Fat Cosmo

Barbara hosted a belated Mardi Gras party a few days after Ash Wednesday. Of course she wanted to have an on-theme cosmo; I was invited over on Thursday night before the party for a taste test of her new concoction.

I should have guessed what the secret ingredient was from the first pour, because the drink looked exactly like V-8 Splash. It tasted like V-8 Splash too, and as soon as I made that connection I could stop yelling out random guesses (“Crayfish broth!”) and just say, “Tomato juice! How clever!” Though the cosmo was good in a bloody-maryish kind of way, we decided it wasn’t really a success and dumped it.

Barbara wound up serving Cajun Cosmos made with fruit punch instead of cranberry juice, to give it a Hurricane-type flavor. For a garnish, she used the plastic babies I had leftover from a bag of them I bought for my king cake. Some sank to the bottom, some floated bottoms up, which was much more appropriate. Oddly, the baby I put in the king cake did not appear to be in anyone’s slice of cake. Since I definitely did put a baby in the cake before it was baked, there are only a few explanations for what happened: either someone unknowingly ate it (unlikely), or someone saw it in their slice but didn’t want to admit it (also unlikely), or it was thrown out when the plates were scraped of unfinished cake. That is of course the most likely explanation, but Barbara refused to do garbage forensics, so we’ll never know. Next year, I will make a cake big enough to hide a Barbie in to avoid a reoccurrance of this mystery.

Age Quod Agis, Abe

Do what you are doing, even if what you’re doing is drinking. Barbara and I recently discovered, separately and then together, that having a cosmo while we’re doing anything else but having a cosmo is a waste of gin. To have one while preparing dinner for a crowd is to drink it in distracted sips until, before you know it, the drink is gone, and you didn’t even enjoy it.

I bet Abraham Lincoln would have practiced mindful drinking, if he drank. And the reason I mention it is because Barbara asked me to write something about Abraham Lincoln so she could do an illustration of him. From what I've read, Lincoln was a teetotaler, and in fact spoke against it at a Washington Temperance Society gathering early in his career. But that did not stop him from saying, when informed that General Grant drank whiskey while leading his troops, "Find out the name of the brand so I can give it to my other generals." He also said, according to a magnet I saw in a bookstore, "It has been my experience that folks who have no vices have very few virtues." Which is why when Barbara and I get together on his birthday to have a quiet cosmo in his honor, I'll know he'd have approved.

The Museum of the American Cocktail

If there can be a Museum of Sex (and there is, a few block north of my office in the Flatiron District), why can't there be a Museum of the Great American Cocktail? It's in New Orleans, and I believe it was the first stop Barbara and her husband made when the went to New Orleans last week. They're still there (in New Orleans, not the museum) (although maybe the museum too). Some pictures from their visit:

Our 2011 Initiative

Happy New Year. I’ve already broken one resolution, which was to write at least once a week. Perhaps we’ll post twice this week to make up for it.

Readers of this blog are familiar with these two facts:

1. Barbara and I are gin snobs. That is, we think gin is the superior spirit, and we turn our noses up at martinis made any other way. Not that we drink martinis; we’re just against the vodka revisionism on principle. What principle, we don’t really know. But we very firmly stand by it. Except when…
2. ...we clearly violate it every time we make a drink that calls for vodka and, without compunction, we swap out the vodka for gin. Then we celebrate our hypocrisy on a blog!

Barbara’s solution: rename the drink. Stop calling it “a cosmo made with gin” and call it something else, as if it were a different drink, which it is.

She off the top of her head came up with a Metropolitan, or Metro for short, which would have been perfect if there weren’t already several drinks by that name; most involve brandy, sweet vermouth, bitters and simple syrup, but I found a few that were cosmo knock-offs – orange vodka, lime juice and cranberry juice, for example. So we couldn’t use that.

Then just as fast she came up with a Gizmo. It’s very clever, but to me it had an electronic tech-y connotation. I also felt the name lacked sophistication. “So do we,” she replied. But at least we can pretend, can’t we?

