The Search for the Signature Drink

I walked into Dave's office on Monday morning and plopped down on one of the guest chairs. "I did absolutely nothing all weekend," I told him. "I wrote three crappy paragraphs, and that's it. I barely even went outside to enjoy the nice weather."

"Do you know what you need?" He responds. "You need a signature drink."

"A signature drink?"

"It doesn't have to be as cliched as Pernod or Campari, but maybe a sherry or brandy. You drink a glass before you start writing, and that will set the mood. That will be your drink when you write."

The thought of having to rely on alcohol to get the creative juices flowing sounded a little sad, but I was intrigued. I'm a simple drinker: only red wine and beer, and occasionally a fruity martini or margarita. I was always interested in learning more about wines, but didn't know a thing about brandies or sherries or cognacs.

Dave, my friend and co-worker and fellow writer, proceeded to tell me about the time he was meeting his friend and published author Jim Kokoris for a drink, and arrived to find him imbibing something pink and green. "I don't remember exactly what was in it," he laughed, "but it included absinthe and grenadine."

It was supposed to be a joke, Dave explained after seeing the blank look on my face, because Jim's a writer, and writers drink absinthe and other avant-garde beverages.

Do they? I had know clue. "I like limoncello," I said. "And I once tried drambuie and really enjoyed it."

"So maybe you need a warm weather drink and a cold weather drink."

The next morning, I walked into my office and found a thick book called The Wine Bible by Karen MacNeil on my desk with various post-it notes peeking out the top. As I flipped through the large book, I noticed unfamiliar words like Calvados and Armagnac. Dave gave me a quick 101 on aperitifs and after dinner drink options, including a safe price range for brandy when ordering one in a restaurant.

So the next time I go out for dinner, I'll plan on venturing into this unknown territory. I can see myself now, sitting at a table with a few friends, or maybe my parents the next time I have dinner with them at Nite 'N Gale. And when the waitress comes by and asks if we're interested in dessert, I'll turn up my nose and ask, "What kind of brandies do you have?" I can picture the look on my dad's face.

Holy Tornado Siren

I was sitting here comfortably on my couch watching a Friends re-run and getting increasingly annoyed at the constant interruptions from the Emergency Broadcast System. Every few minutes they'd break in announcing tornado warnings in suburbs I couldn't even point out on a map of the Chicagoland area. 

But then, during the third EBS interruption, the robotic voice announced a warning for the Lake View/Lincoln Park area. Conditioned by many years of fire drills and false alarms, my initial instinct was to stay put. I'm mean, tornados don't touch down this close to the lake, right? At least that's what I've always been told. But just to be on the safe side, I called Mike, our doorman, and asked if we should evacuate.

"It's a tornado warning that expires at 8:15," he told me.

I glanced at the clock. It read 8:07. I tell him about the EBS announcement of our area.

"But it's hardly raining now," he assured me. "So I wouldn't worry about it."

It isn't myself that I'm worried about. I can easily evacuate my apartment and run down the stairs that are right outside my door. It's my two 12-year-old cats that I'm concerned about. In an emergency I would need to get the two carriers down from the hall closet, chase down each cat that runs and hides as soon as she sees the carriers come out of the closet, hold them tight as they wriggle and flail their paws, then successfully place each of them in a carrier without them escaping. All while a tornado is heading towards the building.

But Mike assured me that everything was okay. He also confirmed that I was the only resident paranoid enough to call him. 

Feeling better, I hung up and turned on CLTV to see what they were saying. Then, in between the weatherman saying words like "seek shelter now" and "very dangerous winds," I heard a strange noise coming from outside. I hit the mute button. It was a sound that I'd never heard before, a low wailing like a cross between a UFO and a dying cow. It didn't sound like the tornado sirens I remembered from my college days at Western Illinois. But I wasn't going to wait around to confirm what it was. 

I rushed to the hall closet and pulled down the carriers. Surprisingly, I turned around to see Emma still laying comfortably on my bed, watching me with curiosity. I picked her up and eased her into the carrier. She barely put up a fight. Maybe she sensed the impending danger. 

Next I had to go find Nikkie, the timid cat that probably ran for cover as soon as she heard me open the closet door. She was under the night table in the bedroom. I grabbed her and lowered her into the carrier. I quickly glanced out the window to see if there were any signs of anarchy. 

I had always wondered what items I would grab if there were a fire. Now I know. With the cats safe (and howling) in their carriers, I took a few extra moments to grab my iPhone, my iBook (it has all my writing saved on it!), and my bag which conveniently contained my wallet, my journal and my make-up bag (it has my asthma inhaler and allergy medicine in it, okay?). I put on my bright pink Wellies, grabbed the cats and headed downstairs. On the elevator. Which was probably not a good idea if a tornado really was barreling towards the building.

I decided to head to the lobby to see what was going on instead of going straight to the basement. I expected a crowd of worried residents gathered around, but all I saw was Mike, sitting calmly at his desk listening to the radio. He looked up when he saw me approach.

"What the hell was that noise? Was that a siren?" I asked, waddling toward him in my Wellies with a cat carrier in each hand. 

"I don't know. I've never heard that sound before," he said.

A few more residents made their way to the lobby. Outside I saw people running, the trees in the courtyard swaying furiously. Cars were driving the wrong way down our one-way-street (a tree was down). Police sirens blaring. 

The cats howled from their carriers. More residents came with their dogs. I called my parents to see what was going on in Highland Park. I thought about the poor Cub fans stuck at Wrigley Field. 

Together we watched until the rain slowed to a light drizzle and the trees stayed upright. After about twenty minutes, I decided it was safe to return to the apartment.

My brother called from his car, and I told him what had happened. He just about drove off the road from laughing.

Now I'm back on the couch watching the news. It's quiet outside. Thunder rumbles in the far distance and an occasional lightening bolt flashes. I think about the practice that I got tonight, and how prepared I'll be in case a real emergency occurs. Steve Baskerville says another storm is heading in our direction. Nothing serious, so I'm not too worried.

But I'm leaving the carriers out just in case.