We weren’t going anywhere. It was one of those October Fridays where the light is the color of a copper pan and the afternoon feels a little wasted if you don’t do something with it. So I pulled everything out of the bar cabinet and started making things.
First, something amber and citrus-heavy - an old-fashioned in the general direction of one, sweetened with something I’d cooked down from orange peels earlier in the week. It tasted like the kind of drink you should be drinking in a wool coat.
Then a hibiscus cooler for the heat that was still hanging around, all magenta and lime, fizzy at the top. I thought it would be too sweet and it wasn’t; the hibiscus does this thing where it tastes almost astringent at the finish.
The last one was red and quiet and sat in a heavy glass like it knew what it was doing. I can’t tell you what was in it now. I know there was lime. I know it was my husband’s favorite of the three. I know we didn’t make dinner that night.
