grave.  Spoils is a powerful examination of the costs of war, both on a country and the people fighting for it.

Looking for inspiration for what to put into a drink for his book, I started with Abu Al-Hool, a mujahedeen with a past he'd like to forget - his passive father, who didn't believe that political power grew out of the barrel of a gun, but rather was something that a good martini could help bring about.  So I'd start there.  A martini is always a good place to start.  Then, everyone's drinking coffee - American and Iraqi - so I wanted that to play a part.

There's a calm-before-the-storm moment when Cassandra, the teenage gunner on an American Humvee, witnesses a group of Iraqi children happy to receive rations - especially chocolate - from the Americans in their country.  Chocolate, then, to round everything out.

Those ingredients create the Spoils of War.  Close to a White Russian, which seemed weirdly ok - though the Dude might not approve of how strong the Spoils actually is.


Spoils of War:

3.5 oz Hendrick's Gin
.5 oz white chocolate & coffee vodka ganache*
Coffee beans for garnish


*For the Ganache:

8 oz white chocolate 
1 cup heavy whipping cream
4 teaspoons ground coffee
1/8 teaspoon salt 
1 teaspoon vanilla extract 
3 oz vodka 

Heat the cream and add the salt and coffee.  Add this, while hot, to the chopped chocolate, vanilla, and vodka.  Stir until smooth - adding heat if needed.  Refrigerate overnight.


 Add the gin to the ganache.  Stir with ice.  Strain into a chilled glass and garnish with the coffee beans.

What is Love?


Through some trick of how I process what I read, the first book that I encounter from a particular author invariably turns out to be my favorite.  I can love the books that follow, but for me, there's just something about the first.

That said, by all rights my favorite book by Andrew Sean Greer should be The Confessions of Max Tivoli.  It's not Mr. Greer's first novel, but it's the first one I read, and so that should still be #1.

It's not.

I just finished his newest novel, Less, and it's breathtaking.  You have to wait until the summer before it's released - so please, mark your calendars now for July 18th.

There's so much to love about this novel - not the least of which, of course, is its protagonist, Arthur Less.  And not just because Arthur is turning 50, as I just did, with all the baggage that number has to offer, but it's because Arthur, like many of us, is trying to do what's right for himself and for those he loves - and is making a mess of it like we're prone to do.

You'll read the novel for the brilliant way Mr. Greer makes his words leap from the page - there's a description of Arthur's older lover, receiving the phone call that let's him know he's won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry, and you'll reread that passage for the sheer energy and joy of the words.  If you're one of those people who underlines favorite passages, don't bother - it will become impossible to see the words for all the underlining.

Mr. Greer's novel is seemingly structured effortlessly, but each line is so pure, so crystalline in its placement, that any attempt to remove one would shatter it all.

July 18th, did I say that?

video


For Arthur's cocktail, it was easy to pick champagne as a start, because he and others drink it throughout.  Towards the end, when the clock is close to striking 50 for him, it's already struck for a friend, and she's drinking marc, a French pomace brandy.  It reminds her of times past, so that was a natural addition.  (And though I didn't have any French marc lying about, I did have the Cretan version, tsikoudia, and that was closer to what I wanted to use - marc de gewürztraminer - because both of these are clear whereas regular French marc is aged in wood and becomes tawny.  I didn't want tawny, I wanted clear.  So.

And, most importantly, Arthur's friend then asks the question at the heart of the novel, What is Love?  And bless her if she didn't also, then, name our drink.

Because Love's in the air and on the page - and especially because of the comment made late in the book ("Elegant Parisian women in black and gray sip garishly colored American cocktails that even a sorority girl would not order.") - I knew I had to give Mr. Greer exactly that, so I went with grenadine, the color of romance.  So sip this and (egad, I thought I would make it through without resorting to the most obvious cliche, but here it is anyway) you'll agree that Less is indeed more.

Postcript:  This evening I was lucky enough to attend a dinner celebrating two novels not yet released.  One was Mr. Greer's Less.  When I admitted to him, after too much wine, that the inspiration for his cocktail was partly just throwing a stick of dynamite at a French 75 and then, like Dr. Frankenstein, reconstructing it with found parts, Mr. Greer smiled, big.  "The French 75 is my favorite cocktail," he said.  Which made me think that the direction I took was the right one.


