The gin and tonic: A drink my friend's mother would love
(A slightly different version of this piece was published on a defunct Web site.)
To those who haven’t tried it yet, a gin and tonic is arguably as appealing as a glass of water.
Which, come to think of it, is both bad and good.
Bad, because it's neither as glamorous as the other cocktails — the Bellini, invented in Harry's Bar in Venice, Italy; the Mimosa, supposedly first mixed at the Hotel Ritz Paris; or the vodka martini, the drink of choice of certain famous British spies.
Good, because it is as refreshing as any concoction can get, including, on certain balmy days, an ice-cold bottle of beer.
Prepared with a twist of lime or a hint of lemon, the gin and tonic erases the day's pain and suffering, especially when served with a truckload of ice, as what was offered recently by my friend's mother, herself a senior citizen who spent more than half her life in Europe.
She re-introduced the drink to our group of friends during Christmas last year, offering to make one for everybody, "to whet our appetites," she said, minutes before dinner.
Always on the lookout for a free drink (before and after dinner), I obliged.
It was a decision I never regretted.
That night, the interplay between the juniper of the gin, the bitterness of tonic water, and the tanginess of the lemon fruit was fantastic.
The drink warmed the senses, enhanced the conversation, and strengthened the camaraderie.
As the night came to a close, my friend's mother offered to make everybody one more round.
The decision was unanimous: We all wanted just one more G&T before we called it a night.
Ever the gracious host, she said she was honored to cap off everyone's night with just one more drink, which happened to hold a special place in her heart.
"The gin and tonic has always been my favorite drink of all time," she said, raising her tall glass for a toast.
And at that very moment, the drink became our favorite as well, helping us to cap off one enjoyable, unforgettable night.
Thanks again, Tita B.
