Tequila Mockingbird
Page 4
THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTAL
THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO (1844–45)
BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS
Alexandre Dumas knew a thing or two about keeping an audience tuned in. Heck, he knew a thing or eighteen, because that’s how many newspaper installments it took to tell The Count of Monte Cristo, which still sets the bar for archetypical revenge tales. You know the protagonist’s formula: (1) Get wrongfully convicted; (2) Go to jail; (3) Get out and get even. Oh yeah, and (4) Get rich along the way—the kind of rich that can fill a Jacuzzi with Champagne. Turn the bubbles up high and hop into our sweet-as-vengeance Cristal cocktail. Be warned: it could take prison-worthy deeds to snag the really pricey stuff.
1 ounce elderflower liqueur (like St-Germain)
Champagne (like Cristal), to fill
Pour the liqueur into your fanciest flute and top with the best bubbly you can buy. (And if you can afford Cristal? Lose the liqueur, double the good stuff, and—hold up—can you spot a dude a fifty?)
MOBY-DRINK
MOBY-DICK (1851)
BY HERMAN MELVILLE
This one’ll make you think twice about flushing a goldfish down your toilet. In Melville’s Moby-Dick, published first in England (and greeted with scathing reviews!), the titular whale is best known for attacking Captain Ahab’s ship and then—talk about special skills—chewing off the poor fella’s leg. Ahab spends the rest of his career limping around, determined to exact revenge on Moby-D, only to finally spear the whale and—Plan B!—get dragged underwater to his own ironic death. Our sea-inspired cocktail is as blue as the Pacific, but the real fun is in playing fish hunter. Grab a harpoon and get even.
1 ounce vodka
½ ounce Blue Curaçao
1 (12-ounce) can lemon-lime soda
1 Swedish Fish candy, for garnish
Combine the vodka and Blue Curaçao over ice in a highball glass and fill to the top with the lemon-lime soda. Now for the demonic part: grab that Swedish Fish by the gills, spear it with a swizzle stick, and get plunging. Just don’t fall in yourself.
GULP-IVER’S TRAVELS
GULLIVER’S TRAVELS (1726)
BY JONATHAN SWIFT
Your grandparents knew Gulliver’s Travels as a morality tale wrapped in droll travelogue: an Englishman lost at sea stumbles upon a handful of bizarre lands in which he is by turns the biggest and the smallest creature for miles, leading him to question everything from patriotism to religion to his very definition of home. You know Gulliver’s Travels as the critically panned, audience-ignored film that featured Jack Black putting out a fire by peeing on it (hope you took off the 3-D glasses for that part). In our beachy keen nod to the hero washed ashore, choose your own adventure with a Lilliputian shooter or Brobdingnagian cocktail. Try saying that three times drunk.
½ ounce vodka
½ ounce peach schnapps
½ ounce grapefruit juice
½ ounce cranberry juice
Shake the ingredients with ice and strain into an empty rocks glass; this goes down in a single swig. For the bigger, Brobdingnagian variation on the above, double all ingredients, shake with ice, and strain into a cocktail glass. Little seasick? Eyes on the horizon, sailor.
A CONFEDERACY OF OUNCES
A CONFEDERACY OF DUNCES (1980)
BY JOHN KENNEDY TOOLE
Originally handwritten on piles of paper, A Confederacy of Dunces found life only after its author lost his own; John Kennedy Toole committed suicide, his mother found those secret pages, and she began hawking the thing around their home state of Louisiana, claiming it was the next great American novel. (Sorry, guys: sometimes moms are right.) Now a universally adored Pulitzer-winner starring a brilliant New Orleans nut with a heart of odd, this classic goes best with another: the Big Easy’s own Sazerac. Raise a glass to the tragically shortchanged Toole—and everything else he might have written.
