There were a few factors that culminated in this post:
- Sarah and I had cabin fever
- We could have fit a family of six in our extremely empty fridge
- The rum and tequila on our liquor cabinet had a passionate reproductive affair, meaning the number of bottles we owned had multiplied by about four. (It had nothing to do with the fact that I’m poor at prioritizing and went to the liquor store instead of the grocery store last weekend.)
Our solution was to throw a tea party.
It was supposed to be a classy affair with half-a-dozen guests. We invited them to try the variety of tea-based cocktails that we came up with, only, nobody showed up because it snowed 8-inches.
I’d recruited my friend and relative tea-expert, Adele, the night before, and with the three of us trapped inside, we decided we might as well carry through with the plans despite our lack of guests.
It would have made sense, in retrospect, to scale down the amount of liquor to match the reduced number of people, but this didn’t seem to cross anyone’s mind.
Adele sorted through boxes of tea while Sarah observed the overpopulation of our liquor cabinet. “I don’t even know what half of these are anymore.”
I nodded. “I don’t really either.”
She gave me a look that seemed to ask, then why did you buy them? I pretended not to notice.
“Why don’t we just try them all?” I suggested, already reaching for an armful of bottles. “We can’t make drinks if we don’t know what they taste like.”
Sarah looked first at the perpetual snowfall, then at the pile of mysterious flavors, and sighed. “Yeah, I guess we should.”
At around this time, we encountered an emergency: we ran out of toilet paper.
It was bound to happen with three tipsy women sharing one bathroom, but Adele and Sarah didn’t seem particularly alarmed. Perhaps their tranquility could be blamed on the cocktails, but more likely it was the enthralling visage of a dozen Riverdancers they’d pulled up on YouTube.
Adele stared forlornly into her matcha cocktail. “God,” she sighed. “It’s green. Like the Irish.”
“God,” Sarah sighed. “I love the Irish.”
“God,” I sighed. “I have to pee.”
That seemed to strike a chord in Sarah, who grabbed a sheet from the linen closet and two pairs of scissors. Adele and I proceeded to cut it into semi-reasonable sizes for our bathroom needs, but I quickly found the cloth snatched from my hands. I watched Adele wrap the bedraggled, wrinkled bed sheet around her waist and twirl about the room. Her eyes grew misty.
“I used to dream,” she said, “of being a Riverdancer.”
Sarah stood up then, and looking at the disjointed, limbless flailing of Adele, she confessed, “I also wanted to Riverdance.”
I tried to retrieve our makeshift toilet paper from them, but I found myself drowned out by folk music.
I tried to listen to Adele’s story, I really did. She’s full of crazy ones, and they’re all entertaining. I just kept getting distracted.
“… so this girl tried to light the entire mattress on fire because, like, she was drunk, and that seems like the logical thing to do to a mattress that’s covered in blood…”
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“…the knife into the wall since there weren’t any beers in the trunk of his car, but then he wound up drinking the windshield fluid, and, like…”
“…so they ended up being cousins! But the craziest part is that while she was dangling from the ladder, the cat was actually the one that called their uncle…”
“…What are you staring at?”
I sat up a little straighter. “What?”
“What are you staring at?”
Against my will, my eyes drifted downward once again. “Nothing,” I said, clearly disconcerted. “It’s just that your boobs are humongous.”
She looked down. “I guess so.”
“Like, a lot. Really big.”
“I just – it’s just that – ugh. I’m just worried.”
“They’re just so,” I struggled for words, “they’re just so huge. Are they going to be okay like that, just sitting there all humongous and stuff?”
“I think so. They’ve been okay so far.”
“You’re sure? I can’t get them anything?”
Adele looked down at her chest. “I think they need to smoke.”
“Do they have cigarettes?”
“I can get them. They’re in my car,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
Sarah and I watched her from the window as she trudged through the freezing rain to retrieve her cigarettes. She opened the car door, shut it immediately, and paused, seeming to realize something.
“What’s she doing?” Sarah wondered out loud. We both waited for her to move, but she stood perfectly still staring at her car in the darkness. A plow passed, splashing her in dirty street water, but she didn’t appear to notice. Adele’s thoughts swam slowly to her brain as if through high-viscosity:
- Car has snow
- Car should not have snow
- What do?
Calmly, in the dark and through the relentless snow, Adele began to wipe off her windshield. She came back an hour later without the cigarettes.
Sarah had reverted to business mode, but impeded by her drunkenness, her usual perfectionism became more of a handicap than a benefit. No matter how well something turns out, she can’t leave it alone while inebriated.
“This drink needs something,” she said.
I tasted it. “I think it’s good. It tastes like Japanese pickled plums, you know? Kind of fits the theme.”
“No, no. It needs something.”
“Okay,” I allowed, “like what?”
She tasted the drink again, put it down, tasted it, put it down, tasted it, put it down.
“Lemons,” she declared.
“We don’t have any more lemons,” Adele reminded her. “We used them all.”
This seemed to upset her, but only momentarily. A very, very dim light went on over her head. “But we just washed all the glasses that had the lemon juice.”
“We could just use the dishwater!”
“I have a feeling,” Adele said thoughtfully, “that would be a bad idea.”
Adele turned this over in her mind with a hauntingly serious look, staring over Sarah’s shoulder, past the living room wall, through the snow flurried wind, and into the abyss of some distant area in her consciousness where the shattered pieces of her good judgment lay. “I’m not sure anymore,” she whispered.
The room gained legs.
No, no. That wasn’t right.
The room legs had. Gained them. No. Wait. Ceiling spin room had move gain –
Sarah poked me. “Hey.”
“Are you going to throw up?”
No! Throw toilet goes room in spin!
“Ah!” I said.
“Yeah. I’m going to get you a bag.”
“No! Bag! No!”
Sarah got me the bag.
I threw up in it.
“Oh God,” I gurgled, emptying my stomach as Sarah kindly rubbed my back.
When it was all said and done, she put the bag in the trash and stared at it with narrowed eyes.
“You know,” she said, “this is kind of pretty.”
Adele stumbled over and cocked her head. “Huh. You’re right.”
“Yeah, it is. It sort of looks like abstract art.”
“Yeah, it does.”
They looked at each other, then at me.
“When did she eat glitter?”
Chocolate Matcha Cocktail
Somehow through the misadventures, we did manage to create some tasty cocktails. We’ve picked a few and will post the recipes throughout the week (minus the dishwater.)
For those that have never had this combination, trust me on this one: green tea and chocolate go together like peanut butter and jelly. You won’t be disappointed.
- 1 tsp. matcha powder
- For those that don’t know, matcha powder is finely powdered green tea. You can get it at any specialty tea store, or any Asian grocery.
- 1 oz. creme de cacao or other chocolate liqueur
- 2 oz. cream or half-and-half
How to Put This in Your Mouth:
- Rim a glass with a mixture of 75% sugar and 25% matcha powder.
- Add ice, creme de cacao, cream, and matcha powder to a cocktail shaker.
- Shake vigorously. Like, “Shake Weight” vigorously.
- Strain into the rimmed glass.
- Drink, enjoy, and if anyone asks, you can tell them you’re drinking a health-conscious green tea latte.
Photography by Sarah Alice Photography (sarahalice.net)