Suburban Kamikaze

On having it all.

Wait. Have it all? I thought they said "do it all."    

99 Reasons to Drink in the Suburbs #15: Cocktail porn

There was something inspiring about the St-Germain French 77 cocktail, even before we knew anything at all about the gently ushered wild blossoms and the bicycle-mounting Alpine men.

The Executive and I had just settled onto two bar stools overlooking the Chicago skyline, but it was clear from the very first sip that this was a cocktail that had more than a view going for it. Handsome, mysterious and with an accent we couldn't quite place, it aroused our tastebuds and our curiosity. This was a drink with a backstory.

We edited it a bit and recast the man on the bike. But other than that, it was perfect.    

St-Germain French 77 cocktail at Cité.

99 Reasons to Drink in the Suburbs #14: Newspaper nails

Can your crappy cable news show do this? I don't think so.

Cocktail pairing:  Just the flask.

99 Reasons to Drink in the Suburbs #13: Sundays

Suburban Kamikaze Atlanta correspondent makes short work of dry laws 

Frankly, we were a little suprised it took her so so long.

But there was never any question about the outcome. Was the South ready for a hard-drinking, apron-wearing Midwestern housewife whose political skills were honed in the bare-knuckled, backroom brouhaha of the PTA cupcake wars?  No one ever is.

Our Atlanta correspondent hadn't even unpacked the last of her boxes when Georgia knuckled under to her prairie charm, overturning a ban on Sunday alcohol sales in county after county. The Georgia Scold Coalition was no match for her campaign: What Would Jesus Drink? 

Personally, we feel this would be a little sweet for Jesus' taste. But we do not like to argue over religion. 

Georgia Comfort

3/4 oz  Southern Comfort peach liqueur
1 oz peach scnhapps
4 oz orange juice
1 dash grenadine syrup 

In a highball glass filled with ice, add southern comfort, peach schnapps and fill with orange juice. Mix. Top with a dash of grenadine. Garnish with cherry and serve. www.drinksmixer.com

 

Suburban Kamikaze Atlanta correspondent: There were a million reasons not to recruit her. But who can remember any of them now? 

 

More reasons to drink: Teenage hair care, Seasonally dressed ducks

99 Reasons to Drink in the Suburbs #12: Cheap wine

Well, yes. Exactly.  What doesn't kill you makes a nice marinade.

You're welcome,

SK

 

99 Reasons to Drink in the Suburbs #11: New neighbors

Just when I thought I would never run out of reasons to celebrate the Midwestern "way of life," my number one source of cheap wine inspiration - not counting weather - announces that she and her houseful of prairie-bred children are packing up and moving to the Deep South.

This is funny for all kinds of reasons, not least of which is the way her aversion to shiny things and affection for commie social causes will play in the South.

But for those of us left behind, the departure of the woman we call "Mary" will leave the Midwestern suburbs a hellish shell of the hellish shell they already were.

This is a woman who serves liquor at her kid's lemonade stand, styles herself after Napolean Dynamite and will do things on a dare that make your college sorority hijinks seem like an afternoon with the Junior League of Peoria. 

You can't really ask more from a school board member than that.

Midwestern Mint Julep

4 ounces of Kentucky bourbon

2 ounces of mint-infused simple syrup, from which mint leaves have been strained

Pour over crushed ice, garnish with parsley because you used all the mint to make the syrup and sprinkle with glitter.  Drink in Mary's backyard until the new owners tell you to leave. 

 

from the Something About Mary archives: Some people claim that there's a woman to blame, Trash talk from a woman in an apron, Your cardigan says "Merry Christmas" but your pedicure says "ho, ho, ho"

99 Reasons to Drink in the Suburbs #10: Home Equity

So the old homestead isn't worth what it used to be. There is still no better place to enjoy a cocktail. At least no place you can afford. Plus, now you actually have the time to do it. Think of all the weekend home improvement projects you can no longer justify in a house that isn't even worth what you paid for it.