½ ounce anise liqueur (like Herbsaint)
1½ ounces rye whiskey
1 teaspoon sugar
3 dashes Peychaud’s bitters
2 dashes Angostura bitters
Lemon twist, for garnish
Pour the liqueur into a chilled rocks glass, swirl around till the sides are nice and coated, and then toss anything that doesn’t stick. Add the remaining ingredients to a shaker with ice, shake well, and strain into the glass. Guests? Lemon twist garnish. No guests? Cut the cute and get reading.
THE LAST OF THE MOJITOS
THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS (1826)
BY JAMES FENIMORE COOPER
Long before the universally adored film came out, The Last of the Mohicans was landmark (if historically wobbly) literature. Chronicling the tomahawk-assisted turf wars of Native Americans, Cooper stuffed his pages with wordy, witless plot-stoppers: “Duncan wandered among the lodges, unquestioned and unnoticed, endeavoring to find some trace of her in whose behalf he incurred the risk he ran,” anyone? Anyone? We’ll help you through the slow parts. Take a classic mojito and launch your own sneak attack, losing the sugar for agave nectar and adding a few authentically Native American fruits to the party. The result could stop wars.
5 fresh blueberries, washed
3 small, fresh strawberries, washed
8 sprigs fresh mint, washed
½ ounce lemon juice
1 ounce agave nectar
1½ ounces light rum
1 (12-ounce) can club soda
Muddle the berries, mint, juice, and nectar in a Collins glass. Add 2 handfuls ice and the rum, give a good stir, and top off with the club soda. Expect a rain dance of happy tears.
THE LIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER
THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER (1798)
BY SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE
Next time you’re marooned on an island, resist the temptation to call out, “Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink!” First of all, the other survivors don’t need a clever quote, they need cocktails and a grief counselor. Second, you’ll probably end up dying of dehydration, so your final words ought to be accurate. The actual phrase—“Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink”—is from an epic poem about bad weather, angry oceans, and pissed-off dead birds who aren’t afraid to haunt a hull. (Moral of the story: leave God’s creatures alone, skipper.) Celebrate your land legs with this limey twist on a salty classic—and seriously consider staying back on the beach.
Sea salt, for highball rim (page 7)
2 ounces lime juice
2 ounces grapefruit juice
1½ ounces gin
Rim a chilled highball glass in sea salt. Fill the glass with ice, pour in the ingredients, and give a good stir. When you’re sobered up, matey, head back to the lookout deck—and watch out for low-flying birds.
LORD OF THE MAI-TAIS
LORD OF THE FLIES (1954)
BY WILLIAM GOLDING
The plot that started a dozen TV franchises: throw a group of disparate souls on an island after their airplane crashes, and, in a Clearasil-ready twist, make sure none of them are old enough to drive, let alone drink. If you went to a high school that favored broadened minds over banned books, you’ll remember devouring this fable of order and disorder, schoolboys-turned-savages, and one very trippy pig’s head. Recommended reading during your next flight to Hawaii, escape to the galley if things get bumpy and throw together this Polynesian nerve-calmer. It’s fit to be served in a conch shell, but don’t turn your back on the other passengers.
2 ounces cranberry juice
2 ounces orange juice
1½ ounces light rum
1 ounce coconut rum
1 teaspoon grenadine syrup (page 11)
Orange slice or pineapple wedge, for garnish (optional)
Shake the ingredients with ice—odds are, it’ll all turn out bloody red—and pour everything, including the ice, into a Collins glass. Get creative with the tropical garnishes: pineapples, oranges, eye of piglet. . . .
INFINITE ZEST
INFINITE JEST (1996)
; BY DAVID FOSTER WALLACE
A Ten Commandments—size cast populates this rule-breaking modern classic, infamous for sprawling prose, endless footnotes,1 and a madcap depiction of the future.2 Confounding and delightful in equal measure, Jest takes place in the ’burbs of Boston,3 between a halfway house and a nearby tennis academy. Wallace had one of his central characters take his own life, and in a tragic true-life twist, Wallace did the same, leaving behind a magnum opus that will be argued and digested for infinity. Serve up a tennis-ball-yellow cocktail that mimics the zest and bounce of one fallen literary legend.
