Jackson Free Press

I've never been a froufy drinker. Not really. My favorite cocktails have a couple ingredients max, and don't go anywhere near a bottle of simple syrup, or a blender for that matter.

But I must admit that I'm into color. Now and then after work, I want nothing more than a basic Absolut cocktail, but sometimes I just need something red in my hands. So I order my tall-but-weak Absolut and cranberry (also known as a Cape Codder, and being that I once spent a lot of time on an island off the Cape, well, drinking and dancing a lot, it's mighty appropriate).

Maybe it's because I'm a girl, but I do like some color in my cocktails. Back in the day, when I was bartending at the Village Idiot in New York—which spawned Coyote Ugly and Hogs & Heifers and, yes, involved dancing on the bar, but I will say nothing more—we spent our time slinging pints of Bass, pouring thick Guinness and popping tops of PBR. The owner—my friend Tommy, who would eat the PBR cans to wow frat boys—did not believe in girly drinks (even though he certainly believed in girly bartenders). Thus, you didn't walk into the Idiot and order a Sex on the Beach. You might just get a shot of Jim Beam thrown in your face if Tommy was within earshot.

But on Sunday afternoons, it was different. It was a quieter day in the East Village, the place reeked from the night before, and a lot of regulars came in to hang out and read the paper. They'd bring me bagels, and we'd find every old country standard on the box—beyond the hackneyed "Devil Went Down to Georgia" and "Family Tradition"—and sing at the tops of our lungs.

And being that most folks weren't throwing back shots of Cuervo on the Sabbath afternoon—we didn't ever stock salt and limes, mind you—we Sunday folk had to do something with our time. So I started working on what I called "The Idiot's Guide to Bartending." See, it was color-coded—meaning "Red Drinks," "Green Drinks," and so on—and any idiot on the street could understand it. We thought that was hilarious then. I actually thought I'd publish it someday, but my career soon took a different turn.

It was fun while it lasted. I'd crawl around atop the beer cooler, pulling down seldom-opened bottles of liqueurs like Cointreau and Blue Curacao and Galliano (that tall, phallic bottle on the top shelf). I'd send the regulars to the corner deli for real fruit and juices. One time, one of them even brought a little packet of paper umbrellas back. We delighted in the irony of it all. Fortunately, Tommy seldom came in on Sundays. He might have fired my ass.

Needless to say, we concocted some wicked brews. Unfortunately, I can't find my old Idiot drinking folder, filled with recipes scribbled on liquor-spotted cocktail napkins. But I do remember my delight in coming up with the Southern Baptist—something akin to an Old-Fashioned involving Southern Comfort and some thick liqueurs and juice of some sort. I remember it being a brownish-red color—not froufy at all.

But my regulars—mostly men: a British rock-'n'-roller; the jukebox guy who often brought his mama even though she had passed already, and argued with her the whole damn time; a precious gems specialist; a graffiti artist; a full-time drunk; a magazine editor; a Jewish guy I called "Guido"—loved the truly sappy drinks the best: the bright blue ones, the orange ones, the red ones, even the pink ones.

They'd walk into the bar, plug some quarters in the jukebox, spread out their bagel-and-schmear and New York Times and look up at me expectantly.

I'd jump on the beer cooler and ask, "What color you want today, Guido?" And off we'd go.
My vivid drinks came with lots of advice, too. For one, I always told my Sunday boys that, if they really wanted to impress the chicks, that they should learn to make them pink drinks. And throw in the occasional paper umbrella, of course.

Red
3 oz. raspberry vodka
1/2 oz. sweet and sour
1/2 oz. triple sec
generous splash of Chambord
garnish with fresh raspberries

Green
2 oz. vodka
1 1/2 oz. sour apple liqueur
1/2 oz. sweet and sour
garnish with a maraschino cherry that you allow to settle to the bottom of the martini

Blue
3 oz. lemon-flavored vodka
1 oz. Blue Curacao
garnish with candied hearts inscribed with sweet nothings, like "Be Mine"