The name of this cocktail is just an indicator that there are times in the kitchen when I don’t know what I exactly want and am usually like, why can’t I add mint to this. I’d only make sense! This is a hodgepodge of two kinds of cocktails: a mojito and a caipirinha. So…that makes it a caipirijito. If I’ve confused you, please ignore me and make this cocktail with rum and you can call it a rhubarb mojito.
Sometimes I overly complicate things and annoy myself.
What is the difference between cachaca and rum anyway? There is a difference, even though it might not seem that way at first glance.
Rum is made using processed cane; hence the reason why rum usually has notes of molasses.
Cacacha is much cleaner in flavor because it’s made with unprocessed cane juice. So, I think when you’re pairing it with something like, say, rhubarb, the cleaner flavor is the way to go.
There are a ton of cacachas out there you can use; I picked a super standard one called Pitu. It’s great for mixing cocktails a.k.a. caipirhinias. Is it fancy? No, it won’t impress anyone and it’s definitely not made to sip, but it’ll do the trick when making mixed drinks. And it’s not expensive at all.
I was going start this paragraph by saying, “Cocktail season is here!” But then I stopped myself because we all know that it’s always cocktail season on this blog. Duh. This cocktail in particular is seasonal, I suppose, though I see nothing wrong with using frozen strawberries, making this drank doable year-round.
Sure this looks like a pretty simple strawberry basil situation mixed with some gin, but I can assure you it’s a bit more special. I can’t get near strawberries without thinking of adding a dash of black pepper and a drizzle of balsamic vinegar. It’s just too easy! So this cocktail has a bit of weird stuff added to it, but do you expect any less from me? No, you don’t.
In other news, thanks for all your concern with Amelia. I’m happy to report that she’s back to barking a lot, stealing shoes, drinking my afternoon tea when I’m not looking and so on. So she’s better.
Yesterday as I was procrastinating aka staring out the window, I started to think about all the terrible jobs I’ve had in my life. Let me start by saying I’ve had some super great and easy ones. Like that time I worked for Earthlink at a kiosk in the mall and literally did absolutely nothing and just watched movies on my computer. Best job ever for a 16 year old. There was also that time I taught kids how to play tennis and got paid way too much for having that much fun.
My worst job was pretty depressing, especially now looking back at it. During the summer between the end of high school and beginning of college I wanted some money, basically to buy clothes and hang out with my friends. I responded to a Craigslist ad asking for someone who was a “self-starter, liked talking and personable.” I arrived to a run-downed office and greeted by some bro dude who gave me a schpeel about “helping older people who were trapped by owning timeshares they were unable to sell.” I was to sell them a service, which DID NOT exist, that’d help them sell their timeshare. Basically, my job was to rip off seniors. I failed miserably because I’m not that great of a sales person and since I was a naive person, it took me a good week to catch on to what was going on. I was lectured about being more of a “go-getter and understanding the place they were coming from.”
I feel like attempting to rip off older people might go down as the worst job ever. Waiting tables was SO much better.
What does this have to do with a cocktail? I dunno. I basically just wanted to share with you my terrible job. Hopefully you’ll share one too. We’ve all had (or have!) terrible jobs.
My favorite and least favorite thing about owning a dog is how she wakes me up EARLY every. single. morning. I hate it because she whines and complains until I get up and take her for a walk; I love it because I don’t have to set an alarm clock and can depend on her to whine and complain to get me out of bed. So basically I love her method during the weekday and hate it on the weekends. No matter what day it is, I love our early morning walks, except for this past week when they’ve gotten SCARY. Yes, scary.
Last weekend we were walking, minding our own business when Amelia spotted a cat in the bushes. Amelia loves cats, wants to be their friends – just like I do, actually – but they’re never interested in friendship. This particular thugged-out cat was pissed that Amelia was interested. So, I did what I always do and tugged on her leash and was like, “C’mon Amelia, that cat doesn’t like you.” And she usually tries again and then gives up.
So as Amelia was still staring at the cat, it surprisingly leaped out at us and screeched. Amelia let out this yelp that I’ve never, EVER heard before and then of course since I’m scared of things like ants and teeny-tiny spiders, it startles me and we take off down the street, running like two crazy mad things. I stopped running when it dawned on me that I was running from a thing that I’m totally bigger than. It was absurd. But then I look behind me to see the cat running after us. So we do what anyone would do: we ran again.