How to Best Construct a Rye Whiskey Manhattan

"In Which a Conundrum of Cast Upon Spirits is Outlined and a Resolving Pick-Me-Up is Detailed"

There are times in one's life when Grey Skies frown down upon one's self, when the Rays of Apollo touching one's soul are diminished, when Smiles of Elation turn to Saturnine Sighs, and in these times of less than optimal spirits, Man has ever turned to his Oldest Recipe for means of Cheer. I speak, of course, of the Spirit Alcohol, which in it's basest form is likely to have predated any other of Mankind's Inventions. It could be said that there are Countless Varieties of Cocktails by which Man can imbibe his Joi de Vivre (although from the point of view of a Rigorous Mathematician¹(and why on earth would one choose any other point of view, given a choice?) one would have to concede that this set, even given the unlikely possibility of having cardinal magnitude, must by necessity be countable), but as a Man of some Refinement and Culture, I implore you to ignore the vast lot of Possible and Improbable concoctions available as they are but Vile blends of Fruit Liquouers and Simple Syrups, mixed with the intention of Tricking the Morally Naive into consuming more than their fragile resolves can sustain. Nay, I say that it shows Magnitude of Character to Consume a drink wherein one can Taste upon his very tongue the flavor (and also requires one to put forth the required effort into actually using a Quality Liquor for one's drink, as opposed to the swaths of artificially colored and flavored distilled corn mash masquerading upon the lower levels of Liquor Stores everywhere) and quantity of Alcohol in one's cocktail. Thus I present to you, with no small amount of fan-fare, a Recipe for the most Ideal of Cocktails: The Manhattan.

The Recipe: it is a simple affair, so long as one has the means by which to calculate the most obvious of ratios and does not over-dose the bitters: One simply pours two parts straight rye whiskey(see earlier note regarding the strict avoidance of corn mash), one part sweet vermouth, and a Dash (this means one medium sharp stroke of the Angostura over the glass. Do not Over-Dose, lest the flavor becomes too Bitter-ey to bear) of bitters into a tumbler. Ice can be added or subtracted to your desire. No more than two cherries should be added, and by cherry I do not mean some congealed sphere of pinkened Xanthan Gum that has been Drowning in Syrup for the duration of its entire artifical lifespan, but an actual cherry, one who has been touched by sunlight and rain drops at some point in time, and then when ripeness was reached, was lovingly plucked and delivered to your drink within a span of 4 days maximum. For alternate flavors, one may substitute the zests of any of the acceptable range of citrus (I suppose I must offer some delimitations for those without the Taste and Refinement I have acquired through some effort through out the years: Lemon and Blood Orange are appropriate, Honey Tangelo and Ruby Red Grapefruit are not). Then swirl the glass counter clockwise several times, retire to a comfortable chair, and enjoy.


¹
Combinatorists do it discretely.
(Logicians do it) or [not (logicians do it)].
Logicians do it by symbolic manipulation.
Algebraists do it in groups.
Analysts do it continuously.
Real analysts do it almost everywhere.
Pure mathematicians do it rigorously.
Topologists do it openly.
Dynamicists do it chaotically.
Mathematicians do it forever if they can do one and can do one more.

How to Best Construct A Toad in the Hole

In which a Scene is set, a Problem is asserted, and a Solution proposed.

We have all been there before, or as the adage would have it "I have both Been There, and Done That." After a night of carousing about at fine dineries, imbibing intoxicating libations, and general roustabouting you have enticed the interests of a young lady to such a degree that she returns to your domicile. After the passing of several tastefully applied ellipses, Helios chains his horses to his solar chariot and begins his westerly journey across the sky, sending the first tawny fingered rays of dawn into your abode. The exertions of the evening have taken their toll upon yourself and your companion both, leaving you in a state of simultaneous famishment and exhaustion. It is apparent to all that some form of nourishment is at hand, but the question remains: How best to maximize the twin ideals of nutrition and aesthetics at a minimum expenditure of exertions? Ordinarily one would resort to multivariate calculus to answer a problem of this degree, but allow your faithful scribe to assist you at this venture. Clearly such efforts as quiche, strata, fritata, and omelette all require a keen eye and quick hand, both of which have been wearied at this crossroads in your life. The pan cake, pain grille aux francais, waffle, and dutch baby are all mere sugared pastries, unfit for the beginning of a new day. No, there is only one meal that is appropriate to the situation at hand and that dish is The Toad in the Hole.

One begins by lightly toasting the right amount of slices of bread. The slice should be thicker than your least finger, but not exceeding the width of your thumb at the knuckle. Do not heat past the point of coloration, one wants only to dry the bread and ready it for the task at hand. You may remove the crusts if such is your wont, but be forewarned, this action may affect both the integrity of your Hole, and your companion's estimation of your character. Next, you take a biscuit cutter, or a glass who's rim has pleasant proportions and you remove a circular section of the toast from the center. You may nibble on this section when you companion has her eyes averted, or is otherwise indisposed. At this point, a lightly buttered cast iron skillet warmed at a medium low heat must be obtained. Do so. Apply the Holed toast to the skillet. For each Holed toast, in one smooth and virtuous motion, crack an egg and pour it's contents into the Hole. The egg must be cracked with an absolute minimum of eggshell debris resulting. Do not break the yolk, as that would displease the eye. Now cook until you are satisfied with the progress. A rasher of bacon and a plate of perfectly crisped hash browns may be served near the side for a Full Breakfast, but choose this path wisely as the stench of burned pig's fat and a sodden batch of discolored starch ridden potatoes can result in scorn.

A note of warning: Do not be misled into preparing the dish of the same name adopted by our trans-Atlantic cousins from the Isle of Albion. This False Toad in the Hole follows the trend of the greater part of English breakfasts in that it is a nauseating pile of custards and sausage, unfit for even the lowest mongrel of the alleys.