Let's just say it's 1,000 degrees on a Monday evening in July, and you decide that the butter on the counter got so melty during the day that you might as well make cookies with it. So you make the dough and you think, hey, this isn't so bad, this whole cooking thing, and then you remember you haven't turned the oven on yet, so you turn it on and immediately the kitchen is sweltering. And, then, well, you're hot, and baking sounds like the worst idea ever, and and even though you're pretty tired, you think a nice icy cocktail would make you feel better. So you mix yourself a nice Manhattan, complete with brandied cherries from the brand new batch you just made a few weeks ago, give it all a stir, then put the cherries back in the fridge. Except. Except, wait. Instead of putting the cherries on the actual shelf, your brain decides it would be a good plan to put them on the invisible shelf. And the cherries decide its good to be mobile, and the next thing you know the entire jar is on the floor, gigantic glass shards are everywhere, and it certainly looks a bit like a murder scene. Hmm. Interesting.
So, what's a girl to do? My advice: pivot around without moving from your location. Survey the glass damage. Confirm what just happened. Figure out the most important thing: are the cherries ruined? (Answer: yes.) Determine that glass is everywhere, remind yourself you have bare feet. Still standing in a semi-awkward position, reach for your Manhattan. Drink. Quickly. Review damage again. Think about how incredibly hot it is in the kitchen. Realize you're burning the cookies. Curse. Save the cookies, creeping stealthily through the shards. Wonder if the red syrup is staining the floor. Decide it's probably not, and if it is, it will be cool because it will look like a bloodstain. Classy! Gorgeous! Contemporary vampire culture is calling!
Eventually, you find yourself leaping over the mess to gather your camera, because what could be more important than documenting this catastrophe? It's worth it. Eventually, you're cleaning up the spill, using an entire roll of paper towels, finding glass bits in the oddest places, and you're on your hands and knees, and you're very close to the oven, which is really hot, and you're sweating, and the jar of cherries has to go in the trash, and you make a new grocery list that says: cherries, brandy, paper towels. And the floor is still really, really sticky, and you're sitting on it, thinking you hope you aren't sitting on glass, and you think, these ridiculous moments are the most important moments of my life. And it's gloriously absurd, really, and, well, you can always make more cherries, and you can always get a new jar, and the floor can get un-sticky again, and, well, it's summer and this is all actually quite funny, and, well, everything is okay when you have a cocktail and when you're happy in your heart (which likely looks quite a lot like that mess on the floor).
Better-In-A-Drink-Than-On-The-Floor Brandied Cherries
Start with 12 oz frozen dark sweet cherries, thawed with juice reserved. You should end up with about 10T juice. Add water to equal 1 1/2 cups. Add 1/2 cup sugar, cherries, and bring to a boil. Simmer 1 minute, remove from heat. Remove cherries with a slotted spoon and place in a jar. Add 1/2 C brandy or cognac, cover, and set aside. Bring cherry syrup to a boil, then continue until reduced to 1 cup. Pour over cherries, refrigerate. Do not balance precariously on edge of refrigerator shelf.
To make the best summery Manhattan-ish drink: add 2 or 3 T of the cherry juice to whiskey or bourbon in a nice, tall glass. Add bitters (I am quite smitten with rhubarb bitters for this drink). Add ice and seltzer and stir vigorously to make the top frothy. Add some of your cherries, but leave the glass shards out.
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