of everyday glasses that bought a few years ago. You know, the ones no one in your house uses them unless everything else is dirty. Now is their time to shine. Chill one of them by filling it with ice. In the second glass, put in two ounces of rye, a quarter ounce simple syrup and two dashes of Peychaud’s Bitters. Pile in some ice, now stir.
Don’t know what simple syrup is? Simple syrup is syrup simply made by dissolving equal parts sugar into water over very low heat. Once you see the granules disappear, you’re done.
Go back to that first glass. Toss out the ice then put into it a tablespoon of absinthe. Swirl it around the glass gently so that it coats the glass. Toss out the excess absinthe. Yes, toss it out. Right into the sink. And, yes, this little coating of the glass does make a difference in the final taste of the cocktail. In fact, it affects the cocktail hugely. So do it. However, I don’t always blow the bucks on genuine absinthe. There are substitutes that—while not authentic—I feel better telling you to spend your money on. There’s nothing more annoying that buying a fifty dollar bottle of something you either don’t like or don’t use. Take the savings and buy more of my books.
Finish by straining the mixture into the chilled, absinthe-prepared glass.
You are now ready for Sazerac—the cocktail and the story.
– Howard McEwen
Sazerac
She was a Sazerac.
She held the smoky heat of the cocktail’s rye base, caressed with the spicy, otherworldly undertone of its absinthe. There looked to be a sweetness in her lips, and when I stood close, I sensed the ethereal scent of Peychaud’s bitters. I wanted to drink her in.
She was a dark-haired, green-eyed beauty. Her unsunned alabaster skin made her hair blacker and richer than it truly was, and her eyes gleamed like faux emeralds.
I took the bar stool next to her with a smile and ordered her another of what she was already drinking. Inspired, I ordered myself a Sazerac. She smiled and said thank you. Molly set two shakers on the bar and built my Sazerac, then she made my new friend an Old Fashioned. I smiled at her approvingly. She smiled at me seductively.
I told her my name was Jake Gibb and she told me her’s was Sheila Nichols.
After Molly poured our drinks, I invited Ms. Nichols to join me at a table toward the back of Japp’s, behind the partial wall. It didn’t allow us privacy, but afforded us intimacy. I chatted her up and she smiled. We flirted and after a time, she put her hand over mine and after another time, I put my hand on her knee, and a while longer she put her hand on mine, holding it to her knee. At one in the a.m. I asked her back to my condo and she smiled, ran her tongue across her teeth and said yes. As I cashed out, Molly gave me a disapproving look which I ignored. I shouldn’t have.
We stumbled to my place giggling and leaning on one another for support. Once through the door, I threw her into my bed. I began the night making us bedside Manhattans, but by the end, we were drinking bourbon straight. The passion was acrobatic. Sleep must have hit me like a +P round fired into the back of my head from a .38. It put me down hard and sudden.
I came awake in an empty bed. My bladder was heavy but my head was heavier. I took my time lifting it. I blinked my eyes and notice three dark hairs on the pillow next to mine. I heard a muffling. I lifted myself up and noticed the green eyed beauty in the bathroom with the door open.
She was standing naked at the vanity with her back to me. She was whispering into a phone. I cleared my throat to let her know I was awake. She looked into the mirror back at me. I waved. The dominant color now was red. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes red-rimmed. Her nose ran a bit. She’d been crying. She flipped the phone closed.
“Let me use this and get dressed and I’ll be out of here,” she said all businesslike then swept the door closed.
I let her do her
Don’t know what simple syrup is? Simple syrup is syrup simply made by dissolving equal parts sugar into water over very low heat. Once you see the granules disappear, you’re done.
Go back to that first glass. Toss out the ice then put into it a tablespoon of absinthe. Swirl it around the glass gently so that it coats the glass. Toss out the excess absinthe. Yes, toss it out. Right into the sink. And, yes, this little coating of the glass does make a difference in the final taste of the cocktail. In fact, it affects the cocktail hugely. So do it. However, I don’t always blow the bucks on genuine absinthe. There are substitutes that—while not authentic—I feel better telling you to spend your money on. There’s nothing more annoying that buying a fifty dollar bottle of something you either don’t like or don’t use. Take the savings and buy more of my books.
Finish by straining the mixture into the chilled, absinthe-prepared glass.
You are now ready for Sazerac—the cocktail and the story.
– Howard McEwen
Sazerac
She was a Sazerac.
She held the smoky heat of the cocktail’s rye base, caressed with the spicy, otherworldly undertone of its absinthe. There looked to be a sweetness in her lips, and when I stood close, I sensed the ethereal scent of Peychaud’s bitters. I wanted to drink her in.
She was a dark-haired, green-eyed beauty. Her unsunned alabaster skin made her hair blacker and richer than it truly was, and her eyes gleamed like faux emeralds.
I took the bar stool next to her with a smile and ordered her another of what she was already drinking. Inspired, I ordered myself a Sazerac. She smiled and said thank you. Molly set two shakers on the bar and built my Sazerac, then she made my new friend an Old Fashioned. I smiled at her approvingly. She smiled at me seductively.
I told her my name was Jake Gibb and she told me her’s was Sheila Nichols.
After Molly poured our drinks, I invited Ms. Nichols to join me at a table toward the back of Japp’s, behind the partial wall. It didn’t allow us privacy, but afforded us intimacy. I chatted her up and she smiled. We flirted and after a time, she put her hand over mine and after another time, I put my hand on her knee, and a while longer she put her hand on mine, holding it to her knee. At one in the a.m. I asked her back to my condo and she smiled, ran her tongue across her teeth and said yes. As I cashed out, Molly gave me a disapproving look which I ignored. I shouldn’t have.
We stumbled to my place giggling and leaning on one another for support. Once through the door, I threw her into my bed. I began the night making us bedside Manhattans, but by the end, we were drinking bourbon straight. The passion was acrobatic. Sleep must have hit me like a +P round fired into the back of my head from a .38. It put me down hard and sudden.
I came awake in an empty bed. My bladder was heavy but my head was heavier. I took my time lifting it. I blinked my eyes and notice three dark hairs on the pillow next to mine. I heard a muffling. I lifted myself up and noticed the green eyed beauty in the bathroom with the door open.
She was standing naked at the vanity with her back to me. She was whispering into a phone. I cleared my throat to let her know I was awake. She looked into the mirror back at me. I waved. The dominant color now was red. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes red-rimmed. Her nose ran a bit. She’d been crying. She flipped the phone closed.
“Let me use this and get dressed and I’ll be out of here,” she said all businesslike then swept the door closed.
I let her do her
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