Peter Invents A Horrible Cocktail
Peter Tatara - November 25, 2007
I'm not a big drinker. I've got a small selection of liquors and mixers in my apartment accumulated throughout college as well as some rancid Korean alcohol I keep around in case my arch-enemy should ever pay a visit. Up until this weekend, my most recent addition was a bottle of Jack Daniels I received as payment from an acquaintance who spent a week sleeping on my couch. (Fun Fact: A bottle of Jack and large pizza pie is what it'll cost you to crash in Tatara's chic New York City pad.) Saturday, though, I was over at a friend's and she offered me a bottle of sake. She never had the stuff before, bought a bottle on a whim, and didn't care for the taste.
While, as I've said, I'm not a big drinker, I'm not one to pass up free booze -- especially when it, at the same time, caters to my slightly-creepy Japanophilic side. I graciously accepted the gift but didn't really give the bottle a look until I returned home. The label read genshu junmai daiginjo.
I poured a small cup during dinner and was impressed. I'll spare you the intricacies of sake grading and classification and simply say that genshu junmai daiginjo is Japanese for "the good stuff." This was very, very, very good stuff. What I sipped Saturday night was the best sake I ever had.
I spent the remainder of the evening watching Valiant, a computer-generated flick starring Ewan McGregor as a messenger pigeon during World War II. It somehow failed to impress, and sometime after the first hour, I got to thinking about that bottle of Jack Daniels in my kitchen.
While I drink sparingly, when I drink, my drink of choice is the Jack and Coke. I like the taste, and I know Justin Sevakis likes 'em -- and I think by drinking them I'm kinda-sorta-maybe just a little bit like Justin.
So, I started thinking about that bottle of Jack, and I pondered what would happen if I mixed the Jack and sake together. I like both separately, so, clearly, the two must be awesome combined. I then asked myself what I'd call this amalgam of sake of Jack Daniels. I needed only a second, because -- honestly -- I think the answer's pretty obvious. The Samurai Jack.
I let my girlfriend in on the plan, and she thought I was retarded. Of course, considering this is her general opinion of me, I pressed on ahead. I spent my Sunday doing some Christmas shopping (searching unsuccessfully for Nathan Petrelli for Congress mugs at the NBC Store and any Kid Nation merchandise from the CBS Store), and when I returned home, cooked up a light but delicious stir-fry accompanied by a tall Samurai Jack.
As my girlfriend and I sat down for dinner, I tried to con her into taking the first sip. She had a glass of iced tea, and the Samurai Jack's light caramel color matched her tea's exactly -- only she got wise after a short sniff. She called me retarded again, and I proved her wrong by taking a long swig. The Samurai Jack, half sake and half Jack Daniels, didn't taste bad, but it didn't exactly taste good. Together, the sake and Jack had a velvety feel on the of tip of my tongue, but there was nothing smooth as they hit my throat. The sake and Jack accentuated each other's strongest notes.
As I said, I made a tall glass of the stuff, and to prove my brilliance, quickly gulped down the rest. I couldn't function for the remainder of the night. I'd fallen behind on my e-mails at work and had planned to respond to the bulk of the unread messages in my inbox on Sunday, but there was none of that. I could still walk, still talk, and most certainly still type, but the Samurai Jack had loosened me up to the point where, regardless of the subject, I felt it was apropos to talk about my girlfriend's awesome breasts. (They're awesome.)
Sunday was a few days ago now, and I think my girlfriend's just about forgiven me. I'm taking her out to dinner tonight to make certain we're good, and while I may order sake or a Jack and Coke with my meal, I'm positive I won't be asking for a Samurai Jack.