Tequila Mockingbird (9 page)

F
riends, Romans, upperclassmen: with pals like this, who needs enemies? Shakespeare's
Julius Caesar
reads like a luxuriantly extended definition of the word “backstabber,” as the title character's rise in power inspires those closest to him to plot his assassination. Though Caesar gets top billing, he actually appears in only a handful of scenes; the real star here is Marcus Brutus, proving that sometimes a secondary player can walk away with the show. Sneak a little mother's milk into an old-fashioned breakfast recipe—and trust us (no, really, you can trust us), the result is pretty killer.

3 ounces orange juice

2 ounces milk

1½ ounces light rum

1 teaspoon granulated sugar

¼ teaspoon vanilla

Have your closest frenemy load all the ingredients, plus a handful of ice, into your blender. Only
after
he removes his fingers, get whirring. Serve in a Collins glass.

Y
ou'll
need
a drink for this one, a clench-jawed war classic that follows one Robert Jordan, an American abroad during the Spanish Civil War, and part of a daring underground mission to destroy an enemy's bridge. With a reporter's unflinching eye for the miseries of battle, Hemingway tells much of the novel in an English idiom that feels directly translated from Spanish, with a distractingly choppy narrative that's worth the slog (lest you miss the earth-moving sex scene midway through). You'll be a prisoner of
more
to our cocktail, featuring Spain's own sherry. Serve the result and you'll be building more bridges than you burn.

2 ounces sherry

1 ounce sweet vermouth

Dash of Peychaud's bitters

Combine the sherry and sweet vermouth over ice in a rocks glass. Stir well and add the bitters. Serve to a longtime rival as a peace offering—and offer to take the first “poison control” sip.

D
ude writes like a lady! Penned under the name “George Eliot,” Mary Ann Evan's
Silas Marner
is the tale of a man wronged by his church—closely mirroring the author's own disenchantment with religion. It's only after Marner loses his gold fortune (only
after
he's forced to leave town under false accusations of stealing from his congregation's coffers) that he discovers his true idea of wealth: becoming a father. Hailed as a clever critique of organized worship and industrialized England,
Silas Marner
inspires a drink that's a little bitter and a little gold-flecked—sort of like a man's own life.

1 ounce Goldschläger

½ ounce Grand Marnier

1 (12-ounce) can ginger ale

3 dashes Angostura bitters

Combine the Goldschläger and Grand Marnier over ice in a highball glass. Fill to the top with the ginger ale and add bitters. Get ready for the next best thing to holy water.

A
Pulitzer winner drowning in biblical allegory,
The Old Man and the Sea
was Hemingway's final published work in a career dripping with awards and accolades—and alcohol. The premise is simple (and familiar to readers of
Moby-Dick
and enjoyers of
Moby-Drink
on
page 64
): an old man sets out to destroy a fish in an act of single-minded delirium. During an epic three-day battle in which the marlin is finally defeated, hitched to the side of the boat, and—hey, old chum!—eaten by sharks en route to shore, the old man emerges weary but victorious. Do your best sailor imitation with the standby gear of any fisherman: whiskey and bait.

2 ounces whiskey (like Seagram's)

1 (12-ounce) can lemon-lime soda

Kumquat, for garnish

Warning: you're gonna need a bigger glass. Combine the whiskey and lemon-lime soda over ice in a highball glass. Grab some fishing tackle (looks like a fish; has a hook), give it a soapy scrubbing, and then bait 'n' float your kumquat. Alternatively, lose the glass and fill a fisherman's flask. Just don't sip and sail.

U
nless you're a senior at P.D.U. (that's Private Detective University), ninety bucks says you skipped
The Maltese Falcon
, a popular pulpy novel that became a gun-for-gun film retelling with Humphrey Bogart as a cynical spy for hire. Though it may read like a series of stereotypes today, Dashiell Hammett's shady cast of femmes fatales and jewel thieves practically wrote the playbook for crime fiction—and the subsequent film noir boom it helped get off the ground. Speaking of which, our simple swill will have you flying higher than a falcon figurine. Slam with suspicion, 'cause this one goes down as gritty and unsentimental as any good private eye.

8 ounces malt liquor

1½ ounces butterscotch liqueur

Pour the malt liquor into a chilled pint glass, and the liqueur into a shot glass. Drop the entire shot, including the glass, into the malt liquor, and . . . uh . . . “enjoy.” Now, watch the door and keep one finger on the metaphorical trigger. You're staying in for the night after one of these.

T
ranslated, adapted, sometimes even copied (see:
Finding Nemo,
among others), this dazzling adventure by Jules Verne, the French father of science fiction, was shockingly prescient in its depiction of future underwater technologies. A time-tested tale of “Boy meets fish, fish turns out to be secret submarine, submarine never lets boy leave because
now he knows too much
,”
Twenty Thousand Leagues
sends readers into chilly ocean depths, where they meet eccentric scientists, memorable sea monsters, and one very unforgiving whirlpool. Swirl up your grandfather's Sea Breeze recipe with a little carbonation—and settle old scores by serving this one with calamari.

1½ ounces vodka

2 ounces grapefruit juice

2 ounces cranberry juice

1 (12-ounce) can club soda

Combine the vodka and juices over ice in a highball glass, and fill to the top with the club soda. Drink slowly to avoid the bends—and come up for air every now and then, diver boy.

I
f it ain't broke, recycle your narrator. You remember Marlow, the complicated Englishman of Conrad's earlier
Heart of Darkness
? (Don't get too cocky, it was only ten recipes ago.) Marlow's baaaack, this time telling another man's tale. Jim is a young seaman who fancies himself a hero—only to abandon a ship full of Mecca-bound pilgrims when tragedy literally strikes. (Note: if you wanna make some serious coin, go back a hundred years and write about conflicted men at sea.) Told out of chronological order in an innovative, multi-narrator format,
Lord Jim
can nonetheless get a tad stuffy. Spice these Brits up with a famous English beverage that'll turn any host into a hero.

1 cucumber, sliced thin into wheels, including 1 wedge for garnish

2 ounces Pimm's No. 1

1 (12-ounce) can lemon-lime soda

Lemon wedge, for garnish

Place several cucumber wheels in a Collins glass, fill with ice, and pour in the Pimm's. Fill to the top with lemon-lime soda, squeeze and drop a lemon wedge into the glass, and garnish with a cucumber for serious cred. And for the love of Triton: serve women and childlike adults first.

A
southern family's tragic downfall told from three distinct voices—with a final, omniscient chapter—
The Sound and the Fury
became popular only after one of Faulkner's later novels took off. With unreliable narrators who zigzag between suicidal impulses, mental handicaps,
and an eye-crossing usage of italics
, this one may have helped earn its author a Nobel, but it's no beach read. Set in a fictional Mississippi town dealing with very factual post–Civil War growing pains,
The Sound
inspires a cocktail that hangs on furiously to a traditional southern recipe—because some things are best left unexamined.

2 ounces gin

½ ounce crème de cassis

½ ounce lemon juice

Shake the ingredients with ice and strain into a cocktail glass. Alternatively, serve on the rocks—just like your last family reunion.