Pour the Paper Airplane Over the Crushed Ice
As a child, my siblings and I left our California home every two summers to visit relatives in Skopje, Macedonia. I remember when I was 7 years old, I ate Sunday lunch in the house of my aunts, to fidget in his chair, on my cheek was visible drop velvet lipstick Oriflame due acclaim, to bestow my aunts and Babi. The table was strewn with cups of Turkish coffee after meals, the air was filled with secondhand smoke and cosmetic perfumes, and adults who constantly smoked, chatted and gossiped around me, only occasionally stopping to say to me: “Abe zemi touch si, do not be shameful.” … “(Don’t be shy, eat.)
Summer in Skopje is oppressive and hot, which makes it even harder to calm the already picky children’s sky. Cocoa is too bitter, marmalade is too sweet-syrup, Russian salad with mayonnaise is sweating in wedding china – a horror show. I remember desperately turning my attention to a crystal vase full of neon foil lollipops, which hardly turned this Walgreens lollipop veteran on. I read his selection of unfamiliar tastes without much enthusiasm; Instead of blue raspberries, green apples, or watermelons, there were cherries, apricots, wild blueberries, and mountain strawberries. I remember yanking an apricot out, unceremoniously putting it in my mouth, and was completely overwhelmed by the bright burst of aroma I encountered.
I suppose this is what the first sip of a paper airplane should be like for so many people – a kaleidoscopic hit of varnished nectar that is fresh, juicy, bright, sweet, tart, bitter and unexpectedly complex at the same time. … It was definitely for me. In a genre of what I like to call “sorbet cocktails,” Sam Ross’s beloved classic is outstanding. And like his peers, he needs to be served up shocked, hissing and giggling in his compartment, ready to be thrown back while he’s still alive . But perfecting a cocktail is hard work. It requires energy, which (at least for me) is easily depleted by the July heat and, you know, the burden of life in the modern world. For a cocktail that can be sipped in a few easy sips, sometimes the juice isn’t worth it.
So for a lazy evening where you need to freshen up and don’t care – in fact, maybe even enjoy – sipping on the slushy leftovers of a drink that’s long gone (I love flavored ice chips, damn it), may I suggest you include paper airplane. crushed ice? My favorite version has one minor modification: I am using Campari of the original version instead of its eventual successor, Aperol, but of course you are free to use Aperol if you like; both versions are equally divine. To make a paper airplane you will need:
- 3/4 ounce lemon juice (fresh only)
- 1/2 ounce Campari with ounces of plain syrup or ¾ Aperol
- 3/4 oz Amaro Nonino *
- 3/4 ounce bourbon
Add the ingredients to the glass and mix well. Fill a glass with crushed ice and strain a quarter of the mixture into it, then tamp the ice with the bottom of the glass (the liquid will melt the ice a little, freeing up more space in the glass for maximum crushing. Ice volume.) Add more ice and strain the remaining liquid into a glass filled with ice. Place more crushed ice on top. There is no need to decorate, but if you need accessories, an orange slice will do.
A note on ice: If you are using crushed ice made in the freezer, fill a tall glass before making your drink. This happens slowly, and your shake will wither and run thin before you finish pouring the rest of the mixture. Tragic.