Barrett's Mixology

Monday, May 14, 2007

Plymouth

1 part Keystone Light.
1 part Wild Turkey 101.
Snowmelt.

Add ice for no reason. Stir.

The seasons finicked without decision one early evening in the beginning of April as the boys and I made our way back to the shelter we had abandoned that morning in search of dry firewood from the wild of the White Mountains. We carried half a cord between the four of us, our mouths were desiccated, and we were ready to dig into some venison. Ambrose, whom we had left at camp, had been hard at work all day procuring said venison from the ten-point buck who had met my bow yesterday morning. We now made our way over the last hill toward the humble cabin against an orange sunset, our breath hovering in the freezing air. When we had arrived at our lodging, I heaved my satchelful of firewood into the hearth and greeted Ambrose with a hearty salutation. It was with great hesitation, however, that I then asked with what we might quench our thirst, for I knew full well that our refuge contained scarcely more liquid-wise than a number of canned beers, a jug of Wild Turkey 101 proof (per Emerson’s urging), and a vintage chamber pot which had served as a spittoon. This was a grave situation, indeed. Being the alpha-male, I took matters into my own hands. “Kitteridge and Emerson: tend the fire if you please! Lenox, lend Ambrose a proper hand with tonight’s supper.” Myself? I set to work on creating a potable concoction to please our palates and hopefully warm our respective cores on this cool evening. The result was this fine treat at the end of a day’s hard work—truly an elixir for mountain men.

Barrett's Mixology

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