Sidecar

[Oh, Dean, why do you always dredge up my childhood? Sidecars were Grandma's drink, from my earliest memories until some friends tactfully told her, sometime in the early 1980's, that she was making an ass of herself on them. The story:]

[Grandma was a happy 1950's matron in Kensington, a wealthy little settlement in the Berkeley Hills. She and my mother's father had the typical 50's basement, with wet bar and, no doubt, Bing Crosby records stacked next to the turntable. One day, Grandma was expecting a large number of guests, and she and my grandfather decided to get the party started a little early. He suggested this cocktail called the sidecar, which was new to them. As he was mixing their first, Grandma spotted an ant crawling across the bar. One ant, but it was enough to send her to the phone to call the exterminator, on a Saturday. She was indignant, as she had an understanding with this extermination company that there were NEVER to be insects in HER house. (This was, one assumes, in the days before big conglomerates a la Terminix) The exterminator came to the rescue, dispatched the ant, and assured Grandma there that there would be no others. The three of them celebrated with this new cocktail, and Grandma eventually had to be carried to her boudoir before the first guests arrived. She missed that party completely, but she was hooked.]

[Growing up, the romance that cocktail hour held for me had much to do with Grandma's sidecars (always with Cognac, thanks). Her second husband, the one my sister and I called Grandpa, made our Cokes or root beers with a sugar-rimmed glass and a maraschino cherry. Five o'clock was "drink time" or "happy hour" (even, or especially, at supposed wholesome family holidays like Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Easter), and they would always begin with the simple toast: "Happiness." This ritual meant the work day was over, it was time to settle down with the family and talk.]

[Nothing lasts. Now I know the rest of the world associates happy hour with cheap drunkenness. Grandma was told gently but firmly to switch to watered down gin martinis on the rocks, which she enjoyed with her Camels until she gave up both just recently. Tempus fugit, and sometimes it really makes me mad.]

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