With a solemn tip of the hat to our fishy friends who are being ravaged by winter weather today (while the sun is out here in the South Sound for the second day in a row, what the hell?), I’ve stumbled across a bit of advice that might be helpful in warding off those winter blues.
Head to the tropics.
If you can’t do it literally, and let’s face it, most of us simply find travel of that order well beyond the realm of short-notice potential these days, then at least take half an hour away from life’s cold, snow-covered actuality and travel in your mind’s eye.
I’ve found myself reading a bit of AE Hotchner’s Papa Hemingway again of late, and noted, among several interesting themes that AE chronicled during the 1948-1961 timeframe the book covers, the impressive array of beverages the Great One enjoyed.
One of which was Scotch whisky and lime juice.
Digging around a bit further, Hemingway’s Scotch and Lime interest has been well documented in several places, including this interesting tidbit from Esquire’s cocktail historian, who writes this after labeling EH a dedicated social drinker –
Okay, very dedicated. Paging through his friend/facilitator A.E. Hotchner’s memoir of all the times he spent with Hemingway from 1948 until a couple of weeks before Papa pulled the plug in 1961, the reader with a mixological bent notes the following drinks consumed by the great one: champagne, Sancerre, Valpolicella — all sorts of wine — plus cognac, calvados, byrrh (that’s a French apéritif), buckets of daiquiris when in Cuba, the occasional martini and Bloody Mary when not, lots of Scotch (with and without lime), maybe a spot of tequila or vodka the morning after, and once even a little Spanish absinthe for old-times’ sake. Despite all that, he kept it more or less under control, and — what was that? Yeah, we said Scotch with lime. Scotch whisky and lime juice, that’s right. Well, now that you mention it, we thought it sounded kinda weird, too. Give us a minute?
We’re back. You know, it’s not half bad. If you get the proportions right, the lime juice cuts the barley-sweetness of the Scotch (blended, please) without washing out the smokiness. Refreshing. If we had to guess as to the origins of this simple variation on the Whiskey Sour, we’d guess Papa Hemingway himself. He liked his drinks dry (he took his daiquiris practically unsweetened), he spent a lot of time in Cuba, where limes are abundant, and he drank a lot of Scotch.
‘Nuff said. See you on the beach later today.
3 ounces blended Scotch whisky
1/2 ounce lime juice
2 ice cubes
Add to an Old Fashioned glass: 2 ice cubes, the whisky and finally the lime juice. Stir well.
Enjoy.
