A Drop Here, A Swig There

I know I shall never be able to afford most of the wines, spirits and liquors that go into the creation of these exotic drinks—over 600 of them—but that doesn’t stop my mouth from watering as I gaze upon the evocative pictures of dragon fires, mississippi mules, between the sheets, kangaroo cocktails, kiss and tell—names conjured up by poetic bartenders such as Mr Patel, all redolent of happy hours spent on sunny balconies overlooking wide stretches of beach, or by the fireside in a dimly-lit, softly-cushioned room. The London School of Economics never produced a worthier graduate than barrister-bartender Bhaichand Patel. I have never been to one of his parties, but Khushwant Singh certifies that they are the best in town, and that is enough for me.

But let’s see if I can find a cocktail to suit my means. Blood-and-Sand sounds terrific. But it requires Scotch whisky, cherry brandy and sweet vermouth. Even if I could afford the Scotch, I doubt if I could find a bottle of vermouth north of New Delhi.

So what about a french twist? Bourbon, Cognac and Grand Marnier. Definitely not on. Strictly for the Bourbons.

And where exactly do you get a Maraschino cherry? It seems to be essential for a successful cocktail. We get wild cherries up here in Mussoorie, but they are strictly for the birds.

To be honest, I’m a rum drinker. It suits my pocket and my temperament. So let’s see if I can find a good rum cocktail to see me through the coming winter—or this evening, anyway.

More Cointreau, more Vermouth, more Maraschino cherries!

So why don’t I just stick to rum and soda? Because I want to be different. I want to be like Mr Patel.

And here it is, nice and simple. A havana cocktail!—45 ml light rum, 3 tbsp pineapple juice, 1/2 tsp lemon juice. That’s it. And I have all three.

My mother, a good rum-drinker, always told me to stop after two drinks. But of course I never listened to my mother. And so, having prepared my cocktail, I proceeded to down three glasses of the stuff.

Felt good. Decided to go down the road to Ganesh Saili’s place and help him prepare a couple of cocktails. He keeps a nice little bar. Might even have a Maraschino cherry.

Felt a little wobbly going down my steps. Do I have twenty-three steps or twenty-four to my rooms? Should have counted before. Missed the last one and trod on a couple of sleeping stray dogs. There was an immediate uprising, followed by a dog-fight. They attacked each other, not me.

Someone bumped into me. It was Meghnath, the night chowkidar. He wanted thirty rupees for a thaili. The country liquor shop sells their flavoured alcohol in plastic bags called thailis.

Feeling good after my cocktails, I gave him the needful and earned his blessings. Must try a thaili one of these days. With pineapple juice to soften it up a bit.

Arrived at Saili’s house, only to find the gate closed. They’d gone to a wedding feast. Wobbled home, stepped over the dogs, made it up the steps and into the kitchen. Not much rum in the bottle. I think I’d used 65 ml instead of 45 ml. Never mind. Here’s another simple recipe. A happy apple, it’s called. 45 ml golden rum, 6 tbsp apple juice, 1 tbsp lemon juice. Might as well add the rest of the pineapple juice too. Why waste it? Wish I had a Maraschino cherry.

Well, I took Mother’s advice and stopped after two. Had to, as the bottle was empty.

Sure to have a hangover in the morning, but right now I am as happy as an apple.