Countdown to 40: stirred, not shaken

In a series of posts, I plan to reflect on aging, the distinctive possibilities of midlife crisis, and the existential angst that either rises or dissipates with the approach of a significant landmark.

We start with expectations. There are distinct memories that everyone has, a reservoir upon which we draw as we move down the uni-linear path towards the final resting point. These memories, for me, have been about expectations that I had, at one point, and expectations that I have now. It occurred to me tonight that the expectations I had in my twenties, approaching thirty, are so distant that they feel a lifetime away.

It is worth mentioning that I am speaking in small terms. If I had, in my late twenties, asked what a perfect evening might look like, I doubt I would have had the same expectation as I do today. I honestly cannot even posit--or recall--what it might have been at that point. But I don't think I respected food or drink enough to understand what I do today, or to appreciate it.

that's stirred, not shaken, Mr. Bond

So let us begin with the Martini. After tonight, I will never again in my life shake another Martini. A Martini should be served stirred, not shaken. Tonight I took 3 oz. of Greylock Gin, 1 oz. of Noilly Prat dry vermouth, two dashes of hopped grapefruit bitters, and stirred it with one big ice cube. I could have stirred it with several smaller ones for a colder drink. We were short on ice, suffice it to say. But the result was a wonderful martini--a complex and beautiful drink where the flavors might play off of one another in a delicate manner. So, stir the martini.

mesquite laced charcoal

The martini launched an evening of cooking. I grilled a 2 1/2 inch ribeye, properly salted (4 seasons mix of salt-black pepper-garlic salt-cayenne) and basted with a southern concoction--oil and butter, thyme pepper red pepper apple cider vinegar mustard and ketchup. Flipped constantly on a 500 degree mesquite wood grill for nearly 17 minutes. (Quick note: the steak could be rarer, I know. But I'm cooking for the family, including my six year old daughter.)

I cooked with a gin and tonic at my side. The tonic was my honey cinchona syrup blend, which is refreshingly bitter and a wonderful aperitif. We had Grayson Cellars Lot number 10 with dinner, which included potatoes and beets. We followed it with home made ice cream--piña colada--and baklava fresh from the DeKalb Farmers' Market.

the proper color for a gin and tonic

A perfect evening. I am currently finishing it off with redemption rye in a snifter, sitting on my back deck. And reflecting on how at thirty, this would not necessarily have registered as a potential beautiful evening, and certainly not the perfect Saturday evening. Things change.