Tequila Mockingbird (6 page)

O
h, Virginia. So smart. So sad. So . . . specific. According to our gray Woolf, a woman needs “money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.” (She says nothing of
non
fiction, so apparently you can be broke and living with three other girls in a studio apartment if you're going the journalistic route.) We couldn't agree more with Ginny's recipe for storytelling success, though we'd add another thing to the list: a nice warm cocktail. Prepare the following bevvy on a writerly, wintery night. Who needs a man around with a drink this hot?

½ tablespoon salted butter, at room temperature

1 teaspoon light brown sugar

¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon

2 ounces dark rum

Place the butter, sugar, and cinnamon at the bottom of a mug and mix well with a metal spoon. Pour in the rum and fill to the top with hot water, then stir. And now? A long walk by the creek. No stone-collecting allowed.

A
ll one-hit wonders should hit so hard! Harper Lee's only novel is the oft-taught tale told by little Scout Finch, watching her Alabama town rally behind a lying drunk's lying daughter, who's up and accused an innocent African-American man of taking advantage of her. Lucky for Scout—who watches from a courtroom balcony as her lawyer father defends the man—she's got levelheaded pals by her side, including Dill, who is famously modeled after Truman Capote. After a conclusion that leaves you both hopeful and haunted, toast to a sometimes sour justice system with a tequila shot that's guilty of packing a dill pickle punch.

1½ ounces tequila

2 drops hot sauce

1 dill pickle

Pour the tequila into a shot glass, add the hot sauce, and slam that bad boy back before chasing with a big chomp of pickle. No tears allowed here: if you can't stand the heat, get out of the South.

N
ot recommended for our readers dwelling in studio apartments: Gilman's classic feminist short story traces one woman's descent into madness, locked in a bedroom by her physician husband as a cure for her vague hysterics. (See? Even in the 1800s, guys were writing girls off as crazy.) The hubby's plan backfires when the wifey grows nuttier and nuttier, becoming convinced that her makeshift prison cell's yellow wallpaper has somehow trapped other women within. We go bonkers for a recipe that's lasted the ages: bright as a yellow sun and sure to get you out of bed.

1½ ounces vodka

4 ounces orange juice

½ ounce Galliano liqueur

Combine the vodka and orange juice over ice in a highball glass. Give it a stir. Pour the Galliano on top, letting it stay just barely afloat—sort of like your sanity after one (or more) of these.

C
zech writer Kundera sets up this Communist-era classic with an open question about the paralyzing ramifications of our seemingly inconsequential everyday decisions. (Something tells us he didn't get invited to a lot of cocktail parties.) Kundera goes on to introduce a horndog surgeon with an impressive mistress-to-marriage ratio, but don't get too turned on! In the end, everybody ends up either dead or dejected, and you might be left questioning what your life would've looked like had you never picked up this meditation on politics and sex. Modify your mood with Prague's favorite spirit, at least for tourists. This quenching gulp goes down so much lighter than its namesake book that you'll be running to the bathroom after a few serious slurps.

3½ ounces pineapple juice

1 ounce absinthe

Lemon wheel, for garnish

Combine the ingredients over crushed ice in a rocks glass and garnish with the lemon wheel. Go soft pouring the (highly alcoholic) absinthe, lest you wake up contemplating where the hell you are.

M
ove over, wizards. Make room, vampires. For many of us, Margaret was the original YA superstar, even if her epic battles were of the religion-and-puberty kind. (Actually,
especially
because of that.) Point is, Margaret showed us how to face all of life's big ol' quandaries, from God to boys to bra size. Ninety bucks says when Maggie got to college, she faced an even headier question: how the hell do you make a margarita without a blender? (Hint: on the rocks, kid.) Don't worry, Madges of the world, we've got your back. We'll even hold your hair when you've had one too many.

Coarse salt, for cocktail rim (
page 7
)

1½ ounces tequila

1 ounce lime juice

½ ounce triple sec

1 lime wedge, for garnish (optional)

Rim a Solo cup in coarse salt and set aside. Dump all your feelings—er,
ingredients
—into a shaker with ice. Shake well and strain over fresh ice into the salted Solo cup. Or, if you're feeling classy, strain into a cocktail glass and garnish with a lime wedge. This is in Judy Blume's honor, after all.

O
n a rolling country estate—the kind that always wins set designers their fifth Oscar—things are getting spooky for the new governess. In prolific author Henry James's novella, ghosts are after the new hire's charges, and she's determined to keep the tykes safe. Trouble is, nobody else seems to
see
these tricky apparitions, and more than a century after publication, even literary scholars are still scratching their heads: was the governess a lunatic, or was this a real haunted house? A true classic holds up to different interpretations, and we offer two ways into the Screwdriver—giving you twice the opportunity to check for ghosts in the bar.

Theory 1: She's perfectly levelheaded.

4 ounces orange juice

2 ounces vodka

Theory 2: She's batshit nuts.

4 ounces sparkling orange soda (like Orangina)

2 ounces vanilla vodka

For either variation, pour the ingredients over ice in a highball glass. If drinking alone, this may be better enjoyed in a plastic tumbler—just in case someone (or something) sneaks up behind you.

Belly up to the bookcase, boys. It's time to brush up on the basics with a trip back down Hemingway lane. The following top-shelf gentlemen's classics are a diverse lot, starring soldiers, spies, and a
ton
of sailors. No, seriously: half of all literary masterpieces feature a fisherman with a grudge. And speaking of demons: ever notice how many famous male authors picked up the bottle as often as the pen? (We're looking at you, Faulkner. Step away from the gin, Fitzgerald.) Best to take these drinks one at a time, then. They deserve to be lingered over, just like your favorite novel.

W
hen the lead character compares himself
favorably
to Napoleon, you turn off the laugh track on page one. New readers of
Crime and Punishment
—the tortured tale of a man who feels destined to murder a pawnbroker and then redistribute the wealth—might think they're tuning in for a literary
Law & Order
. Those readers are wrong. Crime? Sure! But punishment? Forget primetime courtroom scenes, because the only punishment here is the murderer's life sentence of guilt. Pair Russia's homeland brew—vodka, baby!—with just enough caffeine to give you the shakes. The mint should calm your nerves before you do anything
too
crazy.

1½ ounces vodka

½ ounce coffee liqueur

½ ounce crème de menthe liqueur

Light cream, to fill

Pour the vodka and liqueurs over ice in a rocks glass. Fill to the top with light cream—or heavy. Hey, you only live once.

D
on't worry, we're not gonna get all moralist on your ass (you're thinking of
The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire
, six volumes through which you dutifully texted). No, this is the breezily English satire
Decline and Fall
, Evelyn Waugh's delicious take on university life. Meet Paul Pennyfeather: booted out of Oxford for streaking through campus (like you haven't done worse), Pennyfeather ends up as the head of a boys' school in Wales, where he becomes engaged to a wealthy sugar mommy—whose cash secretly comes from the South American brothel industry. Get lost in your own Peruvian bordello with help from pisco, a South American grape brandy that pairs fast and fun with standard cola.