The Official Cocktail of Me

I WAS SPOILED LAST week: Not one, but two of my dearest BFF sister-friends came visiting, each for two days of sheer girly bliss. My husband was away on a business trip, so the estrogen could flow down like water, or, perhaps more accurately, wine.

My prep time for the first friend’s visit was abruptly obliterated by a visit to the emergency room, where the Rock got her first stitches and I practiced my deep breathing/I-will-not-cry exercises. She lived up to her name, while I found myself seriously frazzled by the whole (relatively benign) experience. By the time Lee arrived, I was absolutely ready for a drink.

Lee has food sensitivities and the only alcohol she drinks (in responsible moderation) is vodka; after my distracting day, I wasn’t at all sure we had any in the house. I found some, and did my best to recreate her favorite cocktail, the Ivy Gimlet, knowing that close counts in cocktails as in horseshoes, and she’d be pleased with my efforts. (The drink is a lime and mint concoction that’s the house special of L.A.’s celeb-heavy Ivy restaurant.) We each nursed one as we watched our kids play (nicely, and without further injury) and the sun set. Perfect end to a horrid day;
divine start to a fabulous visit.

Two days later, Lee left and BFF #2 arrived. It was pouring rain, but without a midday run to the hospital, I felt fairly calm. In the maelstrom, the kids and I drove to the airport to pick Chris and her son up. By the time we arrived home (after pitstops at a farmstand, and a farmers’ market–hey, she’s my cooking buddy!) it was nearly 8 o’clock. The kids poured themselves onto the couch in front of a movie, too excited to see each other to go to bed; too tired to do much else. We looked at each other. “Cocktail time?” she asked hopefully.

Chris is semi-famous for her drink concoctions; she often calls to crow over her latest mixological triumph (or perhaps she’s just trying to make me sorry I moved away) so I felt some pressure to deliver something better than just drinkable. I’d actually spent time trying to figure what in the world I’d serve.

For weeks, I’d been trying to remember where I saw a recipe for a watermelon and rum drink that sounded so refreshing and delightful that I couldn’t get it out of my mind…but with no idea where the idea came from, I was stumped. Shopping for dinner before my airport run, I’d halfheartedly looked at the watermelons, thinking I might attempt to recreate the drink, but they were pre-cut, wrapped in plastic, and uninspiring.

Nearby, a pile of locally-grown melons, all nubbly warty skin and sweet smell, lured me, and two of the ugly ducklings came home with me. I seeded them and cut the fruit into small chunks; I threw the chunks into a plastic container and into the freezer. Inspired by the gimlet, I guess, I also picked some mint, checked my lime supply, and headed out for the plane.

With Chris in the kitchen (one of our favorite places to be together), I pretended I knew what I was doing, as I was desperately winging it. Luck was on my side. The drink was delicious: aromatic, tart and a tiny bit but not too sweet. I’m thinking she approved; we sipped, ate runny goat cheese, and caught up while our kids basked in their own experience of the joy of just hanging out with lifelong friends. Even at 8 and 4, those smart kids of mine know how irreplaceable the people who’ve known you longest are.

But one question remains. What to call it? Chris and I thought of a few ideas, but then I realized that maybe I should open this question up to the sisterhood. What do you think this should be called? Chime in in comments with your suggestions, and Marion, Anastasia, Margaret and I will pick the winner. We’ll send her (or him–hey, it could happen!) a (non-alcoholic) culinary surprise. Chime in, sisters. The bar is open, and no idea is too off-the-wall.

The ???
Makes 8

2 cantaloupes, halved, seeded, fruit cut into 1/2- to 1-inch chunks and frozen
juice of 4 limes
1/4 cup fresh mint leaves plus some sprigs for garnish, if desired
4 oz dark rum
2 oz white rum
1 oz elderflower liqueur (St. Germain brand)

Place the frozen cantaloupe, mint leaves and lime juice in blender, and blend on high until smooth. Add the alcohol and blend again to just combine. Pour into a chilled martini glass, and if desired, garnish with more mint.

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