My mother’s words of feminist-laden wisdom: Never underestimate the power of a woman. My post-feminist adaptation: Never underestimate the power of a foofy (a.k.a. of the stereotypically feminine variety) cocktail.
To celebrate twenty two years of my personally inspired insanity, my Wellesley friends and I opted to indulge in my alcoholic drink of choice– the infamous tiramisu cocktail. First introduced to the drink during my junior year abroad adventure, I soon came to value the cocktail with a shot of espresso and hint of mocha.
And when I returned to the Empire State, I scoured the local bars and restaurants, attempting to rekindle my alcoholic love affair. But the Almighty One Above, perhaps fearing for my liver, would not arrange for such a reunion. I was forced to return to my daily routine of espresso, sans liquor and courtesy of Starbucks.
While Starbucks satiated my initial craving, I was a Wellesley woman on a mission. I could not be stopped, and upon signing my Nolita lease, I determined it was the appropriate time to revive my failed tiramisu cocktail search efforts.
Nolita, situated just north of Little Italy, is only steps away from some of the most decadent Italian bakeries in North America. And perhaps the most notable Italian dessert– tiramisu– can be found, purchased, and devoured at almost any local bakery or restaurant.
Well, where there is a dessert, I reasoned, there must a caloric and highly alcoholic equivalent. Indeed, with a bit of sniffing and all around snooping, I tracked down the one restaurant which listed the beverage as a local favorite. And then I conveniently arranged my birthday dinner to convene at said restaurant.
Needless to say, it was the night of magical living. And it was followed by a spontaneous return trip to my apartment, where the Gentile Giant and the Asian Roommate demonstrated the importance of stature in accessing basic kitchenware. I also display an affinity, or as some have argued, fear of tupperware:
Not exactly a drunken debacle, but a memorable evening nonetheless. And in the words of Dr. Seuss (from who I derive all life advice worthy following),
You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the guy [gal] who’ll decide where to go.
Here’s to a year of paving my own road– one $12 cocktail at a time.