A Manhattan in New Jersey
In these topsy-turvy, worrying times, when what should be a source of comfort--namely, the close companionship of friends and the proximity of neighbors--is what could harm us the most, I am going to take on the slightly taboo topic of the delights of drinking alone.
Seeing that the New York Times wine critic, Eric Asimov, explored this touchy subject and concluded in his article that “solitude and a little wine can send the mind in unexpectedly delightful directions” emboldened me to push through the social stigma and share the pleasures of solo sipping.
Since it’s irresponsible and insensitive to universalize the joys of the solitary tipple, I am going to keep this post centered on me. For many, drinking alone can signal a problem with alcohol. If that is the case for you or anyone you know, please consult this list of sobriety resources for help during the pandemic. For others, it can be the dangerous push down the slippery slope toward harmful and unhealthy habits when the supportive structures of daily routines have been upended. Let’s hope that’s not the case for you, but I want to acknowledge that drinking can often cause more pain than joy.
Now onto the joy of the solitary cocktail. Even before the mandate to shelter in place, I would regularly enjoy a drink taken alone, just as I do lots of other things on my lonesome. As a single woman, I often have to make a choice: either go at it alone or skip it all together. It’s a question of: See that artsy new film in the theatre solo or not. Travel abroad or not. Cook an ambitious recipe or not. Stir a cocktail or not.
I say yes to all of the above because in my mind, life is too short to deny myself these enjoyable activities just because I’m a one-woman show. For me there’s great satisfaction in marking the end of the day by fixing myself a drink. I’ll sip one while I cook a full dinner for myself, another activity that I truly enjoy, and then a second adult beverage while tucking into what I’ve prepared for myself. If I’m watching The Crown, I might even have a pour of scotch after dinner. It’s hard to fight the desire to do so when every character seems to have a tumbler full of one!
I’ll confess that there’s something contradictory about an evening cocktail, as it’s simultaneously loosening and tightening. What I mean by that is that alcohol by its nature relaxes me, but, in an opposite way, it also disciplines me and creates structure. During the work week, I won’t drink until 8pm which means that until then, it’s a work day (something a bit hard to define these days when you’re confined at home all day long) and when I have my drink in hand,it’s the end of that work day and therefore time to relax.
When the clock strikes 8pm, what am I drinking? Since none of us should be making frequent shopping trips, I have limited myself to stirred cocktails, a category of drinks that don’t call for fruit juice, eggs, or dairy. They’re all booze and thus need nothing from the supermarket, only what’s already in my liquor cabinet. For more on stirred cocktails versus shaken ones, check out this blog post of ours.
Since one of my quarantine projects is to read my way through a stack of cocktail books, there is no shortage of new recipes for me to try. I’ll start my evening with a tried-and-true, like a gin martini that I’m tweaking, and then move onto something novel from one of the books. It’s fun to experiment, and it’s actually part of my job, though it doesn’t feel like work.
Since this blog post is about being honest about a taboo subject, I am going to admit that this is what I’ve been enjoying most about quarantining, my daily ritual of going out for an evening walk with a friend (at a safe distance) and then returning home on my own to fix a cocktail and dinner and settle into an hour of T.V. For those hours everything seems like it will be okay and we’ll get through this.