The first printed record of a “smash” cocktail is found in the 1862 publication, How to Make Mixed Drinks, or the Bon-Vivant’s Companion, by Jerry Thomas. This is a garden-fresh variation of a smash, replacing whiskey with small batch bourbon and showcasing the unique flavor pairing of plum and sage.
I seriously have this thing for rhubarb. Like, I wish I could eat the leaves, although the logical side of my brain, my internal Spock, tells me it would probably kill me. The stuff is that good. Same rules apply to tequila. It’s my catnip, my nectar of the gods, my kryptonite. So spring rolls around and I’m in the mood to shake off the long winter doldrums, craving something that smacks of warmer weather to come. Desperate for it, actually.
They always say to write what you know, so here I go… I accidentally drank too much tequila last night. As I sit here with the day half wasted and feeling like I’ve got a mariachi band doing somersaults in my head, I decided to turn my lemons into lemonade and turn my night of self-inflicted debauchery into a classy and educational tequila-tasting tale.
I ripped open the packaging before the UPS driver had even left my front stoop, gently lifting this holy grail out of its confines and into the light for closer inspection. Crystal clear fluid with only the slightest tint of amber color. Pure, with no floating globs of fat. (insert angelic voices here) Seal ripped, cork popped, aroma inhaled.
I recently asked someone, “How do you feel about brine?”
“It’s salty.”
“…and wet.”
Ohhh baby! That’s what I’m talking about!
