The Santa Rosa Cocktail!

To celebrate the weekend and the return of Madmen this Sunday, I would like to share my boyfriend Will’s most recent cocktail creation: The Santa Rosa.

The back story:

We watched Madmen as a marathon last winter, having only discovered it when my mother introduced me to it on a family trip.  For a month, we did nothing else but watch Madmen.  We were intrigued by Don’s usual drink: the Old Fashioned, and also by Betty Draper’s Gimlet and the martinis that the Fat Cats on the show have during their decadent three-martini lunches.  Also, the casseroles, but we quickly discovered that casseroles contain a lot of cheese and let that phase go by without too much hubbub.  The cocktail obsession, however, stuck with us, and Will started rapidly acquiring the sundry liquors, elixers and various bitters needed to try anything and everything, with an emphasis on the cocktails from the days of yore.

Will quickly tired of other people’s recipes and started to experiment in mixology, sometimes with disastrous results.  The Santa Rosa is his first cocktail creation that’s ready for prime time (though he also has come up with his own interesting twists on some of the classics!).

Shake or stir the following and serve on ice in an old-fashioned glass.  The garnish of a sprig of cilantro adds a wonderful complexity and tingles your taste buds.

  • 1 1/2 oz bourbon
  • 1 1/2 oz fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice
  • 1/8 oz Benedictine
  • 1/8 oz sweet vermouth
  • 1/8 oz grenadine
  • 1 dash Angostura bitters if you have the large bottle, 2 dashes if dealing with the small bottle

The 1/8 oz is pretty hard to measure–most recipes would just call it “one dash” to avoid stressing you out. Don’t sweat it if your measure is a little off.

How Will created it:

The Santa Rosa began as a way to get rid of some quickly aging but still good grapefruit.  Bourbon was a natural choice for the liquor pairing because they both have such strong favors.  He considered adding simple syrup to sweeten it (grapefruit is very sour), but dismissed this option as obvious and boring.

Instead he added a little Benedictine–a very strong, complex liqueur. The drink tasted better, but still a little sour and astringent.  Will added Angostura bitters, comme il faut (because that’s what you do). He added grenadine, and the drink was no longer sour, and had a lovely red color.  But still there lingered the astringent bourbon finish!

He thought long and hard about what would make it smoother, and decided that sweet vermouth would be good for that.  He added a little bit, and liked the result… a lot!

Note:  In a pinch, Drambuie could be substituted for Benedictine.  They cost about the same (about $30 a bottle), but Benedictine is hard to find.
Also note:  Many of these ingredients–in fact all of these ingredients, will be consumed at a very slow pace.  You may balk at the initial investment, but we find we get a lot of joy in sharing our varied cocktail menu with guests (and our taste buds!) and you may too.

The Adventures of Clumpy

You may not know this about me, but I am a huge fan of Days of Our Lives. I’ve watched the show since I was in high school, and am lucky to have witnessed Marlena’s head spinning and projectile vomiting a la The Exorcist when she was possessed by the devil, numerous serial killers and that time that Jack and Jennifer pushed some guy in that vat of acid (not really clear on the details there). According to my high school boyfriend, there was a time that I gave up Days of Our Lives (!!!) but I have no memory of that.

Somewhere along the line, my father started subscribing to Soap Opera Digest for me (I think he gets them for free), which is an excellent addition to my life. It is because of this excellent addition to my life that I have this awesome gem to share with you:

You're going to want to click on this to study it more closely. Seriously.

Yes, this cat that looks like a long-haired version of the Guster is staring at a giant litter scooper in the sky. Yes, the giant litter scooper in the sky is holding a purple blob that looks like a hybrid of Meatwad and a Teletubbie giving us what might be a thumbs up.

If that cat were anything like the Guster instead of just looking a little like him, he would have run screaming. He also wouldn’t even be on the moon because he’s not really allowed outside of house, even though he’s been embarking on a few sordid outside adventures of late (part one, part two).

Yet, here this cat is, staring–seemingly in awe–at this scooper and scoop-character (I think we’re supposed to believe his name is Clumpy) in the sky.

Lots of ads are weird and random so let’s forgive this part. It turns out if you look at the lower right hand corner, this is not an ad for a movie that no one in their right minds would want to see, but an ad for Scoop Away brand cat litter. OK, it’s an ad for cat litter.

Have you ever seen a cat poop? I think that most of us have, and for those of us who haven’t, it’s a lot like a little dog poop, which is somewhat like a little human poop. It looks nothing like Meatwad, and only nominally like a Teletubbie. They are not purple, they do not have eyes, and they are not shaped like a biscuit. Is this ad telling us that if we use the Scoop Away brand cat litter (which, btw, is terrible and horrible for the environment, though nothing compared to the BP oil spill), our cat’s poops will turn into little purple biscuit-shaped poops and fly away into space? Cause that would be pretty awesome, but a rather bitter pill to swallow, if you know what I mean (or if I even know what I mean, which is that it would be hard to swallow).

