“What about ‘The
Burnt Orange?’” Dan was trying to be helpful, but I bit his head off. “That’s
the ugliest Crayola color ever!” I shouted. “Readers will think I’m either
color blind or have no taste.” “Well,” Dan drawled, indicating his belief that
two can play at whatever wretched mind game I was instigating. “Watch it!” I
snapped. “You’re inching perilously close to the edge of….” “Of what?” he
demanded, getting in my face and throwing his shoulders back as though
preparing for combat. “Of this!” I cried as I jabbed at his waist with my
fingertips and began to tickle him mercilessly.
“Stop!” he
begged, but I refused his order. Tickling Dan is one of my favorite pastimes,
never so much as when I’m slightly irritated with him. He tried to pry my
poking fingers away from his midsection, but I was in for the kill. Why was I
so annoyed with him? He’d been perfectly pleasant all afternoon. He was heaving
great, helpless breaths by this point, and he looked so totally beaten that I
began to feel sorry for him and suddenly quit. “OK, I win,” I said in a
desultory manner and turned around toward the counter, where my drink
ingredients were still standing. I immediately felt two forefingers plunging
into my ribs and my knees getting suddenly weak. “No!” I yelled vainly. “I won.
You can’t do this. It’s not fair.” I was laughing in that desperate,
mirthlessly tickled way. “All’s fair in love and war,” Dan said with a
commanding edge to his voice. I was immediately turned on, went limp and fell
back against him.
We resumed our
cocktail naming contest after about 20 minutes, by which point we were each
wearing only our briefs, which we had picked up from the hall floor on the way
back to the kitchen. I wasn’t annoyed with him anymore, nor he with me. No
sireee, not at all.
“What about ‘The
Bitter Orange?’” This was my make-nice suggestion, and it was genuine. After
his winner-take-all performance in the sack, he’d earned my obedience.
“That’s not
bad,” he acknowledged, nuzzling my neck from behind.
“OK, then. It’s
settled. We’re dubbing this ‘The Bitter Orange.’” I poured one for him and one
for me, we clinked glasses, took our sips and finished off with a kiss.
“What,” you are
no doubt fuming, “is the frigging drink?” It’s simple and easy and elegant, and
if you go ahead and make a couple of them, you’ll forgive my coy introduction.
It’s an Aperol
and Absolut cocktail I made up after realizing that I didn’t want to spend my
entire bottle of Aperol on “I Sorpassi,” or “Above and Beyonds,” the subject
of my last column. The “Above and Beyond” is a marvelous drink, but sometimes
one is in the mood for a less complex cocktail. I reasoned that the addition of
Aperol to a fine glass of Absolut would benefit both: the Absolut would be
faintly flavored, and the Aperol would be fortified. Boy was I ever right! And
the color is phenomenal! You can make this drink with Campari, too, with much
the same result, only redder.
The Bitter
Orange
3 parts Absolut
premium vodka
1 part Aperol,
an Italian bitter orange aperitif, or Campari, a similar Italian herbal
concoction
Pour both
ingredients into a glass filled with ice and stir. It doesn’t get any easier
than this.
Ed Sikov is the
author of the e-book, The Boys' and Girls' Little Book of Alcohol, a novel
with recipes based on his Cocktail Chatter column.