The French 75


When my friends Patty and Lauren came over for dinner last week, they brought the ingredients to make a cocktail. One of those ingredients–a simple syrup–spilled all over Patty’s bag in transit, but let’s not focus on that. Instead, let’s focus on the e-mail exchange that I had with Patty yesterday about the drink that she made.

Frosty Banana Berry Smoothie


College is for experimenting, right? We know all about your gay make-out session and that time you tried to smoke catnip. When I was in college, I’d experiment with smoothies. I’d go to Smoothie King, right there in Emory Village (because I went to Emory, see) and order a Caribbean Way which was 5 squirts of this and 4 squirts of that and, if I wanted, a shot of protein powder. Then came Jamba Juice with a few more squirts of this and that and some other strange powders and I was hooked. Only, I always thought two things while consuming these smoothies: (1) what kind of junk is in this drink I’m drinking? and (2) Why is it so expensive?

Homemade Ginger Ale


On a Sunday afternoon, lounging around my apartment watching “Terms of Endearment” on HBO, inspiration suddenly strikes and I am compelled to make ginger ale from scratch.

It would take a team of behavior specialists and Debra Winger fans to analyze this phenomenon, but suffice it to say: I was hot and I had ginger. I recalled a recipe for homemade Ginger Ale in Jean-George’s book “Cooking At Home with a Four-Star Chef”, so I tore myself away from Aurora Greenway and studied the recipe.

Your Drink


So I was watching “Groundhog Day” for a bit on TV last night and there’s that scene where Bill Murray is trying to seduce Andie MacDowell in a bar. He memorizes facts about her so that when the day happens again, he can win her heart. One of these facts happens to be what drink she likes: sweet vermouth on the rocks. When he orders that for himself the second time around, she says, “That’s my favorite drink.”

My regular drink isn’t so singular: it’s a Tanqueray and Tonic. I stole the drink from my dad and now it’s what I order when I go out. Would I be seduced if Bill Murray crept up next to me and ordered a Tanqueray and Tonic? Probably not. I’d be more impressed if he sang a song from Pippin.

This begs the question, though, reader: what’s YOUR drink? How did it become your drink? How important is your drink to you? The Bill Murrays of the world want to know.

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