A cock-tale, or 'make it another gold-fashioned, please'

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Do Bloody Marys count as cocktails? Or just ‘mixed drinks’. I love a good Bloody Mary. Well, they really don’t come in the singular, do they? Ian used to make wonderful jugs of the stuff, and we would sit on our balcony in the fading sun of the evening Côte d’azur, looking out at the village of St Paul de Vence … ah! Memories!

But looking-back wasn’t the reason for the question. If they don’t count, I think I can say that up to about age 64, I hadn’t really tasted what is referred to as ‘a cocktail’. But then, I discovered them. In Berlin. I choose my places! And I have become, late in life, a devotee.

My ‘master’ in the art of cocktail was a Bayern Munich fan, Ollie Mansary, who also just happened to be head cocktail honcho at the glorious Katz Orange restaurant, two wobbles and a run from my Berlin flat. I and my friends tried the whole panoply of his menu. But there was one drink that stood out … the ‘Gold Fashioned’. Many a one have we sipped over Ollie’s bar …

I put cocktails out of mind when I headed for Australia. It’s more a long-and-cold-drinks country. But the other night young friend Harry and I tried a previously unknown (to me) restaurant. It bears the incomprehensible name of ‘Fusion on the Hill’. Well, it’s on the hill all right. But what’s this dumb expression ‘Fusion’? Who invented that?

Anyway, Delightfully pretty spot with a nice open view over Yamba, run by the equally delightful Sunny and Rams and … good grief! They serve cocktails. No just Margaritas, but all sorts.

We had a splendid meal, and tried the odd cocktail …

And that got me nostalgic. So I told Sunny about the Gold Fashioned. And after Harry had helped me down the slippery hill in the pouring rain, I dug up the recipe that Olli had given me and I sent it to Sunny. I didn’t really think …

But 48 hours later, when I turned up, again, on the hill … there was a pretty good approximation of Olli’s masterpiece waiting for me! It wasn’t quite the same. Olli has a big Laphroaig ice-block as the centre-piece to his glass, which takes some making. But that was all that was missing! It was delicious … ‘Make it another gold-fashioned, please’. Well, I had my grand dinner, paid the bill and then … oh, just one more … wonderful, gutsy, wicked stuff …

Of course, what I didn’t think of was, that, without the big ice-block, those drinks were strong, strong, strong … I looked at the hillside, walking stick left at home, dark now …  and Sunny came to the rescue and safely chauffeured me home!

Of course, I was back 48 hours later (older and a touch wiser) for my best meal yet, and … hey, hurry home, Harry, its Friday night and 5.30 … time to go up the hill again!