Seriously, Thursday, I Hate You: The Real Thursday Remedy
Shit I dealt with today:
- A call from my doctor telling me to call her immediately about a test. My brain is trained to bypass hours clicking through WebMD and second guessing a mole on my back and automatically go to convincing myself I have HIV or cancer because yay Age of Over-Information and needing a Xanax prescription. Six agonizing hours later I find out a urine test got botched. Need to do it again. Not even a major test. Just checking protein count in liver. I laughed. She laughed. I probably have an ulcer due to this.
- Work is... stressful. Very stressful. There's a weird vibe in the air though it could just be me. How many angels can fretfully bite their nails on the head of a pin? Might be all in my head. It usually is. Except that one time that it wasn't. And that's all it takes to make you a shambling nervous wreck forever.
- Lost a big writing gig because the organization became too heavy. Perhaps it was because they had nearly four dozen writers? Perhaps its because we were encouraged to write listicles with titles like, "Six Way Strawberries Cure Shingles!" Perhaps it was the numerous untrained home cooks that couldn't make recipes that actually worked or wrote posts that used a goddamn Oxford comma? I guess when the writer focusing on Irish food is making "Irish Nachos" then I guess that is a sign to clean house. I also have a feeling my thoroughly researched but easily digestible content was considered too "high brow." Looking at the direction they plan to go methinks that editorial still believes that the internet needs another Best Waffle Recipe Ever.
- My car sounds like it's trying to confess a murder to priest. All mumbled noises, crying, and the occasional scream. The car is three years old. What the actual fuck?
- Crazy religious person ringing my doorbell at 5:30 AM to talk to me about Jesus and how he was actually a transvestite. There might be humor in this if my morning alarm wasn't actually set to 7:30 AM.
After all this went to see my friend M for some much needed therapy. Real Housewives, looking through her new Moroccan cookbooks for a potluck, and a light dinner. (Pita covered in za'atar, pistachios, marinated feta, and artichoke hearts and then toasted in the oven. Served with a side of olives. Nom nom nom.)
She asked if I wanted wine. I said no and stormed her liquor cabinet deciding I would whip up something stronger up on the fly. M's bar is stocked with numerous bitters, fifty kinds of brown liquor, too much vodka, and the niche gin or two. Curiously, I came across a bottle of hibiscus liqueur and decided we could work with that.
Three cocktails each and a few minutes of watching some rich women duke it out and all is right with the world. Andy Cohen is not my spirit animal, but my spirit therapist. That's probably a bad thing.
The Real Thursday Remedy Cocktail
This is a drink I sort of threw together on the fly. Sometimes new recipes just work out on their first go and this is one of those unicorn moments.
Frankly, hibiscus liqueur is certainly unique, but if you're into punches or keeping a modern tiki bar then I imagine this would quickly become an indispensable weapon and worth your hard-earned monies. And, no, I'm not shilling for Fruit Lab. I honestly just came upon this bottle in a friend's liquor cabinet.
You could easily make your own by infusing infusing a 16 ounces of Everclear and 10 ounce of water with 1 cup of dried hibiscus. Let it steep for 4 hours. Strain, and add 8 ounces simple syrup. It'll be a close approximation to the version made by Fruit Lab.
If you seem to have misplaced your hibiscus liqueur, then raspberry liqueur will also do. Barring that... uh, well... use a favorite juice? Maybe just make a martini then?
What You'll Need:
- 1 1/2 ounces vodka
- 1 1/2 ounces Fruit Lab Hibiscus Liqueur
- 1 ounce Grand Mariner
- Angostura Bitters
- Orange slices, cut in half, for garnish
What You'll Do:
Place the vodka, hibiscus liqueur, and Grand Mariner in a ice filled shaker. Add a 3 or 4 good shakes of the bitters. Shake well and pour in a rocks glass filled with ice. Pop in the orange wedge for good measure and serve.
As you drink, take all the feeling you have towards your terrible Thursday and let it wash away. (Or, another option, scrunch it into a tiny ball and bury it deep inside your feelings so it can grow, fester, and - eventually - explode. Whatever's clever.)