What is Love?

1.5 oz marc de gewürztraminer
.75 oz lemon juice
.5 oz grenadine
Champagne
Cherry for garnish

Combine the marc, lemon juice, and grenadine in a shaker filled with ice.  Shake.  Strain into a champagne flute.  Top with champagne and garnish with the cherry.  Sword is optional.


Tuesday, January 31, 2017

New Year, New Drink, For One Lucky Boy

It's about time to get back on the drinking horse - not that there's any one particular reason for that.  Nope, not at all.  Why would you think that I would particularly need a drink right about now?

My first book, then, for this, the Year of the Drink, is Shanthi Sekaran's Lucky Boy.


I had the good fortune to introduce Ms. Sekaran at a lunch kicking off the NCIBA's Discovery Show last fall.  We had a stellar lineup at that Buzz Lunch - all the books were amazing - so it was easy to select Lucky Boy, one of the first releases of the year, to kick off our 2017 newsletter

In Lucky Boy, you're introduced to Soli, who comes to the US across our Southern Border - oh, wait.  Does that make this book especially timely considering the events of the past few days?  Gosh, it does.  Does Ms. Sekaran also give a very real face to the people who are being used as the boogeyman-of-the-moment?  Well, yes, she does that, too.  It would behoove anyone who has questions about the reasons that compel some to enter our country by any means possible to read Lucky Boy.  It's a story that forces you to consider judgments that are all too easy to make.

The power of novels is simple - they compel you to spend hours with people and watch them make decisions you've never had to face, which in turn can make you think about the challenges in the lives of others.

We call that empathy, a quality that sometimes can be in short supply.

Anyway.  Please read Lucky Boy.  Like I said, you'll meet Soli, who, soon after her arrival in the States, will give birth to the lucky boy of the book's title.  Unfortunately, circumstances will cause her to be separated from her child by social services.

When this occurs, we've already met Kavya, an Indian woman living in Berkeley who desperately wants to have a child but is unable to conceive.  She and her husband will become foster parents for Ignacio.  The novel traces the paths of these two women - both wanting to be the mother of the same little boy.

The novel is heartbreaking - there isn't an answer that can make both Soli and Kavya happy.  That made me decide that a lot of alcohol was called for, so I went about creating a punch and began looking to the novel for its ingredients.


I begin with Soli, and when she meets the husband of the family she's a housekeeper for, he tries to ingratiate himself by speaking Spanish even faster than she can.  He also mentions that he has backpacked near where she is from, in Southern Mexico, and he thought the mezcal there was something else - so I'll start with that.  Also during that fist conversation, he's eating a scone rich with red berries, so our ingredients are coming along nicely. 

Then, to Kavya.  Early on, she takes a new job cooking for a Berkeley sorority, and while she does have to field concerns about the amount of garlic in one of her dishes, I've not been able to yummily incorporate garlic into a cocktail.

Thankfully, she also works with plenty of lemons, so I know that they'll take part, too. 

Finally, there's a party scene where Kavya is being grilled about the fact that she doesn't have a baby, that she's not getting pregnant, and when she can't take it anymore she runs from that group and to another, these women all in black, and one of them acknowledges Kavya's frustration by saluting her with a fresh glass of prosecco.  So we'll finish with that, especially since Kavya and her husband take a bottle of prosecco with them on a trip to Calistoga.  Clearly, it's something she would approve of.

I hope you approve of this.



Lucky Boy Punch

1 bottle red wine
½ cup mezcal
½ cup orange juice
½ cup raspberries
½ cup pomegranate seeds
1 lemon, sliced
1 orange, sliced
1 mango, sliced
Prosecco

Muddle and then strain ½ cup of the raspberries and a ¼ cup of the pomegranate seeds.  Combine this juice with the rest of the ingredients - except the Prosecco - in a large pitcher or bowl and refrigerate overnight.

Ladle or pour into cups.  When serving, top with the Prosecco.

Wednesday, November 9, 2016

Drain the swamp, I dare you

Karen was out early early for work today, so it was a Daddy morning.  I went up into our daughters' dark room and sat next to my youngest - first making space by adjusting the legs of the six-foot-tall bear that also occupies her bed.  She's a quiet waker - so when she felt the bed dip when I sat, she rolled over there in the dark and slowly opened one eye.

