T. Cole Newton - Cocktail Dive Bar: Real Drinks, Fake History, and Questionable Advice from New Orleans Twelve Mile Limit

Copyright 2021 by T. Cole Newton

Laura Sanders,

Heatwave! Poster,

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First Edition: May 2021

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Library of Congress Control Number: 2020951195

ISBNs: 978-0-7624-7292-5 (hardcover), 978-0-7624-7291-8 (ebook)

E3-20210402-JV-NF-ORI

RHYMES WITH AMELIA

1.5 oz sweet vermouth

.5 oz mezcal

.5 oz rye whiskey

.5 oz amaretto

.125 oz (1 bar spoon) pomegranate syrup

1 large pinch citric acid

Maraschino cherry, for garnish

Stir ingredients with ice, then strain and serve up in a coupe or Martini glass. Garnish with a cherry.

Notes: For my lovely wife, Lelia, who prefers hers with a little more mezcal.

My friends, I had not intended to discuss this controversial subject at this particular time. However, I want you to know that I do not shun controversy. On the contrary, I will take a stand on any issue at any time, regardless of how fraught with controversy it might be. You have asked me how I feel about whiskey. All right, here is how I feel about whiskey:

If when you say whiskey you mean the devils brew, the poison scourge, the bloody monster that defiles innocence, dethrones reason, destroys the home, creates misery and poverty, yea, literally takes the bread from the mouths of little children; if you mean the evil drink that topples the Christian man and woman from the pinnacle of righteous, gracious living into the bottomless pit of degradation, and despair, and shame, and helplessness, and hopelessness, then certainly I am against it.

But, if when you say whiskey, you mean the oil of conversation, the philosophic wine, the ale that is consumed when good fellows get together, that puts a song in their hearts and laughter on their lips, and the warm glow of contentment in their eyes; if you mean Christmas cheer; if you mean the stimulating drink that puts the spring in the old gentlemans step on a frosty, crispy morning; if you mean the drink that enables a man to magnify his joy and his happiness, and to forget, if only for a little while, lifes great tragedies, and heartaches, and sorrows; if you mean that drink, the sale of which pours into our treasuries untold millions of dollarswhich are used to provide tender care for our little crippled children, our blind, our deaf, our dumb, our pitiful aged and infirmto build highways and hospitals and schools, then certainly I am for it.

This is my stand. I will not retreat from it. I will not compromise.

Noah S. Soggy Sweat, then-retired Mississippi State Representative, 1952 (as related by cocktail writer and historian Elizabeth Pearce)