We Cannot Taste Spirits

Monday, February 25th, 2013

“‘Your Imperial Highnesses, I am Scottish by nationality, and am proud that Scotland, among many other virtuous and good things, also produces excellent whisky.  I wish your Imperial Highnesses would honour my country and myself by tasting Scotch whisky!’  Murad answered: ‘Perhaps you are not aware that our Prophet prohibits the drinking of alcoholic liquor.  We thank you, Colonel, but we cannot taste spirits!’  ‘Oh, but your Prophet did not know what Scotch whisky was, and, surely, he did not expressly prohibit that whisky! ‘”  The Memoirs of Balkan Diplomatist by Čedomilj Mijatović.  Published by Cassell and Company, Ltd., 1917.

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I Never Saw a Lady Drink So

Monday, February 25th, 2013

“We went into a place there, and blow me if she didn’t drink nearly two bottles of wine. I was amazed; I never saw a lady drink so . . . Then she asked me to take her to some rooms. I forget the name; it began with ha,—Hargyle Rooms; that’s it, and as I didn’t mind having a little fun and not to refuse a lady, said I, ‘Come on,’ and away we went.”  Scribner’s Monthly, 1877.

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The Injured Unsophisticated Englishman

Monday, February 25th, 2013

“Can’t even get a little Scotch whisky ‘ere. I went into a place just below ‘ere, and, because I very naturally mistook the landlord for the waiter, I was insulted.   ‘Ow should I know ?’  said the injured unsophisticated Englishman. ‘I saw a man standing there with a hapron on, and says I, Waiter, bring me some Scotch whisky and ‘ot water, and he swelled up and said, ‘I’m not the waiter; I’ll ‘ave you to know I’m not the waiter; I’m the landlord! . . . I’ll not be called a waiter in my own ‘ouse.’  So I told him to go to the devil and left the room.”  Scribner’s Monthly, 1877.

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The Bottle Performed A Castanet Solo

Sunday, February 10th, 2013

“He shuffled up to the bar with a very uncertain step and fixed a glassy eye on the bartender.

‘Say, podner,’ he said, in a voice so husky that it sounded like a whisper, ‘say, podner, I’m dead broke and I’ve got a tirst on me that makes me troat feel like a giraffe. Can I stand you up for a drink?’

The bartender looked him over and for once made an exception to his general rule.

‘What’ll you have?’

‘Whisky’ gasped the hero.

A glass and bottle were set before him, and as he poured out the fluid the bottle performed a castanet solo on the edge of the glass. Then he was seized with a fit of coughing. The bartender took another bottle and squirted some dark-brown fluid into the glass of whisky.

‘Wot’s that, podner?’ asked our friend, lifting the glass from the bar and looking at it critically but fondly.

‘That? Why, that’s bitters. Give you an appetite.’

‘Wha-a-at?’

‘Bitters. Good thing for your stomach. Give you an appetite.’

He set the glass down on the bar without tasting its contents and pushed it toward the bartender. Then he turned away, and as he passed through the door he turned and gave the bartender a reproachful look, but spoke no word.— St. Louis Life”  Life, 1890.

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A Very Agreeable Change

Saturday, February 2nd, 2013

“‘A very agreeable change has taken place in the pastoral visiting of clergymen. Formerly the parson used to lecture his charge, and unite with them in long and wearisome prayer. Now he comes with a gay and debonnaire bearing, mashes the girls, and swaps jokes with the boys, finishes up by taking a cocktail and a cigar, and drives off in a neat waggon with a 2.20 nag in the shafts. A manifest improvement on the old style.’  Life and Society in America by Samuel Phillips Day.  Published by Newman and Co., 1880.

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The Great American Cocktail

Saturday, February 2nd, 2013

Since Dionysius blithe and young inspired old Hellas air

And beat the muses at their game, “with vine leaves in his hair”;

Since Wotan quaffed oblivion to Nieblungen gold,

And Thor beside the icy fjord drank thunder-bolts of old;

Since Omar in the Persian bowl forgot the fires of hell

And wondered what the vintners buy so rare as that they sell—

What potion have the gods bestowed to lift the thoughts afar

Like that seductive cocktail they sell across the bar?

Perhaps it ‘s made of whiskey and perhaps it ‘s made of gin;

Perhaps there ‘s orange bitters and a lemon peel within;

Perhaps it’s called Martini and perhaps it’s called, again,

The name that spread Manhattan’s fame among the sons of men;

Perhaps you like it garnished with what thinking men avoid—

The little blushing cherry that is made of celluloid;

But be these matters as they may, a cher confrère you are

If you admire the cocktail they pass across the bar.

And as the hours of talk grow late, the hours of drink grow more,

What makes the barroom mirror shine as never shone before?

What makes the dullest utterance the cogs of mirthanoint

Until no joke is so obscure you cannot see the point ?

What makes the sidewalk, homeward bound, like storm-tossed ships careen,

Until a dear, familiar voice says, “Charles, where have you been?”

You hear yourself, like some one else, make answer from afar,

“‘Sh’ thoshe d’lish’s cocktailsh (hic!) they pash acrosh th’ bar I”

The Book of Spice by Wallace Irwin.  Published by J. W. Luce and Company, 1906.

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