I had my first drink yesterday at noon and followed it with a 2nd, 3rd and 4th, at roughly hourly intervals, right up until 7pm when our Philadelphia’s Signature Cocktail event kicked off at Cook. And that’s when I started drinking for real.
I did not follow this process because I am a shameless drunk, but because sometimes the liver–like a pet, a small child or a recalcitrant employee–must be shown who’s boss. It must occasionally be sat down and given a stern talking to–explaining to it, in the only language it understands, that tonight is going to be a work night and it needs to be at the top of its game.
The good news? Mine performed admirably over the course of a great night and many cocktails and I saw the morning just as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as ever I am. The better news? By the time the dust had settled last night–once all the civilian judges had been gathered, all the drinks had been poured and consumed and (occasionally) re-poured and re-consumed, once all the ballot sheets had been collected, accidentally left in the backseat of a car, recovered and tabulated–we had ourselves a winner. A true Philadelphia cocktail which, from now and until forever, will stand as this city’s official cocktail: the alcoholic summation of everything wonderful, sweet, shocking and bitter about this city.
Read the rest of this entry for more details, a slideshow and recipes »