Saturday evenings in the Home Depot plumbing aisle used to feel like an investment. Now it just seems like the worst date night ever.

Cocktail: The Teeny, Weeny Equit-ini

2 oz. cheap gin or vodka

1 tsp. dry vermouth

1 green olive

Shake over ice. Strain into paper cup with tiny hole in the bottom. Drop olive in and garnish with little paper umbrella or a recent mortgage statement. Sip with one hand, keeping other hand against the bottom to slow the leak. 

99 Reasons to Drink in the Suburbs #9: Key Lime Wine

Between the snow, the rain, the hail and the oozing slices of deep dish pizza that fall from the sky over the course of a year, finding the right kind of day to open a chilled bottle of Key Lime wine in the Chicago area is not easy.

For one thing, you can't share it with just anybody. And it must be shared to be believed. It takes a certain kind of commitment to polish off a glass of this stuff.

Tradition requires that you finish the bottle.

You can open a bottle of Key Lime wine anywhere the sun is shining on a lounge chair and you are surrounded by the kind of people who are willing to sit through Eat, Pray, Love with you. More than once. Just for the secret pleasure of its awfulness.  Key Lime wine is like that.

Imagine a box of Sweet Tarts mashed into a pulp of wine grapes and left to ferment under the palm trees. Then imagine drinking it with one of the five or six people in the world you would call if you ever needed help getting rid of a body. 

Some of them, of course, would be absolutely useless. Some of them would be curiously adept. And then there would be some sort of argument over exactly how to go about it and you'd all end up getting arrested, because let's face it, Elizabeth is a terrible liar. But that is not the point.

My point is, these are the people Key Lime wine was made to celebrate.  Your posse. Your BFFs, your co-conspirators. 

You can drink a good bottle of wine with anybody.

99 Reasons to Drink in the Suburbs #6, 7 and 8: Bathtub Gin, Tax Holidays and Squirrel Recipes

The only thing we love more in the suburbs than a tax break is a holiday.

So when we heard about the latest proposal to create a tax holiday, we could not contain our enthusiasm.

Here in suburbia, we celebrate almost any excuse for a backyard barbecue.

And every little bit of money we get back from the government is money we can use to help offset the crushing burden of what we owe to some other part of the government - or pay out to the part of the economy that needs our money to stockpile offshore profits.

"Par-tay!" screamed the headline in The New York Times.  On closer reading, we realized that what it actually says is this: Companies Push for Tax Break on Foreign Cash.   

Technically speaking, it seems that this proposed tax holiday isn't for us; it's a deal that would allow some of the country's biggest corporations to take a tax discount on whatever part of their kazillion-dollar profits they opt to move back inside the country, where it will reduce the deficit and stimulate the economy by some fraction of the amount they say it will.   

But according to lobbyists for those very corporations, it's going to be a party for all of us when those companies turn around and start creating tons of new jobs with their savings!  Seriously. It's going to be awesome. 

Please tell us someone besides a utilities executive is willing to vouch for the idea that this will be a good thing for the rest of us.

"For every billion dollars that we invest, that creates 15,000 to 20,000 jobs either directly or indirectly," says Duke Energy executive Jim Rogers, whose company has $1.3 billion in profits stashed overseas, according to the story.   

We have no idea what that means, directly or indirectly, but you'd have to be a complete stick-in-the-mud to point out that the last time corporations promised to spend a similar tax break on a party for the rest of us, our invitations got lost in the mail. 

According to The Times, citing a study by the National Bureau of Economic Research, 92 percent of the money generated by the 2005 tax holiday was "returned to shareholders in the form of dividends and stock buybacks" which, while it may not have created any jobs per se, was unquestionably a boon to the ice-sculpture industry. 

Still a holiday is a holiday, and frankly, a holiday that leaves us paying more for just about everything while the value of anything we actually own is shrinking as fast as corporate tax liability is the perfect opportunity to employ some of the same American ingenuity that brought us bathtub gin and squirrel stew.

