It's a basic human instinct to want nice things we can’t have. 

Think about the disaster that was Prohibition. In the 1920s and early 1930s people in the United States drank more alcohol in secret than they would have if it was legal to just pony up to a bar and order a whiskey. By the time the so-called “Noble Experiment” ended on the 5th of December, 1933, few establishments still bothered with passwords and other protocols to keep their booze-slinging ways a secret. 

Some of my favorite rums are from Havana Club. The real Cuban liquid, not the Bacardí branding switcheroo they sell in the states, as if no one notices the difference. Do I think real HC really tastes better than most rums? Could be the psychological thrill of the forbidden. Here it’s still considered contraband, but I truly love sipping all the expressions I’ve managed to pick up in duty free abroad (especially the Selección de Maestros) or taste at European beverage conferences. 

I also get a kick out of grating tonka beans from the tins I smuggled in from Europe into certain deserts or to garnish cocktails. (Delicious in a gin and tonic or over a Negroni—trust me! I’ll tell you how that works at the end.) I could go on. 

Of course, laws exist to prevent people from taking this instinct too far and causing harm. While many associate Prohibition with the “Roaring Twenties” mindset of carefree partying and the Lindy Hop, it was mostly a destructive, deadly period because of the violent crimes associated with bootlegging, and all the unregulated alcohol with harmful ingredients that was circulated. I’ve never understood people who name their bar after this culture. 

But back to the now, it was quite the week in a world embattled between lawlessness and consequence, right?

I suppose it’s a fitting way to start the new lunar Year of the Fire Horse. Last year was Wood Snake, signifying the shedding of things that no longer serve us (well, the stuff we have control over anyway)—bad habits, old clothing, toxic friendships, those sauce packets in the junk drawer, that sort of thing. Fire Horse is about charging through the flames, and galloping apace with the sizable shifts that come our way. The fire sign and horse symbol only coincide once every 60 years, making it one of the most formidable symbols of the calendar. 

Fanned by the arrival of the Fire Horse, this week I’ve been feeling contemplative. I’ve been thinking about all the times I’ve confronted doubt, and the instances when someone told me I lacked the ability to do something I wanted to do. 

As I mentioned in a previous newsletter, I used to be a metalsmith. When I was taking night classes at School of Visual Arts, SVA in the early 2000s, I signed up for my instructor’s enameling course. She refused to accept me, saying I lacked the focused discipline needed for an artform as complex as enameling. 

A year later, I signed up for a different one elsewhere. The instructor, knowing nothing about the previous feedback, told me I was a natural. 

I thought about the time I agreed to get on an upside-down loop roller coaster at an amusement park in Atlantic City. I have a serious fear of heights. I thought it might help. It most certainly did NOT. But at least I tried it. Once. 

In the early 2000s, when it was even more of a thing than it is now, I was shut out of a job running the tasting program for a whiskey brand. The owner said no one would take me seriously because I am a woman. 

Earlier this week at Travel Bar, author and bourbon expert Fred Minnick (who has a new book about how learning to taste bourbon helped him recover from combat-related PTSD and it’s excellent) took a moment to give me a shout out. He told the attendees we came up in the business around the same time and considered me to be one of his people, thus putting us on equal ground. After the official tasting, many of the other attendees, who were all men, complimented my tasting notes. They didn’t have to do that. 

I think this is a good moment to try and summon the energy to charge through feelings of imposter syndrome. Send that pitch. Apply for that job. Polish that cover letter copy. Place that call. I’ve already encountered rejection this week, but also a couple of maybes. Hopefully something materializes soon. 

Help a writer out and please tell your friends!

Meanwhile, let’s have a drink? 

Tonka Negroni

(Note: tonka is a spice that comes in nugget form, like nutmeg, so you grate it rather than sprinkle it or measure it in spoons. The flavor is, well, nuttier than nutmeg, more like almond, with hints of cherry-like fruitiness.) 

I learned this variation from an old friend in Europe. The tonka brings out the richness of the vermouth and beautifully plays off the botanical aromatics of the aperitivo and gin. I prefer a standard London Dry style gin here. Anything too floral or citrusy will clash with the tonka. 

• 1 ½ oz (about 44 ml) London Dry gin

• ¾ oz (22 ml) sweet/red vermouth 

• ¾ oz (22 ml) bitter aperitivo 

• Garnish: freshly grated tonka  

Add the ingredients to a rocks glass and stir with one or two large ice cubes to chill and dilute slightly. Lightly grate the tonka over the cocktail. Serve. 

Lipstick of the week: 

Another favorite from Bésame, Victory Red. 

This is a historical recreation of Elizabeth Arden’s Montezuma Red, which has long been discontinued. The shade was developed in the 1940s to match the red stripes in American service uniforms and was included in toiletry kits for women in the military at this time. It’s a fabulous vivid red with a soft, blue base. Adds the perfect “we can do it!” energy, and red is a symbol of good luck in Asian culture. 

Gōng Xǐ Fā Cái!

--A