It is that time of year again, and I don’t mean the time for Christmas songs or raking leaves, not the time that the mittens come out or the hot chocolate is stocked. For me, this time of year has quite another flirtatiously nostalgic meaning: Halloween Cocktails. It is this enchanting time of year when I don the imaginary witches’ hat (okay, maybe not so imaginary, since I do own a few…) and begin brewing and stirring and cackling while I drop a bit of this and a splash of that into libations and concoctions of a mysterious kind.

Last year was all about the Purple People Eater, a cocktail that was as sweet as a jolly rancher and went down like kids’ koolaid. Lots of jolliness accompanied that one. Oh and I made a special point to stir a ghost into oblivion; I called this misshapen white cocktail the Liquefied Ghost. Half the fun is naming them, after all. What’s the other half? Brewing them and handing them to suspicious looking guests.

This year I have been working on a special concoction, something spooky and sour, sassy and smart. I imagine a spider hissing and flailing until it wilts into the bottom of my glass. Sunken Spider. Drunken Spider. Smashed Spider. Black Widow. Wilted Widow. What to call this spooky Halloween drink? The jury is out: did the spider sink because it is past its prime or because it primed the pump? Is this scary spider dead or drunk? Either way, with legs dangling over the sides, it leaves much to be desired. And so it goes with haunting libations.

I need your help: what would you call this drink? One of the names listed above or another? Black Widow is a placeholder, a temporary name for this laughably leggy drink:

Black Widow
Cream de Cassis
Vodka
triple sec
fresh lemon juice
Pomegranate juice
licorice strings

For two cocktails (or one cocktail shaker): 2 parts cassis, 3 parts vodka, 1 part triple sec, 1 part lemon juice, 1 part pomegranate. Sorry, even though I bought a little measuring glass for shots, I never seem to use it. I make cocktails with ratios. If I were over my skillet, each ‘part’ would translate to a ‘glugg’ of olive oil. Just think in fractions: for the Black Widow, your shaker is 8 parts. Go from there. Too much of this, too little of that: trust me, the spider really won’t care one way or another.

I do love beverages. Even in college when I would sit to study, I would surround myself with beverage options. I would always have a water and a hot tea or coffee. Perhaps a hot chocolate or apple cider. In those good ole days I would make my own latte at home when diving out the door to the next class. And it wasn’t just any latte; it was the size of a Big Gulp. It was a 32 ounce bow to the coffee centered city I come from, a Seattle icon traveling in my mitts to yet another university lecture.

I thought they were the rage; if I made one of those today I would probably hurl. Or close. In equally coffee-snobby fashion my taste buds are all grown up. Now I scoot past the mega-coffee shops and seek out the boutique, specialty coffee. I no longer drink drip, it is all about Americano’s and French Press. In fact, one of my favorite Christmas presents from a few years back was—I kid you not—a French press insert for my Nalgene bottle (a water bottle and coffee press insert sold by REI; check here if you too find this jaw-dropping awesome).

I don’t buy normal coffee, I travel across town to buy my snobby, fair trade, hard-to-find blends. No doubt the escalation and evolution of my coffee appetite will lead me to import my beans one day.

And with a nod to the environment, I try to use grounds in my garden and make sure to use every last drop of specially made, snobbishly appreciated coffee. So when I have had my morning cup and the karafe has some still-hot coffee at the ready, I pour it into a container with my personalized amount of raw sugar, give it a stir and toss it in the refrigerator. Hours later, when one is at a desk studying or working or whatever it is I do, I will inevitably crave a beverage companion. So I grab the coffee, add a touch of half and half and pour it over ice: fabulously French-and-Seattle iced coffee.

Just remember proportions if you decide to make this: 3/4 coffee (with the sugar already melted in), 1/4 half and half and serve in a glass—or jar—laden with ice.

Current coffee snob faves: FUEL coffee, Cafe Vita, Zoka.

My sons and I were in a store the other day, one full of kitchen and household wares. We were searching for a birthday gift for their grandmother. One of my boys decided he wanted to spend some of his own money to pick and purchase a gift.

We browsed. There were bread baskets and kitchen towels, lemon zesters and delicate vases. He was especially enamored with a salt and pepper shaker and some globe-like candles. But the topper on the cake came later when he had been searching high and low for a perfect gift and beelined over to me to tell me about his quintessential find: ornate cocktail glasses. Anyone else see the humor here? I just started laughing: my 11 year old thinks martini glasses are a good gift idea. Way to go, mom, I think to myself. Nice influence.

So I steered him away from that particular gift option, though I could not hide a smile when thinking of his grandma opening a gift that encourages imbibing. Maybe we should throw in some martini olives for good measure? Fortunately, he settled on a lovely baking dish and kitchen towel to match. She will love them.

