A Dinner Menu for a Mid-Summer Murder
Make-ahead for when there’s really no time to waste.
I was having a gin and tonic with my mother, Babs, last weekend.
Exceptionally hot, we were bobbing on floaties in her pool. Mine, a jaunty unicorn, hers, a more practical – dare I say ergonomic – tube, the hole filled in by a somewhat supportive mesh lining, and the back offering a headrest.
Perhaps lulled by the heat of the day, or relaxed by the G&T, my mother returned to one of her favourite subjects: the abrupt and hasty sale of her neighbours’ house. The home was where the wife (also named Erin) grew up; Erin bought it from her parents maybe 20 years ago and raised her family there. So it was … weird when the house went up for sale, with nary a word to my mum, who has known Erin all her life, and quickly sold for probably a good 100k less than what it could have earned.
“I called her to tell her I was sorry she was leaving,” Babs swatted at a mosquito that landed on her arm. “Erin sounded so sad. She just said, ‘me too,’ in a quiet voice and then rushed off the phone.”
The sun sparkling off the clear pool water caused her to squint harder at Erin’s (now former) house, the roof just visible above the tree line of lilac bushes along my mother’s back property. “You know… I hadn’t seen the husband in at least six months,” Babs, holding the stem of her G&T filled wine glass, took another sip. “Maybe he died,” she concluded.
Previous to this consideration, my ma thought divorce or financial troubles were the basic possibilities to ditching the long-held family property.
But death in the afternoon is a far more attractive consideration. Especially a hot summer afternoon tempered by gin.
As we gently bobbed on the waves created by my nephew’s relentless cannonballs, we reasoned, it is possible, that the husband, a jovial guy who worked for municipality, uncovered some nefarious dealings at city hall. In a desperate attempt to shut him up, councillors, mired in shady activity with the mafia, were forced to bury the evidence. My mum’s problem is the murderers are aware the husband’s elderly neighbour figured out the reason for the brisk house sale. Babs, for her part, doesn’t know who’s to blame or the extent of the wrongdoings, but the city’s power brokers don’t know what she knows and what she doesn’t, and they can’t risk loose ends.
I poured my mother a double gin to calm her nerves.
I’m sure she’ll be fine, but I haven’t heard from her yet today. If you’re reading, Mum, call me.
Death in the Afternoon. A Most Appropriate Cocktail for a Killing.
“Pour one jigger absinthe into a Champagne glass. Add iced Champagne until it attains the proper opalescent milkiness. Drink three to five of these slowly.”
Leave it to Hemingway to outline specific instructions on not only the proper way to make a drink, but the proper way to consume it. Or, rather, them.
Death in the Afternoon, the champagne-absinthe cocktail, appears in Papa’s 1932 bullfighting novel of the same name. It was apparently inspired by his Lost Generation years in Paris when absinthe was all the rage among the bohemian glitterati.
While my mother and I quenched our thirst with the far more prosaic (yet nonetheless delicious) gin and tonic, another drink that might be better suited to murder mysteries is the Corpse Reviver, especially if you feel you’ve made an error in judgment.
While the name – and ingredients – might be foreboding, a Corpse Reviver is actually light, bright, and delicious – and happens to be another favourite of mine, for what it’s worth.
Ingredients:
1 tsp (or so) Absinthe, to rinse the glass
1 oz each Lillet Blanc, gin, orange liqueur, and fresh lemon juice.
How to Make It:
Pour the absinthe into a chilled coup. Turn the coup on its side and roll back and forth to coat the inside of the glass with absinthe. Dump the extra.
Add the Lillet, gin, orange liqueur, and lemon juice to shaker filled with ice and shake until well chilled, about 10 seconds.
Strain into the coup.
A Make-Ahead Menu for When You Gotta Skedaddle
This is the menu I made for my family last weekend as we stared down uncertain death.
It was an exceptionally hot day, with a cloudless sky – in fact the first rain-free weekend in Ontario this summer. Clearly, chained to the stove inside, was not how I wanted to spend this rare occasion.
Lemongrass chicken, peanut noodles, the Thai salad I sent a few weeks ago (recipe linked below), and spicy and sweet cucumbers are on repeat all summer long at my house.
It’s an easy menu, with the bright flavours of fresh herbs and snappy citrus that’s as symbolic of summer as stews and roasts are of winter.
Granted, a bit of effort is required, though largely make-ahead, so completely worth it.
I’m an early riser and in the relative cool of morning, I (literally) bang out the lemongrass marinade, which really only takes 10 minutes, and massage it into the chicken to bathe for the day in aromatic spices.
While the peanut noodles should be made before serving so they don’t get sticky and gloppy, the sauce can be made hours ahead of time to be used when needed. And the dressing for the salad is best made ahead of time so it can cool.
Throw a few bottles of lager on ice, or better yet, make a shandy. As for wine, I think rosé is a fantastic all-arounder for Southeast Asian flavours, but you could also go for a Spanish Verdejo, Albariño, or Italian Verdicchio, which are all refreshing wines with flavours of citrus and herbs.
Menu
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Thanks for reading. Stay alert to any sudden and inexplicable house sales in your neighbourhood. Vigilance is key.
xo -Erin
I love this! Mom, call your daughter! Your description of hanging out drinking G&T’s and the easy mother-daughter exchanges brought back so many sweet memories of hanging out with a bottle of wine with my Mom on her deck. ☺️ Menu looks delicious, lovely!
Detective Babs and Erin are on the case! 🥃