I have never actually tasted squirrel, but there's no question that the Depression era's hardships inspired many a fabulous cocktail, some of which could also help start a nice fire under a bubbling pot of squirrel.

So use your imagination, your hairspray or whatever you have fermenting in the bathtub and scratch out a recipe idea on the piece of scrap paper containing the current assessed value of your home. Then submit it in the comments section here as part of our Summer of 2011 Liquid Stimulus Package. 

The winner, as chosen by a Suburban Kamikaze tasting panel convening in the backyard later this summer, will be immortalized in toasts and song. 

Cheers,

SK 

99 Reasons to Drink in the Suburbs #5: The Weekend Home Improvement Enthusiast

Mr. Kamikaze looks out the window where a steady drizzle drops from a concrete-gray sky.

"This is perfect weather for concrete," he says happily. 

"Yes," I say. "It looks like I got my bikini wax just in time."

My idea of a perfect weekend spent measuring, mixing and pouring is a blend of salt, tequila and limes. His idea calls for 15 80-pound bags of concrete powder. It looks like it would taste terrible.

But there is no undermining his satisfaction today. He watches as his little patch of fresh sidewalk cures perfectly under a dreary sky. It is perfect weather for concrete.

They should put that on a postcard, I say. 

 from the so-called Home Improvement archives: The Dirty Girl's Guide to Home Improvement

99 Reasons to Drink in the Suburbs #4: Surrender

Because eventually you will stop asking questions like "Who does this? Why would anyone try to close a cereal package with a thumbtack?"

Because you know who did it. And when you start asking why you have already lost. 

 from the drinking archives: There will be Peeps

99 Reasons to Drink in the Suburbs #3: Teenage hair care

SK Bonus Feature:  Middle School Girl Answers Our Hair Care Questions

Q. How many accessories are enough?  A. OMG!!! Just the fact that you would even ask a question like that shows how little you know about anything, least of all anything that has to do with hair. Seriously, does your hair look like that on purpose?

A Middle School Drama in Three Acts

Act I

Scene 1:  Afternoon. A park or some other outdoor space where a half dozen middle school girls have gathered.

GIRL 1: We are having so much fun. We are BFFs!!  I am texting you a series of little hearts.

GIRL 2: And I am texting you back with a bunch of letters that stand for things!!!

GIRL 3: LOL! I am texting you both. Even though we are all right here. Look! There are some boys.  I heard you liked one of them.

GIRL 4: I heard somebody else liked one of them.

GIRL 1: I heard stuff too and some of it was not nice. I am going to send it out as a text to everyone. But don't repeat it.

GIRL 2: OMG! We won't. Let's go talk to those boys and make them tell us if it's true.

Scene 2. Same park. Playground area. The girls have been joined by three or four boys.

GIRL 2: Did you hear? Do you know what anybody said?

BOY 1: We never understand anything you say. But we like that you like our hair.

GIRL 3: We really like your hair. Do you want to know who doesn't like your hair?

BOY 2:  What?

GIRL 1: I am never talking to her again.

GIRL 2: Who? 

GIRL 1:  Yes, but I never said that.

GIRL 3: Let's take sides.  And say mean things about the other side.

BOY 2: Uh. Which side are we on?

GIRL 4:  We'll text you later.  

GIRL 5: Yeah, we're leaving. Did you get our text?

GIRL 6: We don't even like your hair that much.

Act II

Scene 1:  Late afternoon, same day. A suburban kitchen. Girl 1 is staring at her iPod touch and looking morose. Her mother stands nearby looking confused, concerned. She is holding a coffee cup.

MOTHER: Do you want to talk about it? Did you see what I did with my coffee? It was right here a minute ago. 

GIRL 1: No. I hate them. Go Away.

MOTHER: Who?

GIRL 1: All of them!

MOTHER: Right. Let me make you some hot chocolate. Let's go find a funny movie to watch together. Let's make popcorn.

GIRL 1: Okay.

