I made The Drink again. The drink formerly known as “Moist Panties” because of this whole thing about people and their cognitively dissonant vocabularies is now known as “Purple Rain.”
And my photos turned out lousy because it has rained a lot and that rain is certainly not purple, just messy and ugh. Well, one is a good photo with lousy composition, the other is better composition, but not by much, and not even Photoshop could do much with it compared to the first one from the other day, which is in the post before this one.
ANYWAY. Here is what’s in it:
3 oz Tanqueray Ten (I will be trying it with Hendrick’s pretty soon)
1 oz Lillet Blanc
1/2 oz Rothman & Winter Creme de Violette
1/2 oz fresh lemon juice
I imagine it generally garnished with flowers, but they are all soggy right now in the middle of spring, so it got a lemon slice today. And I truly believe you should shake it rather than stir it, before straining. Anyway. It’s purple, and you can taste the violet, yet that’s not cloying, and I am super proud of this creation, so I hope you like it as well. I made it so it can be easily decreased to 2 oz or 1.5 oz gin. Let me know if you need help with the fractions.
Also, you might wish to know I made one today because I was having some lasagna cooling-off time (pictorial of that tomorrow, I expect, at the other blog site,) and reading some truly salacious gossip about my boyfriend Bill. Iwaslikewow.
He’s been dead since I was 16, so I don’t care much what he did when he was kicking around Hollywood and various continents except for too bad about all that booze, because I like my dead stars with some spice to them. It’s much more attractive, for some reason, though I tend to prefer my live fictional boyfriends (who number rather fewer) to not go around creating havoc or making a lot of really bad life decisions.
But Bill isn’t even my type anyway, you know. My living type, if I have one, is tall, skinny, dark-haired or formerly dark-haired, intellectually eccentric, and not prone to getting into much trouble. (My living type is male me, only without perimenopausal additional pounds. I would apologize for this, but it would be dishonest.) Bill is, truth be told, my own bad life decision at the back of a dark bar or on a vacation far from home, etc. And I prefer him that way. I feel that while I made some enormously bad life decisions in my actual non-fictional youth, I did not have nearly enough fun making them, or even make enough of them to do much with novel-writing now in middle age. I don’t have much of an interesting past, is what I am saying. Bill is part of the interesting past I would enjoy having. Frankly, he could still get it as Max Schumacher, though, if I had a cocktail or two, and so I made this one.
I don’t know how seriously people take me…and I just remembered my oldest daughter told me today that my blog is inspiring…so whoops, plus also I will not repeat the thing about Jackie Kennedy although I’m pretty sure she’d be okay with it because she is a cool chick.