Last month, when the outcome of the election was still looking quite precarious, a friend of mine tweeted: "The fetal position is very underrated."
Luckily, for whatever reason, may that be the reality of climate change, Governor Chris Christie, or hey, overall common sense prevailing (for once), the election turned out OK.
December is now in full swing. We're decking the halls, we're donning our gay apparel, in the age of bespoke everything, I'm willing to bet some hipster crafter somewhere is attempting to make little dreidels out of clay and selling them for $19.99 a pop once they're dry and ready. Thanksgiving came early this year, and I've already attended three holiday themed parties. Wasn't it just a few days ago we were in the pointy hats shooting streamers and hoping for better times?
I'm so over it already. Yeah, Mayan Calendar, do your thing. Screw it. I met John Taylor. The rest is just gravy, as far as I'm concerned. Come. And. Get. Me.
It's been quite a while since I've made up a new cocktail. Today, I was thinking about that fetal position comment, and about how nice it would be to just curl up into one for the rest of the day.
Instead, I decided it would be far more useful to create (a metaphorical) one you can drink! My idea was to combine all the most comforting ingredients I could think of in one glass. The boozy equivalent of a hug. So, ladies and germs, for you, a wee gifty:
The Fetal Position
1 1/2 oz straight rye
1/2 oz Sorel hibiscus liqueur
1/2 oz Calvados or other apple brandy
1/2 oz lemon juice
bar spoon good maple syrup
1 egg white
Brooklyn Hemispherical Bitters Black Mission Fig
brandied cherries (optional, but you know you want them)
Combine first six ingredients in a shaker with ice. Shake well to combine. Strain into a chilled coupe or cocktail glass. Add a few drops of the bitters and swirl with a toothpick. Add the cherries. Yeah. Just let 'em sink to the bottom along with your hopes and dreams.
You'll feel better in a minute. Ready to conquer the world again.
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