2 ounces vodka
1 ounce limoncello
½ ounce lemon juice
Minding that tennis elbow, shake the ingredients with ice and strain into a cocktail glass. Head back to the court, sport, and never give up on your game.
1 Just like this, but they appeared at the end of the book—over four hundred of ’em!
2 Time is marked with corporate sponsorships, as in Year of the Perdue Wonderchicken.
3 Wallace briefly studied philosophy at Harvard (who hasn’t?) and later taught at Emerson.
HEART OF DARK MIST
HEART OF DARKNESS (1899)
BY JOSEPH CONRAD
What is it with white guys and their imperialistic, waterborne adventures? Yet again, we encounter a Western classic that drops a “civilized” man (Charles Marlow of England) into the middle of a foreign land (the Congo wilds, which stand to be colonized). Things get sticky in the retelling: Heart of Darkness is as open to celebration as it is to question, with readers and critics wondering if it’s a novel about prejudice . . . or just a prejudiced novel. (The natives don’t even get dialogue!) Such themes are above our pay grade, so we’ll just stick to asking the questions, leaving the room, and coming back with a drink as dark and misty as the awkward silence hanging around us.
1½ ounces blackberry liqueur
½ ounce gin
½ ounce lemon juice
As quickly as possible—the guests need you in the living room, and for the love of God when did the music stop playing?— shake all ingredients with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.
THE MOONSHINE AND SIXPENCE
THE MOON AND SIXPENCE (1919)
BY W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM
Hell hath no midlife crisis like a stockbroker who wakes up one day, looks at his wife and kids at breakfast, and announces he’s taking a one-way trip to Paris to pursue life as a painter. Now could somebody please pass Daddy the pancakes? Along the way, Maugham’s artist—a stand-in for famed real-life painter Paul Gauguin—makes the perfectly logical geographical progression from Paris to Marseilles to Tahiti, where he finally finds contentment and his own kind of success (never mind his leprosy in the end). Sip on this “moonshine” cooler next time you need inspiration to break out of that cubicle and head to the tropics—even if only in your dreams.
1½ ounces cheap whiskey
Splash of pineapple juice
Squeeze of coconut cream (like Coco Reál Cream of Coconut)
Pour the ingredients over ice in a rocks glass (or travel mug!). Give a good stir, grab your Tahitian for Dummies guide, and head for the airport; you’re goin’ places.
A FAREWELL TO AMARETTO
A FAREWELL TO ARMS (1929)
BY ERNEST HEMINGWAY
Widely lauded as Hemingway’s most accomplished work, A Farewell to Arms firmly established his spare, just-the-facts prose. Little wonder: before doing time as an ambulance driver in World War I, Hemingway was a junior reporter in Kansas City. Much of Farewell draws directly from Hemingway’s own life abroad, from mortar shell injuries to angelic nurses. Nobody said war was easy, but just when you think the narrative is gonna land nice and quiet in Switzerland, Hemingway throws a friggin’ dead baby into the mix. We salute Hemingway’s complicated time in the Italian campaign with that country’s own amaretto. Take this one like a soldier: sour but fighting.
2 ounces amaretto
½ ounce lemon juice
1 teaspoon granulated sugar
Combine the amaretto, lemon juice, and sugar in a shaker with ice. Shake well and strain over fresh ice in a rocks glass. Best enjoyed after returning home from a stint overseas, with bonus points awarded if you can get your girlfriend—or boyfriend!—into a nurse’s uniform.
ONE HUNDRED BEERS OF SOLITUDE
ONE HUNDRED YEARS OF SOLITUDE (1967)
BY GABRIEL GARCÍA MÁRQUEZ
The most celebrated work by Latin America’s prince of prose, One Hundred Years of Solitude traces one family’s multigenerational triumphs and devastations in establishing a South American settlement. Pressing hard on the symbolism pedal, Márquez uses the colors yellow and gold like a weaver, threading death and wealth throughout a story of inevitable decline. We borrow his palette, pairing South America’s most famous beer—Cusqueña, the “gold of Incas”—with a cheery, yellow lemonade. The result is so lightweight, you can water your solitude down with a hundred of these—give or take your dignity.