Act III

Scene 1: Next morning. Same kitchen. Girl 1 glares into a mug of hot chocolate. Her mother stands nearby. She holds a notebook under her arm and a cup of coffee in her hand. 

MOTHER: You can't stay home from school. Because otherwise how am I going to ruin your life? Have you seen my notebook?

GIRL 1:  I hate you. You're ruining my life. Will you take me shopping after school?

MOTHER: I have a lot to do today. I am not even caught up on ruining your life last week. 

Scene 2:  Afternoon, same day. Same kitchen. Girls 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6 are seated around a table, which is piled with opened cereal boxes, drink glasses and Ramen soup wrappers. The path to the table is a mound of discarded backpacks. The refrigerator door stands open. Mother steps in from adjoining room, which is offstage. She has a notebook under her arm, a cup of coffee in one hand and is holding a cell phone in the other.  As she enters the girls all begin speaking at once.

GIRLS 1-6:  Will you make us something to eat? We are starving. Will you take us to Starbucks? 

MOTHER: (Walks kitchen perimeter, stepping over backpacks, pushing cabinet, refrigerator doors closed.) What are you all doing here? Has anyone seen my phone?

GIRL 1: You said you would take us shopping.

99 Reasons to Drink in the Suburbs #2: Teenage Overlords

I am on the telephone when Overlord the Firstborn tosses me a new assignment. Also, a pair of basketball shorts that may or may not be clean.

"Can you smell these and tell me whether they're acceptable?" he says. "My nose is stuffed up."

I would like to be able to tell you that I let them hit the floor and set him straight with a look that was glacial, frigid, bone-chilling, arctic cold - like the perfect martini described in Nannette Stone's Little Black Book of Martinis. Like one of those 1950s television dads whose wife was in the kitchen mixing him a perfect martini.  

But of course, I caught them, sniffed them, approved them and tossed them back with the reflexes of a woman whose martini aspirations run closer to good enough.                

 from the martini archives: There will be Peeps

99 Reasons to Drink in the Suburbs #1: Garbage Day

Boy, Esq. did not remember to put the trash out this week, but he can't be blamed for that.

"You forgot to remind me," he says. 

I can't seem to remember to remind him. Or rather, I can't seem to remember to remind him at a time when it is convenient for him to remember. 

It goes without saying that Sunday would be too early. Only an idiot would think of reminding someone of Tuesday on a Sunday.

Monday night doesn't count, obviously.

He can't be expected to remember something when he's in the middle of something else, can he? What were you thinking?

Tuesday morning doesn't give him enough time. Duh. What is the point of that?

The sweet spot, apparently, is sometime after he has finished doing anything at all on Monday, but before he has begun doing anything at all on Tuesday morning.

And hopefully before the emergence of full grown trees from last fall's yard trash, which has begun to produce buds.  Trash springs eternal.

 

from the Boy, Esq. archives: It's the least he can do 

There will be Peeps

It is not easy being the keeper of tradition in a house full of iconoclasts. 

The first person to complain about my plans for Easter brunch is the carpenter. He and his wife are our restaurant and dining BFFs.  

"Bagels and lox?" he says.  "Are we having Jewish Easter?" he asks.

"I am pretty sure Jesus was a Jew," I say, rolling my eyes. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to find real bagels around here?" 

Mr. Kamikaze is next. He spies the mini Margherita pizzas. "Pizza"? he says.  "We're having Italian Easter?"

"The Romans had something to do with Easter too, you dolt," I remind him. Am I the only one around here who knows anything?

Thankfully, no one says anything about the goat cheese and baguette because I am not exactly sure where the French come in. But I do know this: traditions are important and that is why I go to the trouble year after year of making up entirely new ones. Also, I do not like ham.   

The teen-ager has a suggestion for tweaking tradition.  "I don't really want an Easter basket," he says. "How about just giving me cash instead?" 

"What would Jesus do?" I ask him. He rolls his eyes.

"Fine," he says. "But no Peeps. Nobody eats them."

This is a ridiculous idea. Peeps martinis are an Easter tradition in our house ever since last year, or possibly the year before. How are we supposed to make Peeps martinis without the Peeps?

