Art of the Odd

I’ve mentioned before that I like absinthe candy – that bitterly crystalline, spirit-soaked sugar left on the spoon after fire and water have ravished the fey. Today Boing Boing tells me that Lollyphile will send me a whole box of absinthe pops, stripped of both ritual and thujone. The novelty value tempts me, but not enough to send in my order. Yet.

In other news, and also via Boing Boing, I’ve just heard Stephen Fry say, “Language is the universal whore that I must make into a virgin,” quoting “Karl Kraus or somebody so like him that it makes no odds,” and fallen madly in love with him all over again. The transcript of the PodGram is here, but please don’t deny yourself the beauty of the man’s voice – download the PodGram itself straightaway.

And my cameraphone…

This afternoon, struggling with a report I’ve been arguing with for two days (and finished about an hour ago), I was eying the drinks cart and wondering what else I could do with Patron Citronge. A quick dip in the Google pool led me to the Pegu Club Cocktail. There are several different recipes (this forum’s got a bunch of them); NovySan (having finished mixing a modified Long Island Iced Tea for himself) winged it once I gave him the basic proportions.

I hope he remembers the recipe, because it’s one of the best things I’ve ever had. Less sweet than a margarita, with a ginny bite like a martini (that’s a lime wedge, not an olive, just so ya’ know)… Yep. This is a good one.

Remember this guy?

The first time I saw him, glowing in the light of an early-November afternoon, I looked at his price tag and said, “I can’t do it.” Not for $30. Especially not when he was made in India and may not be food safe.

But, oh, he haunted me, with his calm, kind penguin face, the proud tilt of his pour-spout beak, his gently curving wings… And so today, a month minus a day from the day we met, I returned to the Council Thrift Shop, and said, “If he’s still there, I’m buying him.”

And he was.

And I did.

But he wasn’t $30. Oh, no. He had a new tag. It said “20.” Anna had suggested I offer $15, and use him sparingly – I figured I’d ask if they’d take $15 when I took him to the cash register, but I was prepared to pay $20.

As it turns out, I didn’t have to. “Ten,” the clerk said.

I didn’t argue.

Tonight then, when I make a pink gin in honor of Repeal Day, I’ll shake it in a penguin.