Miracle Michael

We pretty much had him to ourselves.

In between his serving other patrons at the Swizzle Stick Bar, we bantered about booze. We were treated to the last bit in the silver shaker from other people’s cocktails, drizzled into a pair of shot glasses. Chocolate Martinis. Whiskey Smash.

A thought popped into my head. I’ve been on a quest to sample a particular vintage cocktail--The Aviation—but one of its uncommon ingredients had eluded me thus far.

Its original recipe called for: Gin. Check.
Maraschino liqueur. Check. (Thanks, Mel.)
Lemon juice. Easy enough.
But Crème de Violette or Crème Yvette—not that easy. My guess: modern palates were turned off by the fact they’re both made from crushed violet petals—making its existence quite scarce.

So I said to Michael: “What do you know about Crème de Violette?”

He gave me one of those rare smiles, a golden “eureka” moment wrapped up with a big Christmas bow. He reached under the bar and pulled out a bottle.

He whiffed it under our noses. I recognized the scent--not what I expected-- but couldn’t quite place it. My sister, on the other hand, must have really loved her childhood supplements because she immediately said: “Flintstones vitamins.” He nodded.

He knew just what I wanted. I’m happy to report the finished product—all silvery lavender in its martini glass—was light years away from kids’ stuff.

It was glamorous. It was ethereal. I could have been Carole Lombard draped in white chinchilla and glittering rhinestones, waiting for my man Gable to join me in the lobby bar.

The taste? Icy, clean, a hint of violet blue yonder.

And I have Michael to thank for leading me to my Liquid Grail.

Postscript: Check this out--
http://www.cafeadelaide.com/adelaide.html

Up next: Lucky Clover