We stopped off at the bodega for beers, which resulted in the minus part of the transactions for the day, but we were nonetheless successful in our mission of acquiring alcohol. The shop owner’s patience for our linguistic fumbling isn’t an issue, but her line of questioning tends to throw us for a loop. As I’ve been learning Spanish, I’ve built scenarios in my head as mental exercises. I can understand extensive directions to the bathroom, how to find the police, what day a restaurant opens, where the parrot’s pants are located, and any number of things that almost never take place in daily life. It’s the regional turns on common phrases that throw us completely. Sometimes deciphering how much change we need to harvest for our purchases is avoided by handing over a fiver and crossing our fingers. Just like anywhere else, convenience stores are breezy affairs, and $2.75 in clipped English in a 7-11 translates in an Ecuadorian bodega to “what the hell did she just say oh god I’m so nervous I don’t want to fuck this up oh shit her eyes are boring a hole into my skull and waiting for an answer fuck fuckity fuck fuck” and so on.
Due in large part to the cocktail renaissance of the last few years, shrubs have come screaming into the present from an era when the United States were but a gleam in the Founders’ eyes. Shrubs are an old method of preservation, and when done properly, you can enjoy the fruits of summer’s labors in the dead of winter. They’re used in cocktails in a similar fashion to syrups. The component parts are a subject, a sweetener and vinegar. We’ll break down how to do a basic shrub and what the rules are, so that you can break them when you make your own. There’s a bit of science involved behind the scenes, and the whole process is based in fermentation, but don’t let that shake you. Making a shrub is as easy as discovering penicillin, when you get down to it.