We’re in the dog days of the COVID-19 summer. A shutdown that had been advertised as lasting just long enough to “flatten the curve” of hospitalizations has become a monthslong semi-societal quarantine.
Here in Washington, our lockdown continues, with tweaks that make the whole enterprise look ridiculous. For example, there are exemptions, among them that one can forgo the masks if “actually eating, drinking, or legally smoking.” Is there any epidemiological reason to allow blowing smoke on the sidewalk when plain old naked inhalation and exhalation is considered a threat to public safety? Perhaps the powers that be contemplated the social unrest that would come of a city full of cigarette fiends all going cold turkey at once and decided epidemiology be damned.
That said, there are worse things than to be homebound in August. It’s positively Parisian to have the end of the summer off. But to do it in proper French fashion, there would be none of this vulgar working at home business that we’ve all become accustomed to. In fact, we wouldn’t be home at all. We would be in some lavender-scented hill town in Provence — Bonnieux or Lacoste would do very nicely, thank you very much.
For a little flavor of such a getaway, there are lovely dry rosés from Provence, of course. A chilled glass of Chateau de la Clapiere brings on memories of lingering crepuscule at the sidewalk cafes of St. Remy.
Wine is not the only way to get in a restorative French vacation mood in this summer of the coronavirus. Nor are even the obvious spirits — cognac, Armagnac, Calvados — all of which I find more fall-friendly than summery. No, looking to turn my back porch into a little faux France, I went looking for the ingredients of that most French of cafe cocktails, the vermouth cassis.
As you might surmise, the key ingredients in a vermouth cassis are French (also called dry) vermouth and creme de cassis. Whether you add some fizzy water is up to you. I went to make myself one of these perfect summer aperitifs a few weeks ago and found to my dismay that I was out of creme de cassis. I had used up my last bottle of that deep purple liqueur in making Chimayo cocktails back in March.
So, what to do? The liquor store nearest my house requires online ordering and curbside pickup, which is all well and good, except they need 72 hours to fill any request. And the more accommodating shop a little farther away was already closed for the day. It was the sort of trivial annoyance we’ve all gotten used to in the age of COVID-19. And so I did what so many of us have learned to do in the face of the contagion and its unexpected consequences: I improvised.
My goal was to come up with something purplish and refreshing, something original that evoked a vermouth cassis, and (perhaps most importantly), something made from nothing more than what I had in the fridge, the cupboard, and the liquor cabinet.
I had lemons handy and started by squeezing the juice from half of one into a shaker. To balance the tart citrus and mimic cassis, I employed a versatile cocktail trick: I put in a spoonful of deep purple berry jam. Some whiskey and ice, and the shaker was ready for shaking. I did a lot of shaking, not so much to make the drink cold as to blend the jam with the liquids.
I strained it into a tall glass with ice and topped it with club soda. I found that it was good enough to make again. But that meant it would need a name. It was opening day for the Nationals, and while concocting my cocktail, I had witnessed an atrocity, one that provided the timely name the drink needed: The Fauci first-pitch fizz(le).
Eric Felten is the James Beard Award-winning author of How’s Your Drink?
