Oh, hello. Meet the summer cocktail of my dreams.
Also in my dreams: Alec Baldwin follows me around all day (wearing a tuxedo, natch–what is he, a farmer?) and does all of my speaking for me. I just scribble on note cards and wear sunglasses.
Can we make this happen? Maybe I could get on Kickstarter and collect donations.
Meanwhile, I’ll just tell you: This drink made my life better. It’s refreshing, it’s interesting, it’s downright scrumptious. It’s the reason for this:
Looks positively yikes-worthy, huh? Don’t worry; I also bought a cantaloupe that I pushed out of the frame. For comedic effect.
So here’s an International Perspective Thing I have to drop on you… I’m sure you had a hunch already, but brownies are really, really American. More American than apple pie–really! Apple pie didn’t even originate here. Brownies did, in 1893 at Chicago’s Palmer House Hotel to be exact.
Anyhow. I didn’t have a brownie until I was 10 or 11 years old (though I’m sure I have caught up to at least some of you American cats). My mom worked long hours after we moved Stateside, and she would often come home with a box of Little Debbie something-or-others, and having tea and pastry treats with us in the evening became a quality-time ritual of sorts.
I distinctly remember that it actually took me a while to figure out that brownies weren’t considered just a chocolate variation of coffee cake, as I guess I thought “brownie” was some sort of branding schtick.