I Feel the Earth Move under My Feet

Last Friday morning I woke up with a start in the dark about 5:40. The bed was shaking. Or so I thought. I jumped out of bed and threw on a robe. Nothing else was shaking or on the floor. I turned on some lights and went downstairs. Damn, dude, what are you doing up so early, sayeth several dozy animals from their comfy spots on the couch, rug, chair, etc. My big dog, Maddie, looked a little spooked, but she may have just been startled that I was up so early.

But, anyway, Friday was also the hundred and umpteenth anniversary of the great San Francisco quake. Honoring the anniversary, my calendar had a recipe for a San Francisco cocktail: sloe gin, equal parts sweet and dry vermouth, a dash of Peychaud's bitters. I'd never had sloe gin (unless when I was drunk) to my knowledge before I started this cocktail marathon, and it's sort of growing on me.

The best I can do to describe the taste is cherry-ish. Wikipedia says that sloes are related to plums, but they don't taste plummy to me. They also say that most sloe gins today are just flavored neutral spirits, so no sloes gave their lives that I may wonder why. I wonder why Emily Dickinson didn't write that line.

The San Fran cocktail wasn't bad, pretty sweet, but cherry-sloey with the extra kick from the sweet vermouth. I also mixed up the amaretto sour recipe for the weekend: just 2 parts amaretto and 1 part lemon juice. I've liked these for a long while and mixed them up on rare occasions, albeit with sweet and sour mix from a bottle. No more. Amaretto and lemon juice: perfection. No cherry, just the sadder but wiser drink. Emily, meet Meredith Willson.