Just for the record, Soulmates, I was going to write about disgusting retro recipes this post, recipes that, for the most part, and for reasons known only to the denizens of the mid-20th century recipe makers, seem to include a preponderance of Jell-o and/or canned vegetables. But it being the week after Valentine's Day, my thoughts are still on hearts, not heartburn. IN keeping with what has apparently become my personal tradition, Valentine's Day did not go particularly well again this year. While not quite as bad or as bloody as the infamous Valentine's Day Massacre, last Tuesday wasn't exactly Cupid's greatest moment, either. Hearts and flowers? Try hearts and duct tape. As in there ain't a roll of it big enough to cover the cracks in my battered ticker. But that's another story. You can probably find it on the Lifetime Movie Channel. In fact, most of the last few years of my life can probably be found there. At this point, I'm beginning to think that I should be receiving royalties.
Which leads us to the actual topic of this post. Pink Squirrel cocktails. If you've never imbibed one of these frothy, pastel-colored, retro wonders in a glass, you're missing out on one of the best reasons to have been a barfly in the 50's and early 60's. One sip, and you're Lana Turner in a slinky black dress sitting on a barstool in the Boom Boom Room. If music is the food of love, pink squirrels are the salve of the lovelorn. To drink one is to be transported back to an age of gentlemen, glamour, and sultry saxophone music in darkened bars on dim-lit back streets in a film noir world. Two or more sips, and you're likely to start spouting lines from Raymond Chandler novels.
"So, what's a nice girl like you doing out on the town all by yourself?"
"Painting it red. I'm starting with pink and working my way up."
"You have a boyfriend?"
"No, just a hole where my heart used to be. Just as well. The beating sound was annoying me anyway. Now I can at least concentrate on my reading."
"What are you reading?"
"The Lorena Bobbitt Story."
The problem with pink squirrels is that it's damned hard to find a bartender who can make a good one, or even one at all, unless you live in a place like New York City or some other teeming metropolis. You can try your luck, but chances are, the bartender will either not know how to make one, or the bar won't even have the right ingredients on hand. Face it, pink squirrels are a retro concoction, a drink of the past, a fading star on a stage crowded with tacky starlets with names like "Sex Bomb" and "Fuzzy Navel." But if you can get one, you'll be a better person for it. Or a more appreciative drinker, at any rate. Will the consumption of a Pink Squirrel take away your heartache? Doubtful. But look at it this way. If you're going to be sitting in a bar with a broken heart, you might as well look as classy in the midst of your despair.
"You're a beautiful woman, you know that? What's your secret?"
"Salt baths."
"You take salt baths?"
"No, I cry salt tears. See this pink squirrel? It's my chaser."
Well, that's it for this post, Soulmates. Don't be a stranger. And remember...if someone offers you food followed by the statement "I'm just going to throw it out anyway", just step aside and give them a clear shot at the trash can. You'll sleep better for it. Til next time. xoxoxxoxoxoxxo
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