Today is my dad’s 74th birthday. He’s very easy to shop for. All he wants for his birthday is Tanqueray gin. Father’s Day? Tanqueray. Merry Christmas! Here’s your bottle of Tanqueray!
Dad is a Martini Man. And when I say martini, I don’t mean the yummy Pomegranate or Lemon Drop vodka martinis that I like to drink. I mean the taste-like-nail-polish-remover-smells gin martinis: fill glass with ice. Pour gin (Tanquerey, of course) over the ice and fill the glass. Pour a cap-full of dry vermouth over the top of that. Add a jalapeno stuffed olive. eeew.
When I was about 13 he asked me to make him one (which I thought was quite an honor). Well, I reversed the ingredients: glass of vermouth, cap-full of gin. You know how in the movies people take a swig of something and spew it out in a fine spray across the table? Yeah. That’s what happened. Almost 30 years later he still teases me about that. Um, parents? If your 13 year old can make a great martini, there is something wrong with you.
Each time he makes a run to CostCo, he grabs the Overstreet’s version of earthquake supplies: a case of toilet paper and a gallon sized bottle of Tanqueray. I repeat: each time. (Oddly, I have never seen where these stockpiles are kept.) My parents’ priorities are firmly set. I’m sure they have bottled water, batteries and flashlights (especially after the Great Blackout of 1997 ) and with mom being a retired RN, there are medical supplies (including Flexaril!). However, they recognize that comfort and familiarity go a long way when things go south.
I am going to stash a bottle of good vodka at their house. Because if the “Big One” does hit? I’m going to spend cocktail hour with Big Dave.