I've been dragging my feet about a proposed post about Spoon, because I just haven't been able to come up with a good cocktail for them. I tinkered around with some grapefruit vodka, pineapple juice, and Cointreau, but it just wasn't quite right. I wanted something sweet but a little astringent, something well-crafted but seemingly effortless. Then I had some people over for dinner and they drank up all the vodka. I haven't bought any more because sometimes cocktail experimentation seems like an inherently bad idea (even though oddly, at other times, it seems like a flash of brilliance).
So Spoon's alcoholic tribute has foundered. When I went to see them at the NorVa, my biggest fear was that I'd be the oldest person there. I wasn't. Not by a long shot (thank god). This was reinforced later when I went to see the B-52s, where I was, on average, a good ten years younger than most of the audience and musicians onstage. Now, these people were seriously old (again, thank god). I'd forgotten that in my youth, New Wave-y worship of the B-52's was practiced by the cool, older crowd I knew. I'd also forgotten until I heard "Planet Claire" live that I had a very annoying older boyfriend who'd spent a summer in Athens, GA, and endlessly tried to impress me with his sophistication, spiky hair, and tales of underground insiderness. But didn't we all? Sometimes it really is better to just forget.
Here's a link to a more recent performance.
Kind of bittersweet, you know? I really wanted to be at a live B-52's show in the eighties (early eighties), but instead I didn't make until last month--a couple of decades late. Fortunately, the band played a truly amazing version of "Love Shack" (who knew I liked that song?) that almost made up for the crippling nostalgia I was experiencing. Later, I realized it would have helped me, when the regret and long-suppressed pettiness surfaced, to have quickly applied a cocktail I drank a lot of in those days: the Kamikaze.
Oh! The Kamikaze! Precursor of today's crazy-tini's, it was a tart drink made to be swallowed in a gulp and then swallowed again. Once I drank so many, I had to cruise home slowly through the alleys, gently bumping into super cans along the way. Today though, it actually makes a lovely sipping drink, either fancied up in a martini glass or on the rocks. It's not as lethal as we all thought--or I should say, no more lethal than a Cosmo--if we refrain from drinking it in traditional, serial fashion. And we're not going to do that anymore, now are we?
Shake with ice and either strain into a martini glass, pony glass, big shot glass, or serve it the responsible way, over ice, to be sipped slowly. Maybe where you can mutter to yourself about kids today. Serves one.