I understand that not everyone keeps their hammer in their kitchen to facilitate the production of mojitos and manhattans, but more people should.
Except the people who live directly above me, that is.
It is a fact universally acknowledged that a single woman in possession of an uncracked bottle of fine Havana Club Anejo Blanco rum must be in search of a mojito.
Which is where the hammer comes in.
Please don’t labour under the misapprehension that all Communist symbols are dour, utilitarian objects. No, indeedy. Why, ask any druid about the many, merry uses of the sickle. And we here at the ol’ raincoaster blog have our own uses for the hammer which include, as stated above, solidarity exercises with our Cuban Comrades.
So…the hammer is under the sink and all is well with the world. To make a mojito I take the hammer out, take two plastic bags, dump an ice-cube tray’s worth of, yes, ice cubes, into the double-bagged apparatus, and proceed to smash the hell out of it against the concrete floor of the apartment. Since it used to be a parking garage, I figure it can handle the abuse, and since there’s nothing downstairs but a few Acuras and Kias, I figure nobody is going to whine to the manager. And the ice gets nicely crushed and the cocktails get nicely made.
I actually have an official ice crusher, but since it’s a retro-Seventies model made out of cheap plastic and tin, it doesn’t function except as a visual reminder of the heyday of Playboy. So I keep it in the box next to the dusty Margarita glasses (I haven’t been able to afford tequila since the great Agave Plague of 2004).
Coming next week: where the electric drill comes into it…
I have 5 words for you…
“Jose Cuervo Golden Margarita Mix”
just add ice, blend if you want, salt the rim and……..
you dont need a hammer to get hammered!
(the downside is that each glass contains 142,563 calories
You know, I could live with that. The problem is, I’m a booze snob. For me it’s Sauza Commemorativo at $49 a bottle or nothing. But who knows? After three Margarita-free years, I may break down and try it.
BTW the best Margarita I ever had was at Chez Jay’s in Santa Monica on the Venice border, back on the Superbowl day that will live in infamy because of Janet Jackson’s “wardrobe malfunction”. They shut the kitchen down and gave away free hot dogs, chips and salsa, so it was the least I could do to order something boozy and expensive. My two friends ordered diet cokes, I ordered a Sauza Commemorativo Margarita on the rocks, with salt, and the waiter said, “Well at least YOU’RE fun!”
I prefer a Warren Oates maragarita, where you swig the tequila, throw the lime and salt across the room in a drunken rage, and go find the head of Alfredo Garcia . . . .
Ya know, I’ve always thought Pasta Alfredo should be red, but it never is. Disappointing.