I’ve always been a little put off by barkeeps who call themselves mixologists. These days anyone can create to compensate for whatever insecurity attends their chosen profession. Cereologists, for instance. I don’t even want to tell you what they do. Look it up and you’ll see what I mean. ¶ But I have changed my tune vis-à-vis cocktail artists. ¶ A couple of months ago, my next-next-next-door neighbor, Cary, had an idea: Once a week, alternating weeks, one of us would make a drink based on a recipe from a book he’d just discovered called . The idea behind the book is pretty basic: delicious cocktails contrived with a single spirit, complemented with an array of stuff you might have around the kitchen or growing in the yard. Add a little simple syrup and voilà! Mixologist, c’est sort of moi. ¶ But the ingredients can get exotic. Fennel pollen, for instance. Green tomatoes, olive brine, cilantro stems—tofu? And when
