Grape Did It

Friday at Five: Planters Punch

Let me go ahead and get this out of the way first thing. I am going to, right here in a just a second, post the original recipe for this incredibly good drink and then right below that, I am going to tell you how I made mine differently. I am not purposely altering all these drinks, but by a combination of what's available at the particular grocery store where I'm shopping and laziness, most of them seem to have a certain je ne sais quoi about them. No really. What the hell is in this drink?

Another quick side note. I found this recipe not by my usual method of going to a cocktail website and browsing based on liquor or ingredients I might have half of in the house, but by simply googling, "refreshing summertime cocktails" or something along those lines. Which landed me here. So, thanks Forbes! Thought you were mostly about money and stuff but hey! you like cocktails like the rest of us! Small world.

Ok, Planters Punch (real recipe):
2 oz dark rum
Juice from 1/4 lemon
2 oz. fresh squeezed orange juice
1 packet Equal
Soda water
Orange slice for garnish

My recipe, with explanations:
2 oz light rum (I just prefer it)
Juice from 1/4 lemon
2 oz. fresh squeezed TANGERINE juice. HAHA GOTCHA THERE! No, but really the oranges in the grocery store were all navel and though those are nice for peeling and eating like a snack, they are terrible for juicing and I just did not want to spend the afternoon trying to squeeze four frustrating drops from EIGHTEEN DAMN ORANGES. And the tangerines, they looked juicy. More on that in a second.
No sugar, tangerine juice was plenty sweet. Plus, EQUAL? Ew.
Lime flavored soda water because, literally, it was all I could find. I bumped into a guy we know while at the store and frankly did not want to keep bumping into him, all, STILL CAN'T FIND THE SODA WATER. HAHA, YOU STILL FINDING THOSE EGGS AND STUFF OKAY? Yeah, I am not good at small talk.

For either recipe: put rum, lemon juice, fresh squeezed orange/tangerine, sugar, or not, into shaker with plenty of ice. Shake, strain over ice filled glasses, top off with soda water and orange slice for garnish.

If this drink doesn't make you want to pull out the old Slip n Slide, I don't know what will. It's all punchy and summery and sparkly and happy. IT IS SO GOOD. I had three before we, sadly, had to leave for a baseball game. Well, not so sadly, it was one dollar beer night and was particularly fun after PLANTERS PUNCH but I could have stayed in all night watching the trees in the breeze from our back porch. Much like a mental patient.

Okay, here is where I tell you some details on the actual drink making. I already said navel oranges disappointed me, blah blah, am at supermarket looking like a small child deciding between chocolate and the naughty chair or no chocolate and well, no chocolate. Which one, which one, which one. Do I buy tangerines and then get home and realize, you idiot! tangerines aren't juice-able! Or am I completely wrong, they provide great juice and are similar enough to oranges? YEAH. This is my life.

And in a bold move I chose the tangerines and GUESS WHAT? Six of them produced TWO CUPS OF JUICE. No? You don't believe it? I thought you might not:
BAM! GOTCHA AGAIN!

Whew, no more punch for me this early in the morning.

Another lovely visual, in a prettier container.
And finally, what they look like in a glass. Because there is no way you could have imagined that yourself. Also, we desperately need some real high ball glasses.

Moo Shu Chicken, another name

"Oh hey, I ate those leftover Chinese burritos that were in the fridge."

Southern States tour: Oh-Eight! Baby! Part 1

I began jotting down some travel memories yesterday even though it felt kind of lame, like, "guy who chases bums off Beall Street." Funny, but also, kind of sad. Or, "awkwardly trying to protect our cardboard boxes," Yeah, that one? That was because of the mud. Bud grabbed some old boxes and we spread them out on the ground to sit on during the concerts. AND THEN PEOPLE STARTING STEPPING ON THEM. Which, in the grand scheme of life-annoyance-ratings should have been about a 1 or 2 but instead became a screaming 10! 10! as I turned it into my personal mission to glare at each and every person who dared. HEY YOU, YOU ARE STEPPING ON OUR CARDBOARD BOXES. This is one of the reasons I would not make, say, a good diplomat. Or ambassador. Or even grocery checker outer. You have eleven items. Goodbye.

But then I did remember one I wanted to share. So, yeah, the rain story. The one where we found ourselves not sprinkled on, but bone-soakingly soaked to the bone around 10 oclock at night on Beall Street.

