Sidecar

RL, the Handel of bartenders with whom I am roommates, made us a sidecar tonight ... Courvoisier, Cointreau, lemon juice. He makes a cocktail ca 4 nights a week, and it slakes off the fatigue and doubt and makes home warm and permanent and the raison d'être.

The joys of drink ... this one an elixir of the relief in Paris after the first great slaughter of the last century ended. Jazz and joy and jivin' around. Gettin' loopy, getting plain drunk, and breathing as if there are no threats. People shattered by the first war, terrified of the prospect of the next, drinking, imbibing, sucking it down. Life without liquor ... that would prison, or religion, or an abstemiousness that cannot be healthy for the soul. Not thinking of those who can't handle it or don't like it ... perhaps being unfair. But a sidecar by night, warm company, the dog staring at the cheese that I will not give him. L'chaim.

One sidecar not enough for now ... two. Two is better than one, even on a Monday night when the sensible are thinking of the bell tomorrow morning.

Photo by Arod of a mosaic in Paris ... Le Marais, I think.