I’m still on a chestnut-colored drink kick, long past the restoration of power after Hurricane Sandy made it possible for us to drink cocktails on the rocks again.
Dan and I had been forced by circumstance to imbibe our drinks neat; we had no choice, given that we had no ice. (Nor electricity, nor running water.) Since vodka and gin tend to lose a little something when served at room temperature, we’d stuck with Scotch, Jameson Irish whiskey and finally cognac as we grew increasingly filthy and piggish in our safe, dry, but hygiene-compromised apartment. It’s just as well nobody climbed the 12 flights of emergency-exit stairs to visit us during our confinement. We’d have sent them reeling with our reek (unless of course they were into piggy stuff, in which case we’d have been fragrant sexual superstars).
In any case, once we were able to shower, shave and shop, I brought back to the apartment a bottle of Chivas Regal and a bottle of Drambuie, a liqueur made from Scotch. Drambuie has a sweetish, resinous quality to it. It’s unctuous in the best sense of the word. But a little goes a long way, which is why the Rusty Nail is such a delightful cocktail. You get the best of Scotch – peaty, smoky, and strong – and the best of a good complementary liqueur all in one wee glass. Or not so wee, as the case may be.
Rusty Nails are a 9 to 5 drink, meaning not the raucous Dolly Parton song of that name but the proportions: 9 parts Scotch to 5 parts Drambuie, or so a popular website advises. Oh, gimme a friggin’ break! Who on earth either mixes such a vast Rusty Nail or calculates the math for a normal-size cocktail? For you sticklers out there, that’s 1.8 parts Scotch to 1 part Drambuie. Phooey!
To top it all off, this inane proportion makes a far too cloying cocktail. If you want to sip a bonnie Drambuie, do. But if you want a good Rusty Nail, I advise a smaller proportion of liqueur to Scotch. In fact, I make my Rusty Nails by pouring a healthy amount of Scotch into a glass full of ice (or, if you’re making a round for a crowd, into an icy cocktail shaker) and adding just a thimble full of Drambuie for each drink.
One of the side benefits of the Rusty Nail is that you don’t need to invest in a top shelf Scotch. Let’s face it: You’re adulterating the Scotch by adding a liqueur, albeit one made of Scotch. So there’s no reason at all to splurge on a fine single malt only to kill its well-crafted flavor notes with a foreign substance, however delicious that substance may be. I chose Chivas, because I didn’t plan to use the whole bottle on Rusty Nails. But if I were you, I’d just as soon go with a good, drinkable blended Scotch like Ballantine.
The Pickleback
"Are you pregnant?" Dan asked me the other day.
"I’m not sure," I said through the chomp of a pickle – my third in so many minutes – "but I rather doubt it." It’s true that Dan and I have been experimenting sexually lately, but I am confident that nothing we’ve tried would result in either one of us having been impregnated.
"So what’s with the pickle obsession?"
"I question the word obsession," I said after another satisfying crunch. "It’s not as though I’m serving you pickle souffles or pickle-tofu casseroles."
"You have successfully turned my stomach," Dan noted with a sour expression on his face. I curtsied and headed back to the refrigerator for another pickle. "It’s wintertime," I yelled from the kitchen. "Time to eat preserves and pickles! I think they’re supposed to have a lot of Vitamin C." I pulled this theory out of my, um, head. Hey, it sounded plausible.
"You pulled that out of your ass," Dan countered. "It’s more likely that you’re pregnant."
I shrugged. What difference did it make if I was hauling Claussen’s pickles home by the case? There are worse vices, I thought to myself.
That’s when inspiration struck: a pickle juice cocktail! I was elated. I’d just invented a hip new drink! It would be an instant sensation – I’d be famous, albeit briefly and only in limited circles. So I hurried to the computer, went online to check whether indeed I’d come up with something new, and was immediately crushed to discover that I’d been beaten to the punch. Apparently "The Pickleback" is already a hipster hit.
The recipe is quite simple, but it’s also needlessly exacting in its ingredients: A Pickleback is a shot of Jameson Irish Whiskey followed by a shot of pickle juice. Although it was only 4 o’clock on Sunday afternoon, I had to have one immediately. Fortunately, we had most of a fifth of Jameson, and of course I had more than enough pickle juice.
Usually I drink Jameson – and all whiskeys, Scotches, and bourbons – on the rocks, but the Pickleback demanded that the shot be served neat. I eagerly poured a shot glass full of Jameson and a twin glass full of pickle juice. (I strained out the bits of garlic and spices with a tea strainer.) I didn’t bring them into the living room, knowing I’d just end up being the brunt of Dan’s mockery, but instead downed both shots while standing at the kitchen counter. The Pickleback was delicious! The smooth, sweet whiskey found its soul mate in, of all things, salty-sour pickle brine! Who knew?
I’ve subsequently experimented with other whiskeys and even bourbon; they all work. Why the recipe specifies Jameson is unclear. It’s a great combination, but so is Jack Daniels and pickle juice, Knob Creek and pickle juice, and so on.
My stealthily created Pickleback, safe from Dan’s critical eye, enabled me to make another one of them without his knowing, so I was a bit looped when I emerged from the kitchen smacking my lips. Dan noticed my heavy-lidded eyes immediately. "Better watch the hooch, honey," he advised. "It’s not good for the baby."