Again, I’m usually not a noontime drinker, but desperate times call for desperate measures. The familiar pile of squash in the kitchen is now gone, and I’m finally able to open my crisper drawers without gouging the flesh out of the unfortunate turnips or beets that happen to be crammed in there at the top. I should be happy.
For lunch yesterday, I made my usual winter salad with greenhouse greens, roasted beets, Vermont goat cheese, toasted walnuts, and balsamic vinaigrette. But, I needed something to wash it down, so I asked the barkeep to mix me up something strong. She said she knew just the thing.
I had made a batch of pickled carrots the night before. The kind of pickles that you can eat within 24 hours (in other words, the best kind). I often scavenge brine from olives or pickles when making vinaigrettes for salads, so it should have come as no surprise that she siphoned off a few tablespoons of brine from said pickles into a cocktail shaker. Then, she splashed in some vodka and a dash of vermouth, and shook me up a very interesting dirty martini, garnished with a few pickled carrot spears. It was maybe not the best dirty martini I’ve ever had in my life, but it suited me just fine. And, oh, the fascinating writing that ensued.
I tipped the barkeep well.