So, apparently, it’s springtime.
The snow is gone. We’ve switched over to daylight saving time. My road is a morass of muddy ruts. The air smells like fresh soil and stale dreams.
I like to think I’m jaded and world-weary, but I’m not immune to spring.
I’ve been giving my wife what passes for a saucy look. I’ve been practicing smiling knowingly and raising one eyebrow, which is much harder than it looks. Every time I think I’ve got it nailed, my wife will ask me if I’m feeling OK.
“What?” I ask. “Don’t I look sexy?”
“More like constipated,” she replies.
In my book, that must mean it’s Cocktail Time.
There are, of course, several cocktails that we associate with springtime — mint juleps, for instance, or creative hipster drinks infused with snap peas, or variations on summer drinks named after flowers, honeysuckle margaritas or hyacinth highballs, maybe.
Personally, I’ve been pretty fond of a Sunshine cocktail lately — a classic made with equal parts white rum, pineapple juice, dry vermouth and hope, with a small amount of grenadine for color and sweetness. It is bracing, not too sweet, and a lovely rosy-orange color. It is thoroughly delightful. And yet….
As much as I like a blisteringly cold Sunshine, as delicious as it is, it doesn’t taste very springish. The flavors all go together well, and it looks lovely and respectable, but it’s restrained and self-contained. It wears a tie and a vest and tips the staff generously but reasonably. It greets you with a firm handshake and asks after your family. It does not dash through the wildflowers, strewing rose petals and singing, “Hey, Nonny, Nonny,” on its way to meet a secret lover. It doesn’t demonstrate enough questionable judgment, in my opinion.
So let’s mess around with a classic cocktail that’s just minding its own business and not hurting anybody.
White rum is a good base for a drink. It doesn’t have a pronounced flavor, which makes it a good starting point for a cocktail that won’t offend anyone — vodka with a passport. (In fact, I made some dynamite banana-infused rum last week with white rum that would — but I digress.) Since we’re looking to put some backbone into our spring cocktail, let’s swap out the white rum for golden rum — not too dark — something caramel-colored that knows who it is. In this case, I’m using Rhum Clement, but anything golden will work.
I’m leaving the dry vermouth as is. It is a solid utility player that can support the rum.
Maybe the biggest change I’m going to make is swapping out the pineapple juice for passionfruit cocktail. We’ve talked about this before; you’ll find it in the juice aisle at the supermarket, probably just out of reach on the top shelf. It’s like pineapple juice, if PJ was perfumy and slightly dangerous-tasting.
Let’s replace the grenadine with homemade strawberry syrup. The strawberry goes well with the passionfruit cocktail and is a little more springy.
I’ll leave the hope as is.
Effulgence Cocktail
(I looked it up in a thesaurus, and it’s a synonym for sunshine. I like the sound of it.)
1½ ounces golden rum
1½ ounces dry vermouth
1½ ounces passionfruit cocktail
½ ounce homemade strawberry syrup (see below)
Combine all ingredients in a shaker half-filled with ice.
Strain into a chilled coupé glass.
Drink while making direct eye contact with a stranger.
This tastes similar to its cousin Sunshine, but with a few striking differences. The Effulgence’s golden rum is firmly in the driver’s seat. It lets you know who you’re dealing with, but it also lets you know that it is a professional and knows what it’s doing. The passionfruit adds a note of exotic devil-may-care vernality. The vermouth and the strawberry are background singers in this very nice spring-like mixed metaphor of a cocktail. Hey, nonny, nonny.
Strawberry syrup
• An undetermined quantity of frozen strawberries (Make as much or as little of this recipe as you like. The frozen berries will give up their juice more willingly than fresh ones; they’ve had their hearts broken by ice crystals.)
• An equal amount (by weight) of sugar
Heat berries and sugar in a small saucepan.
As the berries thaw and start to give up their juice, mash them with a potato masher.
Bring to a boil (to allow the sugar to dissolve completely), then remove from heat.
Cool, then strain into a small bottle and label.
Eat the remaining berry jam left in the strainer on toast or chocolate ice cream.
Featured photo: Effulgence Cocktail. Photo by John Fladd.