I’d made a nice little pyramid of beer cans on the table, three-stories high and built on a landscape of unfinished statistics homework, and I could only barely see my roommate’s face behind this towering tribute to underachievement. She sat stooped over some thank you cards, signing letters and ambitiously trying to destroy the remnants of her fingernails.
She looked up suddenly. We made eye contact through the hole where I’d Jenga-d a can from the pyramid.
“What’s our address again?”
“It’s 703 –“
“The zip code,” she interrupted, rapidly tapping her pen against the table. “What is it again? It’s 32098 –“
“You mean, 208 –”
“30598 – no, wait – 23508 – 03058 – 32593 –“
It sounded like a Satanic liturgy.
“Oh, right. Thanks.”
Tap-tap-tap. Scribble. Nail-biting.
Some people might find it annoying, but we’d long ago realized my immunity to her neurotic tendencies. I call it liquid armor. (She calls it alcoholism).
“Hey,” she looked up again, “can I read this to you?”
“I had such a great time with your family last Saturday. I hope you two – wait,” her eyes narrowed fractionally. “Two, right? T – w – o? T – w – o, t –w –o, t –“
“You got it.”
Eventually, she finished her stack of letters and moved on to scrolling through her phone. Ten minutes passed. I spent that time lamenting the distance between the table and the fridge.
I reluctantly withdrew from my reverie. “What?”
“We should start a food blog.”
That sounded even harder than standing up.
“That seems like a lot of effort.”
“What if I make everything, and you just try it?”
“But I’m not hungry.”
“Then I’ll make you a drink.”
I looked at my dwindling supply of beer, and ever the optimist, turned to her hopefully. “Will you make me several drinks?”
“If you tell me which one is the best one, then sure.”
“And will you make it pink?”
“What are you – oh! You mean for Valentine’s Day?”
That isn’t what I meant. I’d just caught a My Little Pony marathon on the TV earlier that morning, but in any case, that’s how we ended up with this.
Don’t be fooled. For being such an emasculating drink, this one had me face down and doubled-over pretty quickly. It tastes like Valentine’s Day in a nutshell: it’s addictingly sweet, has a flavor like cherries covered in creamy chocolate, and it may result in some premature confessions of love. (It probably didn’t help that the cocktail glass is actually the size of my face.)
Poppin’ Chocolate Covered Cherry Martini
To put this in your mouth:
1 oz. Chambord
1 oz. Creme de cacao or other chocolate liqueur
1/2 oz. Grenadine
2 oz. Cream
Rim a cocktail glass with pink or red sprinkles. Combine all ingredients in a shaker with ice, shake until chilled, and strain over the cocktail glass.