The housemates season just got to me, along with a few of my last cocktail du weekend du season, which I invented minutes before Unhappy Hour began. The words “beware of dog” were written all over my face. I’d had it with everyone but Dan – Jack Fogg and his ego, Sammy and his perfect little body, Phil Levine and all the fawning Asian geisha boys who’d passed through the house for the last four months… . I was sick of myself, too – the humiliating blend I’d become of one of the losers at open mic night at some comedy club: the Little Red Hen, Max the bartender and Shirley Booth as “Hazel.”
It was too breezy for the beach, but the deck was sunny and protected from the wind, so there they were, all lined up on chaises like Atlantis boys with body hair. (Question: Do you really have to wax everything off to go on an Atlantis cruise?)
My creation was simple: Absolut Pears with a little ginger liqueur mixed in. I added a touch of homemade ginger syrup, but it would be fine without it. But what would I call it?
As housemate after housemate trooped past wearing Speedos, in my half-inebriated state I became aroused, then angry. So I belligerently rejected all their naming suggestions, which were uniformly based on the suffix “tini.” This abomination drives me crazy. Just because a drink is vodka-based and destined for a classic cocktail glass does not mean it must be called, in this case for example, a Gingertini.
Then Jack Fogg brought up the rear (so to speak) and redeemed every snotty thing he ever said by violating my strict anti-tini law and dubbing the new ginger cocktail The TinaTini in honor of Tina Louise.
The TinaTinis tasted better and better the more of them I consumed. At the end of the main course, I made a little joke at Phil Levine’s expense: “And who would like a nice bowl of homemade ginge’ rice queen – I mean ginger ice cream!” There were giggles from Jack and Sammy, a glare from Dan, and a lawyerly, eye-to-eye stare-down from the victim of my petit bon mot, bulldog Phil.
“Why is my attraction to Asian men so hilarious to you?” he asked me point-blank. “Do you think it’s about girly-boy guys with 28-inch waists as if I’d really like 11-year-old white kids but make do with legal-age Asians or is it the old dick-size canard, ’cause I tell you what, you asshole, I’ve had Asian guys with dicks bigger than yours, lots, ha.”
“I’m slorry, Phil,” I squealed. “I guess I don’ know’nough’boudit.” I offered my hand in drunken friendship.
Did he really refuse to shake my hand? I let it sort of wave in the air, just like the late Queen Mum. I was in no shape for backtalk. “I’smorry again, Philip,” I managed to get out, “but now’s not the time for shoshiography – shoshilogy, I mean.” At which point, I am told, I leaned back in my chair and fell asleep.
1 oz. Absolut Pears
1 tablespoon Domaine de Canton ginger liqueur
ginger syrup to taste (optional)
For every ounce of Absolute Pears you pour into a shaker full of ice, add one tablespoon Domaine de Canton ginger liqueur and, if you have any, ginger syrup to taste. Shake. Serve.