Friday night our little group of people went out for a bite to eat and the off-chance to see the start of the concerts. We realized it was pretty late, and might rain, but eh, we were there. Should try. We began first at a barbecue restaurant that had been recommended to me back in Birmingham and I'm not going to go into that story. Won't even really try because it was that bad. EXCEPT, to sum it up in five words: waitress lied, sugar levels dropped. SHE LIED. I am not exaggerating. She took our order and then came back AN HOUR LATER AND ASKED WHAT WE'D LIKE TO ORDER. And please, do not think I am being harsh, I was a waitress and I remember customers who made me feel terrible and small and embarrassed and even one who grabbed my arm to ask me Had I been saved? So, DON'T. This one was awful.

Ok, wait, what? Right. We ended up driving and parking on Beall Street instead, determined to grab something quick there, and still perhaps make a band or two at the river walk. This part went surprisingly well and is where I got pictures of the old trumpet man who's only job, it would seem, is to stumble through the most famous street in Memphis and offer his trumpet playing skills to whatever band is set up inside whatever restaurant he stumbles into. You've got to be a confident, living legend-type to do that shit. Or perhaps just very high. I think he was both. We got burgers there, burgers that saved our lives and then made our way outside to...WATCH A BAND. It is a music festival, right? THIS IS WHY WE'RE HERE, YES?

And it started to rain. At first it was the kind of rain where you're all, it's not bothering me! I won't melt! And all those other dumb exclamations that get quieter and quieter when you are being pelted by sideways blowing monsoon type water pellets. Which we were. I remember this part of the trip so well because instead of a bunch of revelers out to have a good time, we all became a lemming convention that squealed, almost in unison, look! a bridge! a bridge we can all huddle under! it will keep us dry and safe and warm. Where's my blankie? So we booked it toward the bridge. All seventeen thousand of us. We were surprisingly polite too, all, whoops! Was that your toe? Here, GET CLOSER TO STAVE OFF THE STORM. Full survival mode.

Until I looked around and began to see confusion register on everyone's face. There is something, just, so, incredibly funny about looking into a crowd to see the evolution of a realization take place. Um, are you still getting rained on? Cause I am. This is weird. Odd, even, if you will. Is the rain blowing sideways? Maybe, but it's also landing straight onto my head.

This is when, and I am so sure of this, God must have laughed his ass off at all those teeny tiny dumbos, standing under a set of train tracks. FULL OF HOLES.

Or floss the dogs teeth

Can I just get this off my chest? Just once, and loud, until another roller coaster begins? PHEW. PHEW. PHEW. That is a wonderful and happy phew! coming from the end of almost an entire month of traveling and a weekend that followed, full of barbecues. NOT COMPLAINING KARMA. Just happy to be on my couch with some coffee, thinking of doing the mundane. Yeah, no, mundane sounds good right about now which is when you know you are spent. MIGHT JUST CLEAN BATHROOMS.

My OCD actually shut itself off last night and I left the dishes in the sink. I tried. I bent down and started unloading the clean dishes but then the racks and rows began to swim in front of me and I actually said, I don't think I can do this. Bud valiantly stepped in but I found out this morning that even he was worn out. You know how I know this? When I opened the dishwasher this morning I realized only one rack had been put away. I KNOW THE FEELING.

I think there is a general irritation at people who complain about being busy like, well, you chose those endless activities, don't complain to me. And I so get it, do not over schedule yourself and then complain about how you CAN'T FIT ALL THOSE FRIENDS IN. But this trip, though exhausting, WAS fitting all those friends in and I am so tired, and so much happier, for it.

My next project is to jot down all the things I can remember from this Southern States Tour, Oh-Eight! and then fill you in. GET READY.

Oh how naive

We got home Friday afternoon like, TOTALLY expecting a chill weekend. The kind where you argue about who is going to lift him or herself halfway off the couch to grab the bottle of wine or popcorn. I think I did it last time. Nope? No, pretty sure you have sat on the couch, in that exact position, ALL MORNING.

But no, it has ended up being, although a ton of fun, a busier weekend than we anticipated. And I am now this very minute behind on putting sunscreen on Bud's back so we can go to a pool party/barbecue, while he runs around the apartment singing that commercial song. The one that goes, hold on tiiight to your dreams! HOOOLD on TIIIGHT to your DREEEAMS. I'm never sure exactly what they mean, the one I dreamt last night? No thanks, that one I'm trying to forget.

Not always a know it all, sometimes a smart ass

"Bud, what's that? What're those bushes called?"

"Dead."

