 |
||||||
|
||||||
 |
|
|||||
The Cocktail Hour These days, the idea of the unrepentant alcoholic is a nostalgic one. Alcohol dependence is not something to joke about. It is a subject for sensitive, artistic dramas about suicide or recovery. Dean Martin, famous as an incorrigible, adorable lush ("You are not drunk if you can lie on the floor without holding on") has no contemporary counterpart in these days of Betty Ford centers and celebrity confessions. Nick Charles has been bested as a cheerful, heroic addict only by Cheech and Chong. No happy-go-lucky crack user has sprung up to replace them in the comedies of the nineties. No cocaine addict ever gets the girl. Devotion to the ultimate buzz ceased to be amusing some time during the Reagan administration. But while Cheech and Chong exist solely for the pleasures involved in the importation and inhalation of marijuana, swallowing Martinis is only a sideline for Nick. He is, after all, a detective. Although he's the best drinker there ever was, it's just a hobby, which tells us something about the way cocktail drinking functions in our culture as opposed to other kinds of drug consumption. Nick never has to admit how badly he needs a drink, because he's never without one. Alcohol is legal, so he needn't devote his life to pursuing his drug. He might dream of the perfect Martini, but a decent one is available nearly anywhere he goes. Nick floats his addiction on the oceans of bars in America. The primary institution upholding alcohol use is the bar. After that, the cocktail hour. Whether it be done with the grown-up purity of the Martini, or the childish finesse of Brandy Alexanders and Piña Coladas with miniature parasols, cocktail hour is a ritual of consumption unlike any other in our culture. The ornate process of concocting a cocktail differentiates before-dinner drinking from other kinds of alcohol use, and from the rituals surrounding other drugs. The psychic energy involved in creating and consuming a Park Lane (gin, lemon juice, grenadine, orange juice and apricot brandy) distinguishes the unspoken alcoholism of a dashing young Wooster from the sordid lurching of some old geezer who's forgotten himself. Cocktail mixing relieves drinking of its cares and worries, of its bad reputation and its sordid past. The process remains somehow untainted by the intoxicating nature of the product: Nick Charles has his philosophy of dance rhythms, and even a child can be taught to make a good Martini. Auntie Mame, in the film of that name, is another embodiment of the ideal cocktail drinker, and she uses her young nephew Patrick to mix her drinks. Mame's idea of breakfast is black coffee and a Sidecar, and Patrick's Martinis are so dry he pours the vermouth out after sloshing it around in the glass. "Would you care for an olive?" he asks a guest. "Auntie Mame says olives take up too much room in such a little glass." Patrick's skill affirms the innocent fun of mixing drinks. Mame has simply shown him the adult version of the chemistry set. When the guest questions the wisdom of teaching a child to make Martinis, Mame replies, "Knowledge is power!" In the world of the cocktail, drinking is an art, or it is a folly. Anything but a problem. Park Lane drinkers in their patio chairs are blocks away from the drunk on the street corner with his bottle of cheap gin. Far enough to feel safe. Mixing cocktails is investing creative energy in something you are actually planning on putting inside your body, or which you expect your friends to put inside theirs. But unlike cooking dinner, it has the added thrill of potential toxicity. You are dealing with strong potions, even flammable ones. It's possible you will poison yourself and your guests, or you might make everyone ecstatically tipsy on your clever new version of the Zombie. You can then hand this recipe down to your children and your children's children, along with Grandma Pinkie's special eggnog mixture and Uncle Bonzo's buttered rum. There is also a pleasure in customizing drinks. One person prefers his Kamikaze strong and iced, another likes hers neat with extra Triple Sec. No other drug or drinking ritual is so much about catering to each consumer's individual preferences, and doing so in the comfort of home.
|