I suggested the Pierpont, after the Brooklyn family who had the one of the first gin factories in New York City, but that was quickly shot down (not by Barbara; in fact, this may be the first she’s hearing of it) by my husband, who thought it sounded too masculine and self-consciously arcane.

We have not given up. In fact, we’ve made a pledge that 2011 will be the "Year of the [Insert New Name for a Cosmo Made with Gin Here]." Readers, if you have any thoughts on the matter – even if not a name itself, then perhaps a direction we should go in – we would love to hear them.

The (Cosmo) Girls with Kaleidoscope Eyes

Among a cosmopolitan’s many appeals is its rosy hue; what other color would such a girly drink be? The ones Barbara and I have been enjoying lately are not the traditional blush-tinted ones; because of the industrial strength Trader Joe’s cranberry juice, they’re more of a vibrant fuchsia. Still in the pink family, though. Still lovely.

During this holiday season, we had occasion to explore a whole new color palette, with surprising results. First, I was gifted with a bottle of blue gin. Magellan, it’s called; “Precious Distillation, Imported from France.” When I showed Barbara, we both thought it was the bottle that was blue, the way Bombay Sapphire is, but then we poured out a shot and found that the actual gin is blue, from iris flowers, which was exciting because pink + blue would equal purple, and we thought that would be kind of fun.

But no, the resulting cosmo looked exactly the same as one made with normal gin.

Then on Barbara’s Hanukkah-themed Christmas Eve, she had grape juice along with pot roast, latkes and kugel, and mixed up a batch with the deep purple juice instead of cranberry juice. Once again, the resulting drink looked exactly the same as the regular ones.

We may have to add color theory to our list of experiments, because I want to see what a cosmo made with white cranberry juice and blue gin would look like. Although I think I already know: despite not having one pink ingredient, it will look pink because apparently drinking cosmos makes one view the world through rose-colored cocktail glasses. Or something like that.

Happy Holidays from Searching the Cosmos.

It's Never Too Late to Become a Cosmo Girl

After all this cosmo talk, my mother-in-law, Min, wanted to know what all the fuss was about. Actually it was her daughter Jean who wanted to know, but Min was curious as well. So on a visit to Connecticut this past summer, I brought all of the ingredients plus the cocktail shaker and some glasses.

As you can tell from the attached photo, Min liked it. I like the way her shirt matches her cocktail.

Trying something new is nothing new for her, by the way; she lives for it. She’s talking about taking flying lessons, for example. Although now that I think of it, that’s not new because she had a license 70 years ago, when she and her mother were part owners of a Piper Cub.

Here’s to the newest cosmo girl in my circle, on the occasion of her 87th birthday today. Cheers, Min!

Have a Cosmopolitan Thanksgiving

After writing yesterday about how a particular cranberry sauce reminded me of a cosmo, I realized that the same thought must have occurred to someone else....

Happy Thanksgiving,

Barbara and Mary


From Epicurious:

Cosmopolitan Cranberry Sauce

This vibrant condiment takes its inspiration from the popular cocktail the Cosmopolitan. The alcohol heightens the sauce’s flavor, but for kids and nondrinkers, the recipe can easily be made nonalcoholic by substituting orange juice for the water and deleting the vodka and liqueur.

1 (12-ounce) bag fresh cranberries
1 cup sugar
1/3 cup vodka
3 tablespoons orange-flavored liqueur, such as Grand Marnier or Triple Sec [or Cointreau]

In a heavy saucepan over moderate heat, combine cranberries, sugar, and ½ cup water. Bring to boil, stirring often to dissolve sugar, then reduce heat to moderately low and simmer, stirring often, until thickened and reduced to about 3 cups, about 15 minutes.

Transfer to medium bowl and cool, stirring often, until tepid, about 30 minutes. Stir in vodka and liqueur. Transfer to serving bowl, cover, and refrigerate until chilled and set, at least 2 hours. (Sauce can be made up to 2 weeks ahead and refrigerated.) Serve chilled or at room temperature.