Friday at Five: Champagne Freeze

I'm sorry, what was that you just said? I can't hear for the roaring in my head or the knocking of my brain onto my skull saying, you drank what? You stayed out until WHEN? You are not 18, even though you tried to pretend to be, out last night, with all the other college students. MAYBE IF I JUST APPLY A LITTLE MORE LIP GLOSS.

Side note, but I have never in my life been so grateful for my wedding rings. Somehow, and not surprisingly, going out on the town while married has an added attractiveness to it. This? See this? These rings? BACK OFF BEFORE I JAM THE ENTIRE DIAMOND INTO YOUR EYE. It especially came in handy when one guy walked up to me at the bar all, my friend, going to Afghanistan next month, yadda, blah, yadda LIKE I HAVEN'T HEARD THAT BEFORE. Besides, behold these two rings. Now go! I did wish him safe travels though, on the off chance he was telling the truth.

Right, so okay, Champagne Freezes. But I'm warning you, you may wake up and wonder where your name went. Who am I? Where am I? WHAT?

Champagne Freeze (this makes one, approximately, as all my recipes go). Into glass put:

One to two small spoonfuls lemon or lime sorbet (used sherbet and am not sure if these are the same or not)

Shot of vodka

Fill rest of glass with champagne of your choosing

Garnish with mint leaves

Then hold on tight.

We could not find lemon sorbet in the grocery store, so we bought lime sherbet. This could very possibly make a big difference, I do not know. Perhaps with lemon SORBET you might not find yourself the next morning badly wanting a cup of coffee in a house where coffee does not exist.

I'm pretty sure the champagne we used was cheap, or not great, or really had been sitting in the fridge for over two years. And vodka and champagne and green sherbet are just an odd mix for so many reasons, although I did wear a green shirt out last night and I distinctly remember looking down with the drink in my hand and going, wow, I match my shirt. Me look pretty. Mint leaves, mmm. THAT'S WHAT THIS DRINK WILL DO TO YOU.

And that's it! I'm out! Too little energy this morning. DRINK WISELY ON THIS ONE.

PS - this is a recipe by Rachel Ray and I say that in a very quiet voice because some certain friend of mine is liable to make so much fun of me for using the recipe of a woman who regularly uses the term, "Yum-o".

PS Daily Photos

The ELLA week will probably end today, or Monday. And though I could probably post pictures of her for years to come without seeing a problem (why? she really DOES have that much personality) I do know it's a little like someone pulling out a fat wallet but before you get all WOW I HAVE A RICH FRIEND, realizing it's all PICTURES OF HIS KID.

Mambo Number Five was a popular one, I usually got the ladle

I'm all of a sudden not able to archive Daily Photos and it might have to do with the fact that Typepad recently underwent some changes. Some changes I did not bother reading about until I realized certain functions weren't working and then I went backwards to investigate. Yeah, before you ask, it's a pattern. Not reading or figuring things out ahead of time and then feeling like WHATTHEHELL! when something goes wrong. Don't change! Or change but don't make it so I have to READ COMPLICATED THINGS TO FIGURE IT OUT.

I am equally famous for taking off on long, confusing trips without directions and then calling someone (hi Bud!) in a panic. I KNOW I DIDN'T WRITE DOWN DIRECTIONS, BUT I THOUGHT MY INSTINCTS WOULD LEAD ME THERE. My instincts, they let me down sometimes.

So, that's a small update on why Daily Photo Archive isn't working. TYPEPAD. Odds are I'll figure it out soon, sigh, once I give in to the realization that banging on the same button over and over WILL NOT CHANGE RESULTS.

I'm up tomorrow early to, guess what? Drive to someone else's house. But no, once there, should be very fun. This friend is famous for her creative use of kitchen utensils. What? You didn't sing into slotted spoons? Standing on the couch, in college, with a bunch of girlfriends? WELL. Try it and then try to tell me your life isn't now THAT MUCH MORE SPECTACULAR.

These are the deep conversations of my life

"I read a bunch of blog comments today that made me cry. Why am I so emotional? I am unstable."

"I think you are unstable. I mean, you're always emotional, but seems more lately."

"Yeah, sometimes I think it's like a floodgate thing."

"I like to bury most things. Bad."

"Ooh yes, bad."

"Glad we cleared that up!"

"I feel ill."

"Probably all those buried emotions."

"I might blog this conversation, without names, if it's okay with you?"

"I don't care. I have come to the conclusion that when it comes to our conversations, I just have to be prepared that you consider them all fair game for blogging purposes."