These are not the plates we smashed after the third official (m)eating of Eating Club last night. We didn’t smash any plates. But our wine expert extraordinaire, S, did manage to get us smashed on the four bottles of vino he brought, along with the three others the rest of us brought. Winding our way back to his place after dinner, these plates were smashed up along the alley we took a shortcut through. It was safe. No worries for the tab keeping folk out there. Back at S’s place, E and I guinea pigged some the new cocktail creations he’s developing for his final project book proposal. My mind is foggy from the night, though I wouldn’t betray his trust and tap the recipes here anyway. But I recall, thanks for a text sent to a dear friend, what we imbibed did include—crème de violette, Highland Park (Scotch?), Old Overholt, Jasmine (liquor or water?), orange blossom water, and St. Germain. The latter-est is my new favourite. The Emilia at EO is one of my new favourite cocktails. But S promises he’s working on a new one for me. I cannot wait to taste.
Backstory-ing a bit..
Though no plates were smashed, it was quite an excited night at the dinner table. Along with B, S, E, and me (N couldn’t make it), I invited a dear friend from nutrition studies and her hubby, and my faery dogmother. She invited her wife. They’re not married in the now legal in California sense, or even of the sapphic persuasion (as far as I know), but they bicker like an old married couple. It’s rather endearing. Though my faery dogmother trained her astute and well-seasoned debate skills on me and had me justifying my non-feminist leanings. I won’t go into it here. I will tap. I’m not a feminist in the sense the girls where I went to college (1.0) with in hippy-hadesville Upstate were feminazis. I was too cute, too petite, too shaved, hair washed, and boy liking for their doctrine. I am a feminist of the retroactive 01847 Seneca Falls variety, as well as the ahead of my time feminist for earning more than my mail professional equivalent by time the bell struck Y02k. Otherwise, a fair amount of my upbringing and grooming–personally, professionally, creatively–were by the men folk in my life. The women folk tended to provide the cautionary tales and mind fields to avoid at all cost. Oh dog, yet another digression.