He has no answer for this. There will be Peeps.

In which I go a little Brazilian, but this time it doesn't hurt

Let me tell you something about winter in Chicago: it is not looking half bad.

This occurs to me about halfway to the bottom of the Ultimate Seduction, a strawberry-rosemary-basil-sake-cachaca concoction that bartender Richard Tandoc has whipped up just for me from behind the bar at the Encore Liquid Lounge. 

Tandoc, of the New Jersey Rio Rodizio Brazilian steakhouse,  and five other VIP "mixologists" from around the country are hoping to convince a panel of judges that they have created the ultimate cachaca cocktail in the Cuca Fresca "Shake Your Way to Brazil" North American Mixology Contest.

What am I doing here, other than drinking like a pirate? 

I am the guest of Paul Abercrombie, whose book, "Organic, Shaken and Stirred" (Harvard Common Press; $19.95, liquor not included) has become the bible of the organic-cocktail imbibing suburban mommy set.  Or at least, that is what we are planning as soon as my copy arrives in its organic, free-range, Earth-friendly packaging. Paul has to judge the entries, whereas my only job is to try to finish as many as possible.  

Cachaca - pronounced "another please" - is an organic Brazilian specialty rum. As the handsome Cuca Fresca representative explains, cachaca is made from a completely different part of the sugar cane than other rums, which are made from some other part, which gives it a completely different something, something, something. It is not easy to take good notes when your hands are full of rum drinks.

Whatever it is, I can tell you this:  it tastes very nice mixed with ginger liqueur, oranges, limes, blackberries, rosemary, allspice, passionfruit, ginger beer, something called Domaine de Canton, hibiscus rooibos tea syrup, egg whites and everything else they shook, stirred, poured and muddled into it.

If this was Brazil's idea of an apology for that afternoon at the S&M day spa, well, I was going to accept.

My favorite was something called Ginger Dream by Los Angeles rum artist Francois Vera. I knew the minute I tasted it that he came from someplace where creative types gather under palm trees. It was my kind of drink; all sunny and gingery and full of pulp. Not too sweet. 

Later, I mingle with Chicago's celebrity bartenders and learn how to make homemade bitters. Which seems like a really good idea in the glow of Rico Wisner's Punch from Ipanema, the judges' favorite. Will I actually try this at home? It is hard to say. Sometimes pulling the cork out seems like too much work.  

Anyway, my point is this: Brazil, you are forgiven. 

*See all entries here.

Back to school cocktails: Because frankly, we are one Post-It Note away from a three-ring breakdown

Sometimes the best ideas are right in front of you.  And I'm not talking about the school supply list with its persnickety demands for 3-pronged, pocketed, plastic covered, three-subject notebooks in burgundy, magenta and harvest gold or any color not currently in stock or available in the enormous pile of unused school supplies you purchased last year and carefully put away in the basement in the ludicrous belief that you'd have less to buy this year...

I am talking about the liquor cabinet. This was brought to my attention by alert reader Gina Stratos of The All You Review, who pointed out what should have been obvious in answering my plea for ideas on how to survive back-to-school week: Office Depot is not your friend. 

Only she put it like this:  "vodka."

Of course. Here I was running from shelf to shelf, spending the mortgage payment on a list of supplies that grows longer every day and wondering if this was the year that the school system would finally defeat me - and not once did I stop to think - this calls for cocktails.

In fact, except for the lemonade stand down the street, where the proprietor's mother poured chardonnay into our cups while her five-year-old's attention was diverted by traffic, the back-to-school activities have included not a single cocktail hour in honor of those of us who made the Crayola stockholders' hearts beat a little faster this week.   

So take out your composition books, your shot glasses and your number 2 pencils and whip up a cocktail recipe that captures the spirit of back to school week. Then post your drunken comment recipe here. The winner, as chosen by lively disagreement and generous taste testing, will be immortalized in toasts and song.

Cheers,

SK