My first Manhattan was a lark. I ordered it at the now-defunct Paradise Cafe in Lawrence, way back in 1991, because I didn’t want a girly drink, and my husband assured me a Manhattan was anything but girly. He was right. Made with rye whiskey, it was all muscle, with just enough sweet vermouth and… Continue Reading
I meant to cull through my notes to come up with tidbits that didn’t make it into today’s Kansas City Star article. I really did. But for once, I really feel the best stuff went into the paper. My gracious editor, Jill Silva, didn’t make me cut an inch. So, rather than recap, I’ve just… Continue Reading
We just caught a glimpse of the local Fat Tuesday parade—trombones and tubas thumping out jazz, kids with masks and beads, a happy crowd strolling down the street in the rain. I didn’t join in, but watching their fun did make me thirsty for a Sazerac. I’ve been itching to make one ever since the… Continue Reading
Naming a vodka is a tricky thing. Most brands strive to evoke heritage and history through slick packaging and glossy ads. Smirnoff needs no such marketing ploys. Its name is steeped in enough intrigue, blood and revolution to fill an entire book. The King of Vodka: The Story of Pyotr Smirnov and the Upheaval of… Continue Reading
For years, mixing a cocktail at my house has been something like a scavenger hunt. A hankering for a Manhattan might lead me to the office for a new brand of rye I’d been researching, then to the basement for a fresh bottle of sweet vermouth. Bitters? They might be in the kitchen, next to… Continue Reading