Barrett's Mixology

By Nicholas Desai | Friday, May 5, 2006

The Sazerac

1 teaspoon of simple syrup

3-4 dashes Herbsaint bitters

2 ounces rye

1/4 teaspoon anise liqueur

Strip of lemon peel

Serve chilled in an Old-fashioned.

We were just two ordinary, upper-cruster youths from New Orleans—“the Venice of Lousiana”—living through the last gasps of our families’ decadent, ancien régime-ish lifestyle. Sigh. Then, Katrina hit, and tragedy became Tragedy. Fortunately, we had trust funds, passports, and a considerable schmear of solipsistic wanderlust. Raoul—that’s my friend—and I re-located to France, where at least they appreciated a good snob. Government protections against Anglo-Saxon defilement of la langue, as well. They also had, according to Raoul, Fifi, a remarkably friendly girl who resided in a salon or brasserie or whatever it is they call it. Driving in France is difficult for Americans, though, and after forty-five minutes we finally ended up on the most monstrous Paris roundabout you can imagine. Traffic laws comprehensible only through multivariable calculus made it impossible to leave, and the lack of street signs made it impossible to divine the names of streets. Smug little euro-cars darted around us at obnoxious speeds. We circled exactly one hundred and thirteen times before I grabbed the wheel in exasperation and yanked us out of that torturous circle and down a random street. Grand mistake, mes frères. In about two minutes, we found ourselves in the banlieues, or suburbs, home to many angry young immigrant-types. Well, fine by us—we were angry to have missed our Fifi appointment. But these guys’ beef with the world seemed more deeply felt, viz. they tossed some Molotov cocktails on our hood. Raoul fancied himself a Progressive, meaning that we experienced four such cocktails before he decided we were in danger instead of just experiencing an interesting culture. To his credit, though, Raoul salvaged a backpack containing crucial ingredients, and from the top of the housing project, we drank ourselves into a stupor while a thousand car-burnings twinkled in the night.

Barrett's Mixology

Article Tools

Related Articles