I will say this: if he had gotten her those [actually quite stylish] cocktail glasses, I would have considered including the ingredients for this birthday-worthy concoction:

Silky Pear
Simple Syrup
Lemons
Pear Puree or Pear nectar
Knob Creek (Bourbon)

For one cocktail, mix 2 oz Knob Creek, juice of one lemon, 1 oz pear puree, 1/2 oz simple syrup. Shake and chill over ice; strain into martini glass and serve. If you cannot find pear nectar, buy a jar of pears in syrup, take one half of a jarred pear plus an equal amount of syrup and puree in blender. And for the record, those cocktail glasses really were cool.

Oh, and Meeta from What’s for Lunch Honey? had a fabulous idea to host a liquid dream mingling, where folks from around the blogosphere send drink recipes to her. She will list them all after September 10. The Silky Pear was my contribution.

I like to use Google to search for really important things, for example: Long Island Iced Tea, Electric Iced Tea, Bahama Mamas, Rum Runner drinks. Today, when I sat down at my computer those were the screens that popped up before me.

We took a sneak vacation a few weeks ago, surprising our kids day-of that we were taking them to Disneyland. We had been so restless and so craving sun, that we decided to disappear from our regular lives for a few days. We planned and deliberated and kept a very large, very juicy secret from our boys: four days of sun, fun and roller coasters were in their near future (It was very hard not to tell)!

It was great through and through. We spent mornings cavorting around the parks and afternoons laying lazily by a sun-blasted pool. Drinks were allowed. We imbibed, swam, and soaked up some much-needed Vitamin D rays. Two drinks topped our list (somehow ‘foo-foo drinks’—those that boast the umbrella cherry pineapple garnish—seemed appropriate): Rum Runner and Bahama Mama. Sweet, fruity, pineapple, coconut yumminess. “Oh, can you move that umbrella over here? That’s great, thanks. Sure…. goggles are in the bag.” Sigh, sip, drift…

Now it has been a few weeks, and the sun is showing up a bit more here at home. But who wouldn’t want to recapture those moments of relaxation and rumminess? Kindof sounds like reminisce. Rummy Remmies. Reminiscent Rumminess. Running Rummy Reminiscing (yes, done with the word play: but if you have had a few of these drinks in a row, you would think they were very funny tongue twisters).

So here is a version I concocted this weekend to bring a bit of relaxation and fun to guests:

Bahama Mamas
1 1/2 ounce coconut rum
1 ounce triple sec
4 oz orange juice
4 oz pineapple juice
1/2 ounce grenadine

For the record: I never measured. Tropical mentality, I presume. And I made one round in just a glass, and another time I poured a whole pitcher (one for you, four for me). The truth is I do mental fractions while pouring (or my boys might say I measure in “gluggs”; when I ask them to pour olive oil in a skillet I tell them: one glugg or two gluggs. Same goes for alcohol: one glugg or more. I think one glugg is a very rough 1 ounce). So when I pour a glass it is two small gluggs coconut rum, one large glugg triple sec, a few gluggs of orange juice and pineapple juice–I usually err on the side of more orange juice—and a half glugg, splash-like amount of grenadine. Sounds complicated? The island drinks are very forgiving. Start pouring, mix, adjust. It’s all good.

I think it sounds silly too, but I swear cocotini is the new appletini. Appletinis are so 3 years ago; cocotinis are showing up on menus all around town.

Maybe this is because it has been a grey, long, wet winter and we need a drink with the ability to transport us to a sandy, tropical paradise. In any event, this chilled coconut beverage served in a martini glass unanimously glorifies sunny beaches and palm trees.

So, naturally, I had to play with the ingredients, ratios, hints of citrus and samplings of sugar. I figured it would take me days upon days of coconut imbibing to truly get it right. Maybe I should even travel to some sunny, sandy beaches… just to make sure I get it right.

I tried variations on the cocotini: one was similar to a lemon drop, only sans the vodka, add in the Malibu Rum. Another took coconut rum and mixed it with only vodka in a very, very chilled glass (with lovely ice chards reminiscent of a well chilled shaker, a necessary coolant for the blistering sun).

The only umbrella I want is the little paper one that belongs in my drink.

Or not: this is the most sophisticated drink rendition this coconut rum has ever seen. For that reason alone, the paper umbrellas will stay closed. The only garnish that will find its way into this new, trendy drink will be a twist of lemon:

Cocotini
Coconut rum
Vodka
Lemon wedge

To serve 2: Fill large shaker 1/2 with vodka, 1/4 with the rum and add juice of 1/4 lemon. Shake, shake and shake. Muddle if you can. Pour into very chilled glass. Close eyes, smell coconut, sip while thinking ‘beach.’ Then sit—preferably in the sun. Full-blown beach umbrellas optional.