Daddy, she said in a quiet voice to match her quiet room. Is Trump President?

I could have said a lot - but I didn't. I just whispered, Yes.

And she closed her beautifully brown eye and sighed. And I'm glad both eyes were closed because she didn't see me cry, just a little, there in the dark.

Kristina, who was so excited yesterday morning.  For Kristina right now, so many of her thoughts revolve around gymnastics.  She practices it, watches it, lives it - it's her prism.  So much so that she asked Karen:  Mommy?  Is Hillary the first girl to get to the Finals?


Right now, I don't much care to hear what either side is saying in the light of yesterday's result. Here's the thing - if you opposed the candidacy of Hillary Clinton, yeah, whatever, you think she's the lowest of the low. I'm not sure you understand what a real crime is, what real illegality is.  Malfeasance?  Go look it up - and yes, that's me being condescending because I think I'm always the brightest person in the room (as long as Karen's not there because she outclasses me in virtually everything).

But go ahead, hold on to your belief that Secretary Clinton is a criminal. If that comforts you, makes you feel superior, knock yourself out.


For me - I don't know, I'm pretty basic at heart.  Just a guy who runs a bookstore.

Let's start there.  When I'm hiring, I look at the person first. I used to prioritize book-knowledge over everything.

But here's the thing. If you're bright, and open-minded, I can teach you about books, but I can't teach nice. I can't teach personable. I can't teach empathy. So those qualities come first, because the atmosphere I'm trying to create in the bookstore is warm and inviting. That begins with the people I hire, not the books I stock.

This morning? As I unlocked our front door at 9 o'clock? My first customer was a woman about my age, looking as haggard as I did, and she walked in and said:

Thanks for being here. I needed a peaceful place to visit.

And that was sad, but satisfying, because it let me know - in her eyes at least - that atmosphere I was talking about had, yes, been created for her.
If you're running for the highest office in the land...what's the number one thing for me?  Character.  The quality of a person's nature - because everything follows from that quality, that aspect.  It's that quality that's important - the thing you can't teach. And if you're a good person, then I'll look and listen to your beliefs and see if they align with my own, and the more that they do, the more likely it'll be that I'll vote for you.

Do I think Mitt Romney is a good person? I do, I do. Do I admire George H. W. Bush? Indeed. Do I disagree with the politics of both those men? Often, yes. But if I had the opportunity to meet either, I'd gladly shake their hand and talk to them about their views on this country of ours.

I don't think Mr. Trump is a good guy. I don't think you do, either.  Not if, for one moment, you were completely truthful.  You heard the vile things he said. You heard those things, right?  You were embarrassed by his words, right?  If you were embarrassed, you know that it wasn't banter - those were the statements of a crude, narcissistic predator. You drain a swamp in the battleground state of Florida and that's exactly what you'll find slithering there, Trump covered in mud.

That's not a man I'd be interested to meet. Not a person I'd shake hands with. Ever.  For me, it starts with the person, and that's why I wouldn't have considered him as my candidate for one moment.

If you want to talk to me about character - about his character - I'd be eager to do so.  Let's talk about how he stiffs his contractors just because he can.  Or his failures as a businessperson - losing hundreds of millions of dollars - and how you've paid for those abysmal failures.  How he mocks people with disabilities - and thinks it's funny.  How he wants to curtail the rights of a free press, freedom of assembly.  How he prefers addressing mobs because rabid, slavish, and moronic followers can easily be incited to violence, to physically attack his critics because he can't accept criticism.  Would you like to talk about his views of women?  His views on minorities or those who don't believe in his God?  Do you want me to go on?  I can go on.

You know he's morally stunted.  You know he's concerned with one person - and one person only.  Want to know why kids can take one look at Trump and see him for the bully he is?  Because kids deal with bullies every day and that's exactly what Trump is, and more.  Not just a bully.  Not just a spoiled, rich kid who's also a bully.  A spoiled, rich-kid bully whose narcissistic arrogance now threatens to endanger our country.  There's your President-Elect Trump.


If that's your guy - knock yourself out.  Go live with that.  Me?  I'd rather have a President I can look up to, someone that I admire more than I don't even if we sometimes disagree.  Not some cretin who, when a news-story broke about his loathsome words concerning women - and my daughter asks from the back seat:  Daddy, what are they talking about? And I can't answer her with any specificity because Mr. Trump's words were so vile - yeah, if that's your guy, knock yourself out.

