I am not a winter person. I’m not. I hate it. Worse: I‘m one of those people who constantly reminds everyone around them that I hate winter and think it’s awful. If you are among the thousands of people I have accosted with my rantings against, of all things (really, of all things), weather, I apologize. I will do it again, and soon, but I am sorry for having done it. It is regrettable.
I hate winter for so many reasons: all of the reasons. It’s dark all the time. It’s cold. It’s damned treacherous on occasion. We’ve had three blizzards up here this winter and it’s only the middle of January. The snow. Oh God, how I hate snow. It combines two of my least favorite things: cold and wet. You might think it’s pretty, and, really, it’s not bad to look at. But snow is like that girl at the bar, the ridiculously attractive girl with the glasses, who comes in and orders the same thing you’re drinking and puts great music on the jukebox. She’s great. But she’s going to be a ton of work and you’re going to get tired of her within weeks if not days. Fuck her. And fuck snow.
I’m on my third snow day of the year today. It’s actually the third of the last two weeks. Most of my co-workers, and no doubt all of the kids, were pretty ecstatic at this development. Snow days mean — when they cancel school the day before, as they did yesterday — sleeping in, and drinking heavily beforehand. Snow days also offer a quiet respite from the drudgery and din of work, screaming and arguing and running around replaced by lazily sipping at coffee while curled up on the couch engrossed in a good book. And snow days also mean a run on bread and milk and eggs at every grocery store. A local news blog called Universal Hub ushers in storms by whipping out their French Toast Alert system, a mix between your local television station’s StormCenter or whatever and Homeland Security’s color-coded Threat Level System. When the flakes start falling and families are going to be snowbound, it’s time for French Toast.
I’m not like most people, so I don’t do French toast. There’s no booze in it, so I don’t particularly look forward to it, though I suppose you could put a little rum in the batter, which might not be too bad. Also, I’m a bacon guy (but who isn’t? Unless you’re a bacon lady, obvs.). That said, I do feel like I need to have some kind of snow day tradition, so I thought about it for a while. A hot toddy just seemed too obvious. The Blue Blazer and all that stuff, though fun to watch and easy to drink (who doesn’t love on-fire scotch? You don’t? Fuck you.), is just a little too gimmicky. Hot buttered Rum is a bit to fey for me; also, would mean drinking butter and rum. Irish coffee is coffee. So, I kept thinking until I came up with the perfect drink, even though it’s not a winter drink at all. I figured that since I love the whole French Toast Alert thing, because it seems so ridiculous to me, that I should include either French or Toast in it. There are no drinks with toast in them, and thank God for that. So, I went with French.
And I chose the French 75, which is not generally my kind of drink, even though it combines two of my favorite boozes: gin and champagne. It’s the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup of drinking (“You got gin in my champagne!” “You got champagne in my gin!”), only even tastier and a hundred times classier. Whoever did this is a genius, because, let’s face it, you’re not having one. You’re just not, so don’t even go into it thinking like that. You’ll only disappoint yourself as you go through the entire champagne bottle, which, again, you will. You will also have a raging hangover, but you will have earned it and not regret the small animal on the treadmill in your brain. The French 75 hangover is one you cherish, one you do not look back on ruefully, but with tender memories.
Also, use good gin and crappy champagne. Not Andre crappy, because you want to enjoy it, but don’t break out the Dom Perignon either. A good 20 or 30 dollar bottle will get the job done just fine. I use Hendrick’s gin and Veuve Cliquot, because, well, because that’s the gin I drink and the champagne I drink, and once I find something I like, I tend to stick with it until someone introduces me to something better (this might explain why I persisted in watching The Office until someone alerted me to the presence of Parks and Rec, and then I was all, great my fake-documentary style sitcom needs are taken care of!). Anyway, the important thing is that you have gin and champagne and you put them into a glass. And then you drink it.
The French 75 is alarmingly simple. Because it’s classy though, it prefers to be called elegant rather than simple. All you need, as I’ve mentioned several times, because it bear repeating on account of awesomeness, is gin and champagne. Gin, champagne and lemon, really. Gin, champagne, lemon and a flute glass. And a little bit of sugar. It’s really elegant. Get your shaker out and pour half a glass of champagne in there, adding a spoonful of sugar, a couple shots of gin and some lemon juice. BUT! Do not use one of those garbage plastic lemons for your lemon juice! Please! On so many levels, that is a terrible thing to do, not just in this drink, but ever. Seriously: don’t use the fucking plastic lemon. Use a real lemon. It’s not difficult. You cut the fucking thing in half and squeeze it. End of story. But, like, really. Don’t use the plastic lemon. Also, you need a real lemon because you are going to cut a long thin strip of the peel, coil it and let it hang over the rim of the glass (ELEGANCE!).
So, slowly stir the gin, champagne, sugar and lemon juice. Pour it into the flute. Add your lemon peel. It’s now a French 75 and you can drink it. It’s ready. Enjoy it. You will. Look out the window at the freshly fallen snow. Sip. Pick up a good book because there’s nothing on TV in the middle of the afternoon. Sip. Gaze longingly from the glass to the window. Sigh. Sip. Put off shoveling a little longer. Finish the drink and make another one. You know how to do it now. You just did it. It’s easy. And elegant. You’re now having the most elegant snow day ever. You’re welcome.
Cheers.
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