There is something about back to school that makes even the looming prospect of death by refrigeration seem a small price to pay for the end of summer.
As much as we miss the small nation of teenagers who overran the house from June to August, it is hard not to enjoy the Chipotle-free feeling that settles over the furniture when they have mostly returned to their dorm rooms.
There is no such thing as endless summer, no matter what the posters say. It's just an expression used by surfers and parents to convey completely different sentiments. Like "surf's up" and "cowabunga."
It's uncanny how much overlapping jargon there is between parenting and surfing. I realized this the other day as I came across yet another stockpile of cocktail ingredients while cleaning out the teenager-occupied areas of the house.
"Cowabunga!" I said to myself. "These kids are making an awful lot of artisanal cocktails under their beds."
They're not old enough to be making artisanal cocktails, of course - there was not a single garnish among the supplies I found stuffed into backpacks with their teen-a-palooza ticket stubs - and they know nothing about simple syrup - so I found myself confiscating a lot of artifically flavored rum and vodka and some very questionable beer-type products. Maybe one of them was planning a shrimp boil?
We have some
very strict rules about alcohol in our house - the most obvious being that liquor is consumed by permission only, is not stored under the bed and is never, ever shared with non-family members under the legal drinking age, which I believe is 35.
I have been very busy the past few months, but my sense is that some of these rules may have been broken. Along with many smaller rules governing things like good taste.
From blueberry vodka to cinnamon whisky, my liquor cabinet now bulges with big-flavored contraband. This year's back to school cocktails have a little bit of a Willy Wonka feel to them. Serve with fast-food burritos and anything else you can eat from a bag. Cheers!
Smells like (Blueberry) Teen Spit
1 and 1/2 ounce blueberry vodka found in basement and likely consumed straight from bottle
Pour contraband vodka over ice into highball glass. Add club soda and garnish with lime, because you're not a teenager anymore.
Candy From a Baby
1 ounce Sazerac Fireball cinnamon whisky found under teenager's bed and also likely consumed straight from the bottle
Pour into official university glasswear of your choice and sip slowly while looking at baby pictures.
Photo: Sazerac Fireball cinnamon whisky - which I actually enjoyed. It was like a little mouthful of red hot candy.
From the back to school archives: One Post-it away from a three-ring breakdown
I am amazed at the number of empty beer bottles (and cans) I found under the bed of the college student's room when he moved out. We also have rules, rules that seem to have been broken. Wish he'd left some liquor though. Would have took the sting out of the whole thing.
Posted by: heidi | September 08, 2014 at 12:54 PM
My son(s) were part of the small nation of teenagers overrunning your house, and this is how they plead: http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=mdeo7Q2E5cE
Posted by: MKS | September 08, 2014 at 02:52 PM
Do you not remember our gin and spite libations crafted in your closet?
Posted by: Elizabitch | September 08, 2014 at 03:37 PM
So what was it Liz and I ordered that day in the Cabana? I think it was...a cocktail made with Fireball Cinnamon Whisky, now that I think of it. Who knew we were trending!
Posted by: Dianne | September 08, 2014 at 04:38 PM
The cinnamon whisky, I have to admit, is kind of nice. It's possible that one of our children - probably one of yours, MKS - may actually have some taste. On the other hand, nothing good can come of watermelon vodka.
I am going to encourage them all to drink Cointreau next summer.
Posted by: Suburban Kamikaze | September 08, 2014 at 07:40 PM
I do remember Elizabitch: One part non-artisanal whisky from my dad's non-artisanal liquor cabinet, one part not-even-remotely-artisanal whisky sour mix from a pouch, shaken inside a lunchbox Thermos. No garnish that I recall.
Posted by: Suburban Kamikaze | September 08, 2014 at 07:46 PM
It was oh, let me think, 400 gazillion-billion years ago when man would hit woman in the head with a club and drag her into the cave. Somewhere along the way we (humans) became civilized and appealed to a woman with our charm and good looks and of course, drink. Now my fear is these libations hidden in crannies and secret boxes are a portal to Cee Lo Green level cocktails, which as you know can get you 10-20 without the possibility of parole.
Posted by: Audubon Ron | September 10, 2014 at 05:36 AM