Today, mostly, I'm embarrassed.  Embarrassed because I didn't say anything about this election.  A coward because I feared angering family and friends.  I don't pretend to have much of a platform, but when I do stand on my soapbox I'm selling books and booze.  Sometimes I share pictures of my girls, my sensitive and smart girls.  I didn't do politics because I was scared.  Forgot the poetry of Pastor Martin Niemöller:


First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Socialist.
Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.


That's me in a nutshell.  A coward.  Too worried to say what I think because what will, in turn, people think of me?

This morning, after I went downstairs to finish making breakfast, my girls followed a few minutes later - having taken the time to dress for school.  I looked over to tell them again that I love them - I do that a lot, the telling - and I saw that they were both dressed in black from head to toe.

I must've looked at them quizzically because Elizabeth answered a question I hadn't asked.

Because it's important, Dad, she said.  So people will know how I'm feeling just by looking at me.

 
That girl isn't a coward.  She takes more after her mom.

Because it's important, indeed.

Tuesday, November 8, 2016

A Nasty Woman Cocktail

(This post, originally published on 11/08/16, has been updated with new information on 11/09/16.  What has been added is italicized - anything deleted has been struck-through)

Soon, our long, national nightmare will be over just be getting started.  After the election results are in tonight, I know I'll need a drink - and yes, I'll be having a Nasty Woman.  I prefer this to the Mazel Tov Cocktail (what a wonder, that both of these drink names should be lobbed at the country during the course of the campaign by the most unqualified candidate in the history of these United States and/or by his idiot advisers) only because I'm not in the mood for Manischewitz or Slivovitz.  Sue me.

Actually, I take that back.  It sounds like lots of people will be getting sued starting tomorrow, and I don't want to throw my name into the mix like the winner of last night's election who is involved in a civil fraud trial with relation to Trump University that is set to commence in just two weeks.

For the Nasty Woman, we're going to start with that bad hombre, tequila, because naturally I would've used Trump Wine since there isn't a worse hombre than Donald "I'm an Idiot, Sad" Trump, but his wine has been called Botox-y and pungent, so no.  And then, and then...

Well, there are certain men who only credit woman with being first one time in the history of the world.  And that would be for...wait for it...

Original Sin.

Yup, these guys like Donald "I'm an Idiot, Sad" Trump will give women credit for that, and not much else, so travel back with me to that dangerous Garden - and what was it that caused Eve to get us guys expelled from paradise?  That Goddamn apple.

I figure it's ok to say Goddamn in this instance because, well, He did, didn't he?  Also, today, I could give a fuck.

So, I'm going to add some apple to the hombre who already resides in our glass, and apple brandy does the trick. because we need as much alcohol in this cocktail as possible.

Things, though, get a little tricky when we talk about apples in the Garden, because according to many biblical scholars, the apple in the Garden was actually a pomegranate - which is just fine by me because grenadine (real grenadine) is made from pomegranates, and now I'm picturing myself seeding the crushed ice in our Nasty Woman with plump, juicy pomegranate seeds because they're tasty and it'll look fabulous and we'll add grenadine to make this SOB go down easy because we're gonna need more than one.

I want to toss some bitters in there, and Bittermens has a terrific one - Burlesque Bitters.  C'mon, what else am I going to use?  These Burlesque Bitters are billed as a spicy little tart, and Donald "I'm an Idiot, Sad" Trump likes spicy little tarts, by all accounts, so Burlesque Bitters fit the bill, and I know she plays well with that tequila hombre, so in she goes.

Are you with me?  Good.  Let's get to it. because I don't remember the last time I needed a drink as bad as right now.  Maybe that time they had to saw my leg off in the Civil War....


Nasty Woman:

2 oz. tequila
1 oz. apple brandy
Soda water
.5 oz grenadine
2 dashes Burlesque Bitters
pomegranate seeds for garnish

Combine tequila, apple brandy, and bitters.  Stir until cold.  Layer a collins glass with ice, seeding the ice with pomegranates as you go.  Carefully pour in the grenadine, then add the tequila-brandy-bitters mix.  Top with soda water.  Then, toast our country and wish for better things for all of us.