Read Online Hemingway & Bailey's Bartending Guide to Great American Writers by Mark Bailey, Edward Hemingway - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mark Bailey, Edward Hemingway
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stainless-steel bowie knife.
2 oz. vodka
5 oz. fresh grapefruit juice
Pour vodka and grapefruit juice into a highball glass filled with ice cubes. Stir gently.
From
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas,
1971
T UESDAY , 12:30 P.M . . . . B AKER , C ALIFORNIA . . . Into the Ballantine Ale now, zombie drunk and nervous. I recognize this feeling: three or four days of booze, drugs, sun, no sleep and burned out adrenalin reserves—a giddy, quavering sort of high that means the crash is coming. But when? How much longer? This tension is part of the high. The possibility of physical and mental collapse is very real now. . . .
. . . but collapse is out of the question; as a solution or even a cheap alternative, it is
unacceptable.
Indeed. This is the moment of truth, that fine and fateful line between control and disaster—which is also the difference between staying loose and weird on the streets, or spending the next five years of summer mornings playing basketball in the yard at Carson City.
Jim Thompson
“An alcoholic is driven by an urge which no one but another alcoholic can understand: He must justify himself (or stop drinking).”
Thompson was one of the hardest drinkers ever to make his name in letters. Back home in Nebraska, his grandfather would pour a morning toddy down Thompson’s throat to fortify him for the long cold walk to school. Later, as a hobo in Texas, Thompson would drink white lightning, home-brewed corn whiskey that could blind a man—and not just blind drunk. He drank ginger jack too, even more lethal, a ginger-based liquid sold as medicine. Still, if Thompson did not get to enjoy the fancy Sidecars he wrote about, he justified his drinking. On his deathbed, he told his wife, “Just you wait. I’ll become famous after I’m dead about ten years.” It didn’t even take that long.
..........
1906–1977. Pulp novelist, short-story writer, and screenwriter. Thompson was a principal figure of the second generation of hard-boiled writers.
The Killer Inside Me
is arguably his most important novel. With Stanley Kubrick he wrote the screenplays for
The Killing
and
Paths of Glory.
SIDECAR
The Sidecar was invented in Paris during World War I and named after a French officer who would arrive at the bar in the sidecar of a chauffeur-driven motorcycle.
1½ oz. brandy
1 oz. Cointreau
½ oz. lemon juice
Lemon twist
Pour all ingredients into a cocktail shaker filled with ice cubes. Shake well. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with lemon twist.
From
The Grifters,
1963
C LOSING THE MENU , she handed it back to the waiter. . . .
“. . . A sidecar, say, with bourbon instead of brandy. And, Allen, no Triple Sec, please.”
“Emphatically!” The waiter wrote on his pad. “We always use Cointreau in a sidecar. Now, would you like the rim of the glass sugared or plain?”
“Plain. About an ounce and a half of bourbon to an ounce of Cointreau, and a twist of lime peel instead of lemon.”
“Right away, Mrs. Langtry.”
“And Allen . . .”
“Yes, Mrs. Langtry?”
“I want that served in a champagne glass. . . .”
Moira watched him as he hurried away, her carefully composed features concealing an incipient snicker. Now, wasn’t that something, she thought. No wonder the world was going to hell when a grown man pranced around in a monkey suit, brown-nosing dames who made a big deal out of ordering a belt of booze!
James Thurber
“One martini is all right. Two are too many, and three are not enough.”
In a notorious incident at Tony Soma’s speakeasy, Thurber, a fairly obnoxious drunk, tossed his drink in Lillian Hellman’s face. Dashiell Hammett, pretty well lubricated himself, pushed Thurber up against the wall. In defense, Thurber tossed another glass at Hammett, but missed (he was partially blind) and hit a waiter who was cousin to the club’s owner. The police were called—an extreme measure at a speakeasy. The whole event was made famous in Hellman’s story
2 oz. vodka
5 oz. fresh grapefruit juice
Pour vodka and grapefruit juice into a highball glass filled with ice cubes. Stir gently.
From
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas,
1971
T UESDAY , 12:30 P.M . . . . B AKER , C ALIFORNIA . . . Into the Ballantine Ale now, zombie drunk and nervous. I recognize this feeling: three or four days of booze, drugs, sun, no sleep and burned out adrenalin reserves—a giddy, quavering sort of high that means the crash is coming. But when? How much longer? This tension is part of the high. The possibility of physical and mental collapse is very real now. . . .
. . . but collapse is out of the question; as a solution or even a cheap alternative, it is
unacceptable.
Indeed. This is the moment of truth, that fine and fateful line between control and disaster—which is also the difference between staying loose and weird on the streets, or spending the next five years of summer mornings playing basketball in the yard at Carson City.
Jim Thompson
“An alcoholic is driven by an urge which no one but another alcoholic can understand: He must justify himself (or stop drinking).”
Thompson was one of the hardest drinkers ever to make his name in letters. Back home in Nebraska, his grandfather would pour a morning toddy down Thompson’s throat to fortify him for the long cold walk to school. Later, as a hobo in Texas, Thompson would drink white lightning, home-brewed corn whiskey that could blind a man—and not just blind drunk. He drank ginger jack too, even more lethal, a ginger-based liquid sold as medicine. Still, if Thompson did not get to enjoy the fancy Sidecars he wrote about, he justified his drinking. On his deathbed, he told his wife, “Just you wait. I’ll become famous after I’m dead about ten years.” It didn’t even take that long.
..........
1906–1977. Pulp novelist, short-story writer, and screenwriter. Thompson was a principal figure of the second generation of hard-boiled writers.
The Killer Inside Me
is arguably his most important novel. With Stanley Kubrick he wrote the screenplays for
The Killing
and
Paths of Glory.
SIDECAR
The Sidecar was invented in Paris during World War I and named after a French officer who would arrive at the bar in the sidecar of a chauffeur-driven motorcycle.
1½ oz. brandy
1 oz. Cointreau
½ oz. lemon juice
Lemon twist
Pour all ingredients into a cocktail shaker filled with ice cubes. Shake well. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with lemon twist.
From
The Grifters,
1963
C LOSING THE MENU , she handed it back to the waiter. . . .
“. . . A sidecar, say, with bourbon instead of brandy. And, Allen, no Triple Sec, please.”
“Emphatically!” The waiter wrote on his pad. “We always use Cointreau in a sidecar. Now, would you like the rim of the glass sugared or plain?”
“Plain. About an ounce and a half of bourbon to an ounce of Cointreau, and a twist of lime peel instead of lemon.”
“Right away, Mrs. Langtry.”
“And Allen . . .”
“Yes, Mrs. Langtry?”
“I want that served in a champagne glass. . . .”
Moira watched him as he hurried away, her carefully composed features concealing an incipient snicker. Now, wasn’t that something, she thought. No wonder the world was going to hell when a grown man pranced around in a monkey suit, brown-nosing dames who made a big deal out of ordering a belt of booze!
James Thurber
“One martini is all right. Two are too many, and three are not enough.”
In a notorious incident at Tony Soma’s speakeasy, Thurber, a fairly obnoxious drunk, tossed his drink in Lillian Hellman’s face. Dashiell Hammett, pretty well lubricated himself, pushed Thurber up against the wall. In defense, Thurber tossed another glass at Hammett, but missed (he was partially blind) and hit a waiter who was cousin to the club’s owner. The police were called—an extreme measure at a speakeasy. The whole event was made famous in Hellman’s story
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