3 ounces carbonated lemonade (like Martinelli’s Sparkling Classic Lemonade)
8 ounces light beer (like Cusqueña)
2 dashes Angostura bitters
Pour the lemonade into a chilled pint glass. Fill to the top with beer and add a dash or two of bitters. Now, sit back and prepare for life’s ups and downs . . . you know, with another drink standing by.
ORANGE JULIUS CAESAR
JULIUS CAESAR (CIRCA 1599)
BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
Friends, Romans, upperclassmen: with pals like this, who needs enemies? Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar reads like a luxuriantly extended definition of the word “backstabber,” as the title character’s rise in power inspires those closest to him to plot his assassination. Though Caesar gets top billing, he actually appears in only a handful of scenes; the real star here is Marcus Brutus, proving that sometimes a secondary player can walk away with the show. Sneak a little mother’s milk into an old-fashioned breakfast recipe—and trust us (no, really, you can trust us), the result is pretty killer.
3 ounces orange juice
2 ounces milk
1½ ounces light rum
1 teaspoon granulated sugar
¼ teaspoon vanilla
Have your closest frenemy load all the ingredients, plus a handful of ice, into your blender. Only after he removes his fingers, get whirring. Serve in a Collins glass.
VERMOUTH THE BELL TOLLS
FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS (1940)
BY ERNEST HEMINGWAY
You’ll need a drink for this one, a clench-jawed war classic that follows one Robert Jordan, an American abroad during the Spanish Civil War, and part of a daring underground mission to destroy an enemy’s bridge. With a reporter’s unflinching eye for the miseries of battle, Hemingway tells much of the novel in an English idiom that feels directly translated from Spanish, with a distractingly choppy narrative that’s worth the slog (lest you miss the earth-moving sex scene midway through). You’ll be a prisoner of more to our cocktail, featuring Spain’s own sherry. Serve the result and you’ll be building more bridges than you burn.
2 ounces sherry
1 ounce sweet vermouth
Dash of Peychaud’s bitters
Combine the sherry and sweet vermouth over ice in a rocks glass. Stir well and add the bitters. Serve to a longtime rival as a peace offering—and offer to take the first “poison control” sip.
SILAS MARNIER
SILAS MARNER (1861)
BY GEORGE ELIOT
Dude writes like a lady! Penned under the name “George Eliot,” Mary Ann Evan’s Silas Marner is the tale of a man wronged by his church—closely mirroring the author’s own disenchantment with religion. It’s only after Marner loses his gold fortune (only after he’s forced to leave town under false accusations of stealing from his congregation’s coffers) that he discovers his true idea of wealth: becoming a father. Hailed as a clever critique of organized worship and industrialized England, Silas
Marner inspires a drink that’s a little bitter and a little gold-flecked—sort of like a man’s own life.
1 ounce Goldschläger
½ ounce Grand Marnier
1 (12-ounce) can ginger ale
3 dashes Angostura bitters
Combine the Goldschläger and Grand Marnier over ice in a highball glass. Fill to the top with the ginger ale and add bitters. Get ready for the next best thing to holy water.
THE OLD MAN AND THE SEAGRAM’S
THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA (1952)
BY ERNEST HEMINGWAY
A Pulitzer winner drowning in biblical allegory, The Old Man and the Sea was Hemingway’s final published work in a career dripping with awards and accolades—and alcohol. The premise is simple (and familiar to readers of Moby-Dick and enjoyers of Moby-Drink on page 64): an old man sets out to destroy a fish in an act of single-minded delirium. During an epic three-day battle in which the marlin is finally defeated, hitched to the side of the boat, and—hey, old chum!—eaten by sharks en route to shore, the old man emerges weary but victorious. Do your best sailor imitation with the standby gear of any fisherman: whiskey and bait.
2 ounces whiskey (like Seagram’s)
1 (12-ounce) can lemon-lime soda