Cocktail of the day!
I have decided to post the recipe for a "zombie" in honor of reading Lefanu's "Schalken the Painter" today; courtesy of the fine people at Barnes and Noble who put out a charming little book on cocktails by Stuart Walton called The Bartender's Guide to COCKTAILS & MIXED DRINKS apparently needing to capitalize these final letters for the hard of thinking - as if somehow the little pictures of delicious alcoholic beverages were not enough of a clue to let you in on the fact that this book was not about, for example, rabbit breeding or Amish needlepoint.
In any case. "Schalken the Painter" is by far one of the coolest stories in the Gothic genre (especially because it is one of the few which features.... a zombie! *gasp*). Actually, it's rather odd how rarely the living dead appear in a gothic novel - ghosts, yes; vampires, yes; even werewolves, occasionally yes; but never zombies. This zombie, of course is not recognized in the tale in the way that you might expect:
"They had not so far lost all self-possession, however, as to fail to observe two stranger peculiarities of their visitor. During his stay his eyelids did not once close, or indeed move in the slightest degree; and farther, there was a deathlike stillness in his whole person, owing to the absence of the heaving motion of the chest, caused by the process of respiration. These two peculiarities, though when told they may appear trifling, produced a very striking and unpleasant effect when seen and observed" (187).
Now does it seem a little odd to anyone that meeting with someone who is NOT BLINKING OR BREATHING, you might classify that as a "trifling" peculiarity? It's these kinds of subtle stupidities that bring me back to the gothic again and again. "trifling", terrific! Could you be more bland? Victorian sensibilities are the darndest things.
This drink, however, is guaranteed to bring out an "arch-smile" in any white-clad-lantern-carrying-ghost-maidens you may have recently married off to non-breathing livid-hued patriarchs.
So without further ado.
Zombie
1 measure light rum
1/2 measure dark rum
1/2 measure white rum
1 measure orange curacao
1/4 measure Pernod
1 measure lemon juice
1 measure orange juice
1 measure pineapple juice
1/2 measure papaya juice
1/4 measure grenadine
1/2 measure orgeat (almond syrup)
1/4 measure overproof rum
"Blend all but the last ingredient with ice, and strain into an ice-packed highball glass. Sprinkle with overproof rum. Garnish with a slice of pineapple, a slice of lime and a mint sprig"
Apparently the idea is to serve this as a hangover cure (hence the name) - Personally I think that anyone who has all of the ingredients together to make this drink (including, you must remember, orgeat) really deserves more of a pat on the shoulder and a license to sleep in a few more hours. However, this is in keeping with my general fondness for rum including not one, but four different types - which makes it a taste treat for the angry pirate in anyone.
I have decided to post the recipe for a "zombie" in honor of reading Lefanu's "Schalken the Painter" today; courtesy of the fine people at Barnes and Noble who put out a charming little book on cocktails by Stuart Walton called The Bartender's Guide to COCKTAILS & MIXED DRINKS apparently needing to capitalize these final letters for the hard of thinking - as if somehow the little pictures of delicious alcoholic beverages were not enough of a clue to let you in on the fact that this book was not about, for example, rabbit breeding or Amish needlepoint.
In any case. "Schalken the Painter" is by far one of the coolest stories in the Gothic genre (especially because it is one of the few which features.... a zombie! *gasp*). Actually, it's rather odd how rarely the living dead appear in a gothic novel - ghosts, yes; vampires, yes; even werewolves, occasionally yes; but never zombies. This zombie, of course is not recognized in the tale in the way that you might expect:
"They had not so far lost all self-possession, however, as to fail to observe two stranger peculiarities of their visitor. During his stay his eyelids did not once close, or indeed move in the slightest degree; and farther, there was a deathlike stillness in his whole person, owing to the absence of the heaving motion of the chest, caused by the process of respiration. These two peculiarities, though when told they may appear trifling, produced a very striking and unpleasant effect when seen and observed" (187).
Now does it seem a little odd to anyone that meeting with someone who is NOT BLINKING OR BREATHING, you might classify that as a "trifling" peculiarity? It's these kinds of subtle stupidities that bring me back to the gothic again and again. "trifling", terrific! Could you be more bland? Victorian sensibilities are the darndest things.
This drink, however, is guaranteed to bring out an "arch-smile" in any white-clad-lantern-carrying-ghost-maidens you may have recently married off to non-breathing livid-hued patriarchs.
So without further ado.
Zombie
1 measure light rum
1/2 measure dark rum
1/2 measure white rum
1 measure orange curacao
1/4 measure Pernod
1 measure lemon juice
1 measure orange juice
1 measure pineapple juice
1/2 measure papaya juice
1/4 measure grenadine
1/2 measure orgeat (almond syrup)
1/4 measure overproof rum
"Blend all but the last ingredient with ice, and strain into an ice-packed highball glass. Sprinkle with overproof rum. Garnish with a slice of pineapple, a slice of lime and a mint sprig"
Apparently the idea is to serve this as a hangover cure (hence the name) - Personally I think that anyone who has all of the ingredients together to make this drink (including, you must remember, orgeat) really deserves more of a pat on the shoulder and a license to sleep in a few more hours. However, this is in keeping with my general fondness for rum including not one, but four different types - which makes it a taste treat for the angry pirate in anyone.
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