Another Heat Wave Cocktail

The first day of summer is still June 21^st right?  The Wiccans didn’t go and change the summer solstice on us, right?  Has the earth tilted off its normal axis and nobody noticed?  Did someone delicately dislodge Pennsylvania from the contiguous states and we’re currently floating toward Bermuda?  Was Al Gore just telling us the truth?

Let me clarify… Philadelphia is now experiencing the second heat wave of 2011.  IN THE SPRING.  It’s only the beginning of June and I’ve resorted to three cold showers a night.  It’s supposed to be 98 degrees today. 

I thought the Mint Julep would get me through this abominable meteorological insane anomaly.  But I was simply wrong.  Crushed ice simply wasn’t enough.  I had to resort to… dare I say it… frozen blender drinks.

But I draw the line at FROOFY frozen blender drinks.  Nothing tart and sickeningly sweet, nay, I need something thirst quenching.  Something refreshing.  Something that's still a teensy bit manly. Something with an undercurrent of… bourbon. 

Bourbon in a frozen drink?  “Preposterous!”, the masses cried.  “Sacrilege!” exclaimed the orthodoxy.  “Heretic…” said the city’s bartenders under their breath. 

Well, throwing convention to the wind, I tested and tested until I landed upon the perfect mix.  It should be noted that I tested quite a few and skipped dinner last night to bring you this late breaking news, so if my judgment is impaired, you’ll have to let me know after doing a trying one yourself.

Long Day on the Tanker

2 cups crushed ice

3 oz bourbon

2 oz triple sec

3 mint leaves
5 oz of Pink Grapefruit Juice

By the by, we only uses pink grapefruit juice from our local semi-ghetto, semi-awesome, produce mart.  Apparantly it's imported from Russia.

Stick it all straight in the blender and hit Puree/Food Processor/Chop/Mix.  Whatever your blender does.

Pour into a tall glass and drink… but not too fast.

The House Rules has already endured 6 discrete brain freezes to bring you this concoction.

But you may be thinking, “Long Day on the Tanker?”  Does the author have a history on the high seas of which we’re not aware? 

No, the name is in honor of my sister, of whom this drink reminds me.  She spent many a young summer working on the oil tankers docked after delivering a load of crude to Sunoco. 

A late teen/young adult girl working on a oil tanker?  “Preposterous!”, the masses cried.  “Sacrilege!” exclaimed the orthodoxy.  “Heretic…” said the roughnecks under their breath. 

Exactly.  She’s beautiful and boisterous.  Masterful and muliebrous.  Confident and… coquettish.  Wait, she’s totally NOT coquettish, but she’ll get a kick out of that when she reads this.

She’s the one I turn to when I need a simultaneous kick in the ass AND a nurturing condolence.

(Hmmm... in retrospect, it should also be noted that the multiple "Long Day on the Tankers" I've had tonight are probably making me more sentimental than I am in real life.)

So, “Long Day on the Tanker” it is.  But you can call it a “Long Day” if that’s too much of a mouthful for you.

Mint Julep

"It's Hot as Crazy People Outside".  This is what my wife and I have said to eachother in the past and are saying to eachother every five minutes during the current heatwave that is hitting the east coast.  95 degrees at 7:00 PM on the first day of June.  That is not kosher.

We started using this phrase when we lived downtown and noticed the marked increase in people talking to themselves in the park every time the heat became oppressive.  We assumed that they were homeless people with mental issues (aka Crazytown).  In retrospect, they may have been people on bluetooth headsets.  Doesn't really matter, I regard them equally as nuts.

(If you are a mental health professional or social worker or other liberally minded person reading this blog and taking offense to the above paragraph, let me point out two facts.  First, you should read the full content of the blog before commenting with righteous indignation.  You'll probably find that there's a whole mess o' fish to fry in the offensive non-politically correct category.  Do you really want to jump into that?  Second, since I've started taking anti-anxiety meds, I am among the many with mental health issues.  So I fall under the clause of "Insert Racial/Sexual Pref/Class/Whatever  Descriptor Here calling other insert same descriptor here people insert offensive descriptor here" clause.  You can't touch that without being offensive yourself.  Sup.)

The irony, as my wife will tell you, is that nothing makes me crazier... and I mean scratch your own eyes out with a meat fork because you think it'll somehow help... than hot weather.

Anyways, we don't have air conditioning in the house, so the only solution, as to many of life's problems, is a good stiff drink.  If you pick the right one, it can not only help you forget that you're ball-tastically sweaty, but can actually help cool you down at the same time.

Enter the Mint Julep.

Long known by sweet smart sultry southerners, they are the only thing getting me through this evening.

Here's the dig:

Mint Julep
12-14 mint leaves
1 heaping teaspoon sugar
1 teaspoon water
Crushed Ice
2 1/2 oz Bourbon
Splash of Creme de Menthe*
Mint Sprig for Garnish

In an old fashioned glass, muddle the mint leaves, sugar and water until a fine mush is formed.

Fill with crushed ice.  Only crushed ice will do here.  Use an ice crusher, a blender, a meat tenderizer, a masonry hammer, or your Grandma's china gravy boat.  It doesn't matter, just get that ice crushed, and don't dally.

Add bourbon.  The House Rules can only afford copious quantities of Old Crow, but if you've got something better, by all means, fill er up.   *Now this one is somewhat sacrilegious, but add a splash of Creme de Menthe. There's something so refreshing about Creme de Menthe in small quantities that no amount of extra mint and sugar can provide.  Stir.

Top off with the rest of crushed ice and a sprig of mint.

 Sip on the porch in front of fan, alternating with long draws on a cigar and y'all can make it.  I hope.**

**As of the time of posting, the author is on number two, but hopes that by number three the ball-tastically oppressive heat will be undetectable.