It turns out, if you visit www.scoopaway.com, as this ad urges you to, there are indeed movies–almost adventures–starring Clumpy. They all have the same general story line–Clumpy stays together while his counterpart falls apart, be it while lifting weights at the gym (while flirting–mind you–with a yellow clump of cat poo), catching rays at the beach or scaling the Alps. OK, Scoop Away brand cat litter, you got me to look at your website. I stared, transfixed in horror, at these elaborate scenes you probably hope will go viral and somehow increase your hold on the demographic of soap-opera-watching-cat-loving women who all share the same general distaste for litter box cleaning. You win.  I’m even helping you by drawing attention on the Internets to your misguided attempt at viral marketing.  But be warned:  I predict a class action lawsuit on behalf of American housewives and other soap opera addicts who will soon find themselves haunted by these smiling purple cat poops in the sky.

How come the boys are always staring at me during class?

Grandma arrived today. Sara is sharing a room with me. Awful, huh? I’m on my first section of white.

I was crocheting an afgan much like this one except in hideous pastels.

There is a kinda cute guy in my swim class. How come the boys are always staring at me during class? It’s like I’m different from TaiHee or Nicky. Nicky is turning eleven on the eleventh of Augest. But she lives in Rino.

Next year maybe I’ll be popular. Maybe not. How come everything will have it’s pros and cons?

Jamie will never be my friend. I have never made the first move. Maybe I could invite her over. Nah! Face it, Jennifer. You’ll never make the first move! Now I’m talking dates. I could never go up to a guy and say ‘I like you.’ Impossible. I couldn’t do that. Oh well.

Hard to believe that 18 years later I would walk into a bar and make new friends.

Continue Reading

I am nervous about going to Pleasanton Middle School next year.

I am nervous about going to Pleasanton Middle School next year. Well maybe nervous is an understatement. Carol is taking me and a friend to find our classes.

Carol was my babysitter (yes a babysitter had a babysitter!); Pleasanton Middle School (PMS) was huge!

I’m turning 11. I’m a babysitter. I’m a flutist. I’m a 6th grader.

This summer so much is happening to me. I’m turning 11. I’m a babysitter. I’m a flutist. I’m a 6th grader. I’m going into a middle school. I’m growing up. There seems to be no end to the changes that are happening to me.

I’d like to point out that one of those changes was that on this day I decided to adopt the practice of dotting my i’s with hearts. AWESOME.

I just had the perfect day. I got a Gunimehardt flute from the House of Woodwinds. It is so (I mean so) much easier to play. I just returned from my third baby-sitting job for the Friedmans. It was a piece of cake. Like all the others. I haven’t given much thought to Steve. I guess he was just a fantasy. Now I’m open to guys. Ana taught me how to put my bangs up. I guess I look better.

You know, the early 90’s style where you make your bangs resemble a tidal wave? That’s what I’m talking about here…

I’m not so flat-chested anymore. Maybe I’m imagining it but I don’t think so. Maybe I’ll wear a bra by September. On the eighth school starts. The day before yesterday my sweater from Hanna’s came. It is pretty.

I bet it looked something like this.

When I have my Senior Prom I’ll wear a turquoise taffeta dress that is tight til the waste.

When I have my Senior Prom I’ll wear a turquoise taffeta dress that is tight til the waste. Diamond earrings will hang in my ears. Light makeup will cover my face. My hair swept away from my face with a combs. It will hang down in long curls. I will be the center of attention.

Taffeta dress tight to the waist? check (sorta). Combs? check. Long curls? D’oh!! I shouldn’t have cut my hair off!! Center of attention? nah.

Continue Reading

I just hope on a stack of Holy Bibles that I’m popular next year.

Oh, God! Will I always remain flat-chested? I guess not. It seems that way. I mean look at Carolyn, Alex, Sunny, Leah, Christy, and Becky. Then look at me!!!

Back then I don’t think I saw faces…only boobs.

If I don’t wear a bra by the end of the summer, I’m going to be the laughingstock of the entire sixth grade. Oh, I don’t know.

Note the scribbles! If only I had done a better job to insure that 28-year-old-me wouldn’t publish it on the internet.

At least the second day of summer vacation was 81.

I wonder if Steve ever thinks about me. Or am I just another dope that wound up in his trail group? Maybe he does like me. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he used to but doesn’t anymore. Or maybe…

Maybe I’ll stuff a bra if I don’t wear one. Maybe not. I just hope on a stack of Holy Bibles that I’m popular next year. I’ll meet a best friend. She’ll be just like Laura was.