by Sandra Marchetti
It’s 10 pm on a weeknight and my husband and I
are arguing on Aisle 5 of the local Jewel-Osco. Will it be the San Pellegrino
Limonata or the Italian grapefruit soda? We lost our chance to buy the right mixer
hours ago. He just wants a drink, and I’m fueling my perfectionism in trying to
prove him wrong. I gaze into the fluorescent lights and wonder, what the hell
are we still doing here?
I mentioned to my husband Scott the day before
that my press, Sundress Publications, asked me to create a signature cocktail
to pair with my forthcoming book of poems, Confluence.
The brilliant force behind Sundress, Erin Elizabeth Smith, thought a book of
cocktail recipes might be a fun giveaway for the upcoming AWP Conference. I was
excited to add to the volume, as Confluence
will make its debut at the convention. Scott—a veteran of the restaurant
industry who for years ordered liquor and bartended at hotels—was instantly
smitten with the idea. We considered one of my favorite cocktails, the Paloma, sometimes
made with Squirt or real grapefruit juice, and tequila. It seemed close to my
ideal, but this drink was already established. Was it possible to create a more
inventive cocktail? Considering the title, Confluence,
I knew my drink needed to blend ingredients from two different landscapes. We
brainstormed a bit more, but as we talked I feared Scott’s sprawling creativity
and passion for the project might get in the way of my tight timeline.
While Scott was at work the next day, with the
aid of a little Internet research, I wrote up an initial recipe for the “Confluence
Pamplemousse” and sent it to Sundress. Feeling pretty proud of myself, I
casually mentioned over dinner I had created the drink. A wave of
disappointment crossed Scott’s face. He calmly asked me to tell him about my
creation, but as I described it, he grew increasingly grave. The drink called
for equal parts (one ¼ cup each) French pink lemonade (like Lorina), mezcal, fresh
grapefruit juice, and some optional honey, all to be served in a salt rimmed glass.
Even though I hadn’t tried to make it, I noted that the soda should be placed
in the cocktail shaker with the rest of the ingredients and the whole
concoction poured over ice. I knew from his eyes that I had gone too far. He
looked at me as if I had run over his childhood pet.
We
hastily paid the check, then Scott ushered me to the Whole Foods next door to buy
the ingredients and iron out the recipe once and for all. My gentle husband
could clearly sense I was out of my depths on this one. This was his crucible.
We rushed toward to the tiniest liquor section on record. Searching the three
miniature shelves frantically, we could not find any mezcal. Our options were Patrón
Silver or some pricey organic reposado. I balked. “It has to be mezcal!” He
said, “You haven’t even tasted it yet! The reposado will be smoother and maybe
a bit sweeter! It might help this drink.” While lugging our splurge to the
checkout, along with a bag of grapefruits, we scanned the shelves for the French
lemonade. The only available item was Italian soda, in grapefruit or blood
orange. Again, I hesitated. “It must be French! The melding of two landscapes
is important to my book! The French language is a part of my poems!”
I insisted we press on to yet another grocery
store that might have my lemonade. By 10:30, we found ourselves glazed over in
Aisle 5. I still couldn’t find the Lorina. Scott halfheartedly clutched a
package of San Pellegrino Limonata. “It’s still not French,” I grumbled. My
sweet husband finally convinced me it was our only shot, as we were still hell-bent
on trying out the drink that night. He bought the cans and I sighed my way out
to the car.
Scott was itching to put on an apron and play “America’s
Test Kitchen” once we arrived home. We tried my original recipe first. Not
surprisingly, the cocktail shaker nearly blew open with the soda inside and the
drink was flat once poured. Scott then experimented with less tequila—a quarter
of a cup is quite a bit more than a shot—but the drink seemed weak and watery.
I tested one without honey, which quickly called to our attention that the
sweetener was not an optional
ingredient. It needed to be there—two heaping teaspoonfuls. I was also
instructed, on nearly every attempt, to “shake more vigorously!” Scott then wanted
to add an orange, but I staved off his curiosity as we were approaching 1 a.m.
in a kitchen full of pulp and sticky glasses.
Finally, he mixed what we hoped would be the
last tester and poured the soda on top. It proved delicious. We’d each had a
couple of the off-kilter versions, were rosy cheeked, and no longer
antagonistic. I watched him slice the grapefruit for the garnish, marveling at
the expert movements of his hands. As I sucked on the rind and licked the side
of the glass where grapefruit juice mingled with kosher salt, I noticed the
drink’s sweet smokiness—ripe and full of primal flavors. I sang the theme from
“An American in Paris,” except a mariachi band was playing in the background. Scott
told me the reposado is aged in old oak bourbon barrels, which allows for this
mellow, controlled burn in the mouth. I found out later on that the Limonata is
actually better than Lorina—it adds a zippy crispness. I also like mine with an
extra salty rim, paired with pork tacos or just a sunny afternoon and a lawn
chair.
I sent the improved recipe to Erin the next day.
I wasn’t vindicated, but I was much more confident about the drink. We had tried
it, and it was so good. Scott’s modifications were a touch of genius. Like my
book, the recipe went through many versions, but with the help of experienced
advisors, I found my epiphany. The collection reflects some of my own youthful stubbornness, as does the
cocktail. Confluence, and the
Confluence Pamplemousse, is a mingling of warm and cool settings, hope and
longing. It’s a love story set in the landscape. I love it. In fact, I think
I’m going to sip one right now. You should too....recipe below.
Confluence Pamplemousse
Ingredients
¼ cup fresh grapefruit juice
¼ cup mezcal or reposado (try
Olmeca Altos Reposado)
¼ cup San Pellegrino Limonata
(or other sparkling lemonade)
2 teaspoons honey
Grapefruit wedge
Kosher salt
Directions
Rub the side of a stemless wine glass with
grapefruit wedge, dip glass in kosher salt. Combine grapefruit juice, liquor,
and honey over ice in cocktail shaker. Pour into glass, finish with lemonade,
stir, and garnish with grapefruit wedge.
*****
Bio:
Sandra Marchetti is the author of Confluence,
a debut full-length collection of poetry from Sundress Publications. Eating Dog
Press also published an illustrated edition of her essays and poetry, A
Detail in the Landscape, and her first volume, The Canopy, won
Midwest Writing Center's Mississippi Valley Chapbook Contest. Sandy won Second
Prize in Prick of the Spindle's 2014 Poetry Open and was a finalist for Gulf Coast’s Poetry Prize. Her poetry
and prose appears in The Journal, Subtropics, The Hollins
Critic, Sugar House Review, Mid-American Review, Thrush
Poetry Journal, Green Mountains Review, South Dakota Review, Appalachian Heritage, Southwest
Review, Phoebe, and elsewhere. Sandy is a teacher and
freelance manuscript editor who lives and writes outside of Chicago.