I made mojito for the first time today, purportedly one of Ernest Hemingway's favorites. How appropriate, since he was also a depressive that resorted to drinking. Plus he committed suicide, to boot. Like his father before him. There is something romantic about that kind of tragedy.
I almost feel like I'm a betrayal to the great Mr. Hemingway, as I know i'm feeling pretty good about myself because today i actually bought a bunch of fresh things at the grocery store. You know, things you actually have to cook before you can eat them.
My concoction here was inspired by a Bacardi recipe. I replaced the lime with lemon, and since I didn't have club soda, I tried a splash of tonic, which worked fine when I wisely reduced the sugar.
There's just something very invigorating about the ritual of making something (relatively) from scratch. There's nothing like having fresh lemon juice drip down your fingertips as you squeeze a half with your bare hands cos you don't have no fancy juicer. Believe me, this is way more labor-intensive than the mixers I'm used to. But so worth it! Mmm... But obviously can't do it when really tanked. I'd crushed a finger along with them mint leaves.
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