Julius Caesar was given dire warnings by prophets about 3/15. I’m here to sprinkle a little doom onto your calendar. Don’t worry, it’s going to be a lot more fun than that makes it sound.
I need to start with a confessional: I don’t share Jenn’s love of bar carts. They’re totally lost on me, like, utterly. I don’t understand who has that much liquor on hand, or drinks it quick enough to leave it out in the open like that.
Oh. Oh wait. Everybody. Got it.
Let’s be clear: I am not a teetotaler. I can shut down a happy hour with the best of them, and all my nearest and dearest know what the undersides of their tables look like, courtesy of yours truly. I just rarely drink at home. There’s exceptions, of course. Pizza and champagne nights are sacred here. The occasional lazy Sunday mimosa fest can’t be denied. Every once in a while, a bottle of real-sugar Mexican coke makes its way into the house, and when it does, we unleash the Krakken – rum, that is. By and large, though, booze is for bars, and it tends to be a guest here, not a resident.
That probably explains why, despite being a confessed aficionado of all things whiskey and bourbon, I had an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels, given to me as a housewarming gift, sitting in a cupboard four years after the last box was unpacked.
The Jack Daniels moving gift is a family joke turned tradition. The theory is, you’ve got a new house, so you buy a bottle of Jack to celebrate. Only, you’ve got no place to put your glass, so you get a table. Then, you can’t really reach the glass from your seat on the floor, so you get chairs. Now that there’s a table and chairs in the room, you can’t wander around in the dark, so you get lamps…and so on and so forth, until one lone bottle of Jack Daniels furnishes and decorates your whole house.
Naturally, breaking it open for a blog that’s heavy on the home projects and liberal with the libations just seemed like the thing to do, you know?
So for the past few years, my go-to drink in bars has been one inspired by a flip comment in a podcast that’s hallmark is basically absurdist humor. So, really, there’s no way to know if they actually intended this drink for consumption, but if they didn’t, they still stumbled on brilliance when they broadcast the Shirley Temple of Doom.
The instructions are simple:
Step one, you’re going to need a shitload of cherries. Their words, not mine.
Step two, you’re going to add bourbon. Or, tonight, whiskey that technically is a bourbon despite what it calls itself. This drink is all about proportions, so all you need to do is keep pouring until the cherries are swimming.
Step three: if you happen to work near an amazing shop that sells amazing ginger beer on tap and in growlers to go, you get to go a little fancy.
Reed’s Extra Ginger will give you a similar taste; regular old ginger ale works well, too. Just top that baby up.
This is best drunk with a straw, because it guarantees you will have a cherry-spearing device on hand when all the liquor is gone. Also, honestly, as much fun as this is to drink at home, I cannot overstate how much fun it is to discombobulate bartenders by walking up and demanding something that starts with a metric shitload of cherries.
But, I mean, now that the Jack is open…and we have all these cherries…and ginger beer…huh. Looks like I might be an at-home drinker for a while after all!