A Mugwort for Your Thoughts?

And that’s why Kant can’t be trusted. There are no absolute rights and wrongs, were you the Pink Lady or the Grasshopper? Grasshopper, perfect. Some will say that Mint and Cream have no place in a cocktail, but those people would be sadly mistaken, just like Kant. Equal parts cream, Crème de Menthe and Crème de Cocoa; shaken until very cold, strain into a Nick and Nora and there you have it. Some people like to garnish with fresh mint, shaved chocolate and whipped cream. I’m not saying they are wrong, because there are no absolutes. I’m saying they’re wrong because that is disgusting.

Unlike knocking back six or eight scotches, you need to be careful with these. Here’s the Pink Lady, looks like a soft kiss from a magical girl but it packs a wallop. Gin, Apple Brandy, Grenadine, Lemon and an egg white. Dry shake until smooth, add ice and shake again. It is a Utilitarianist ideal. Originally created during prohibition to mask the vile homemade gin so prevalent in those dark days. Rather than blaming the Gin and casting it asunder, generations of craftspeople tinkered with it until you have this delight.

The same cannot be said for the Tiger’s Milk. Sure it looks like a perfect three ingredient Brandy Alexander, but it has a beast hiding on the inside. Milk, Cream, a whole Egg, Sugar Syrup, Cinnamon, Nutmeg and Vanilla obfuscate the Cognac into a belly busting amalgamation that completely backs away from the concept of maximizing pleasure and/or minimizing pain or unhappiness.

Still—

Jung would have me in the woodshed if I disavowed the Tiger’s Milk solely for what I found fault with. We must accept a cocktail as it is, appreciating both its virtues and its drawbacks.

And so I present you with the Tom and Jerry. Beneath its friendly and festive exterior lies a minefield of fat, sugar and labor. Separate a dozen eggs; whip the whites and beat the yolks with a bottle of rum. Mix together with two pounds of sugar. Add four ounces of the concoction into a six-ounce mug, add an ounce of cognac and an ounce of hot milk et voila.

In my youth, there was a bar in New York, Perry’s Elbo Room that made giant copper cauldrons of Tom and Jerry’s every holiday season. Back in those days there was no internet and no cell phones, so everybody got along famously. Three generations of families would belly up to the bar and quaff the warm and sweet boozy delight. We would sing songs, shoot darts, run outside to throw snowballs at passing cars and each other. It is a dream wrapped in holiday feelings, coming out of the cold and into a warm welcoming place, with a mug of sweet cream cognac and rum. Was it all a fabrication that never existed or was it all true? A little of both probably, certainly something I desire so badly to be true that I will shape the facts into a sweet confection that sates my hunger for a happy past.

Now by night I am an amateur distiller experimenting with the wild herbs growing on the Hollywood Hills. Needlegrass, Mugwort, Poppy, Eucalyptus, Fennel, Juniper, Elderflower, Milk Thistle, Wood Sorrel Peruvian Apple Cactus, and Sticky Monkey Flower have all found their way into the pot still with varying degrees of success.

By day I teach Comparative Philosophy at an online university. I can never tell if anyone is actually attending the course. Most of the time I ask if there are any questions, nobody answers, so I may be speaking into a vacuum. Sometimes I just spin tales of my former exploits as a space pirate or Vatican bartender/hitman just to see if I can get a rise out of my unseen acolytes. Again, nothing. I find the void comforting. I can fill it with whatever suits my fancy.

Another Grasshopper?