I hated the hosts immediately.
|Pineapple, candy corn, milk & booze together at last|
It's salt, not baby rhino tears. Get over yourselves. Unless the salt is made from dehydrated baby rhino tears, then I don't want to go over to your house anyway because what sort of jerk makes a baby rhino cry?
The whole thing is just a bad, bad idea.
When you invite a guest into your home, the goal is to make them feel special.
While a pre-printed cocktail menu outlining all the stuff you learned in your two-for-one Groupon mixology class might seem flattering at first glance, the second you hand over that menu, the focus of import shifts away from the guest and lands with an embarrassing thud right on you and your special cocktail menu of special specialness in an unbearably cringeworthy way.
The only thing your guest is left with is pressure.
If someone offered me a printed cocktail menu as a guest in their home, I'd die a little, then panic, then die again.
|I'll have...the gibson|
No one wants to be the guest who sets back their host twenty bucks in booze or forces them to spend ages crushing artisanal mint leaves with a wooden muddler polished between the glowing thighs of a Peruvian virgin. Then I'd spend the rest of the night wondering if I chose wisely.
It's all so avoidable.
I am a good Episcopalian doing the best I can to remain orthodox in exile, so I could whip up anything from an Aviation to a Zombie if my guests so desired (no one has ever so desired either, which is fine with me because crème de violette smells and Zombies are a pain to make), but when it's cocktail time I usually make one or two nonchalant suggestions along with the regular highballs and spritzes and leave it at that.
"Can I fix you a drink? I've been on a Manhattan and Sazerac kick lately since we finally found some decent rye, but since we're having Italian I thought I'd go for a Campari and soda. The bar's pretty full, so pick your poison."
There. No printed menu needed. I've let them know we've got something special available --it's almost impossible to find good rye in Mexico-- but that it's not so precious as to be off-putting. I've offered them two cocktail choices, but also opened up the possibility of lighter fare since not everyone likes strong drinks or wants to be intimidated by your Prohibition-era prowess. That way they can enjoy their vodka tonic without fear of being silently judged by the Fancy Cocktail Police.
|also good for the pip and bad humors|
They're both dead easy to make and not really worth the brag.
The goal is creating a superior product for your guest's enjoyment, not impressing them with your uncanny ability to let something sit in a jar for a few weeks.
What do you think about in-house cocktail menus at private homes?
What's the sign of a good host to you?
Put it in the comments.