Manquetails
In one of those well-intentioned ideas taken too far, I gave up alcohol for Lent. #DryJanuary is too mainstream, of course; if I am foregoing booze, it best be for God and not for social media (hypocritically, though, I will write about it). To be honest, I have been aided by some mild indulgences in social scenes agreed to before making my Lenten observance — but worse than breaking Lent, I feel, is loudly observing you are not breaking Lent. It seems like something the Pharisees would have done, had there been gastropubs in old Jerusalem. The point of Lent is not to be free of sin, anyway (that is the point of life), but to learn self-denial, a skill which will be valuable no matter what you set out to do.
And I’m prone, I admit, to enjoying the view from atop a few drinks — it is a job hazard. But trying to find the corresponding view from a cup of tea these cold Californian evenings has done me good, and improved tea’s standing with me. At any rate, if I cannot walk a mile in the cold and rain to Trials Pub in San Jose for a pint by the fireside, a hot cup of tea by the gas radiator after walk around the neighborhood is not too bad, either.
But not tea, totally. I have had a tour de force of the non-drinker’s bar tab these last few weeks: Pellegrino, iced tea, soda water, regular water, hop waters, decaf espressos. Each has their time and place. There is another thing, though, which menaces bar menus the world round and is meant, inconceivably, to spare you the shame of not socially drinking: the mocktail. Its effect is the opposite.
I have determined that it would be preferable to order a glass of milk at a bar than to order something called a “No-jito.” The former builds your skeleton; the latter dismantles your ego. I cannot take myself seriously when I have ordered a mocktail. I feel I must be silent and sip the exotic drink I have ordered, which is quickly done because it is flavored water.
The amount of work that must go into making a mocktail as satisfactory as a two-ingredient cocktail is unfathomable: salt and spices are ground, fruits are desiccated, new branches of chemistry are discovered, entire nations' GDPs are exhausted before the bright concoction arrives before you, tasting like an allusion to orange juice. It is not always this bad, but when you are used to the firm handshake of an old fashioned, it may as well be. Something perpetually seems to be missing, perhaps because the very word sets me up in fond remembrance of an actual cocktail.
Far be it from me, by the way, to say that zero-proof replacements to spirits are a bad thing. If someone is struggling to give up a one-way relationship with alcohol and mocktails are a part of that journey, they should have them. And yet their recent popularity seems born not of this but a larger belief, ingrained in our over-commoditized society, that there are, can be and should be equivalent replacements for everything. This vanity can take on healthful airs just as easily as it can pink Sweet n’ Low hues.
Perhaps non-alcoholic adult beverages, mocktails — impotent potables? call them anything else — can be done well. The name is the first place to start. Even “elixirs” as a general term is better. Then, find people who have drank their entire lives and do not hire them. There’s a whole host of folks out there who have never touched the stuff out of preference and have fine palates unsung by alcohol — they would make excellent mixologists. To hear my father describe an ice cold glass of water on a summer’s day would make anyone shell out $15 for a glass. Allow a whole set of vocabulary and tasting notes to come to the foray from folks who can describe esoteric root beers like whiskey and niche sparkling ciders like the finest champagne because, for them, it is better. Make drinks that interest them, first.
And while you’re at it, put the kettle back on.
