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acocktailmoment · 1 year

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Hanky Panky !

Actor and theater producer Sir Charles Hawtrey needed some magic when he wandered into the American Bar at London’s Savoy Hotel in the early 1920s, looking for a drink. “Coley,” he said, “I’m half dead. What can you do to make me quite alive?”

The “Coley” in question was Ada “Coley” Coleman, head bartender at the Savoy and, at the time, perhaps the most famous female bartender in the world. Her father died in 1899 when she was 24, and being unmarried found herself with a sudden and somewhat urgent need for a job.

She got hired at a London hotel arranging flowers, then moved to the bar, and then ultimately transferred to the big leagues, to the American Bar at the elegant Savoy Hotel. She was a gifted bartender, endlessly charming, and quickly worked her way up to head bartender, where she served for 22 years.

She hosted Mark Twain, Charlie Chaplain, the Prince of Wales… it goes on and on. “It was she who made the bar famous,” asserts cocktail historian Ted Haigh, and indeed, when she retired in 1925, at least two different London newspapers published articles documenting her legacy.

Ingredients:

1.5 oz Dry Gin

1.5 oz Sweet Vermouth

2 dashes Fernet Branca

1 Twisted orange peel as garnish

Instructions:

Add all ingredients at once to your mixing glass and also add plenty of ice.

Stir until the drink is well-chilled.

Strain into your chilled cocktail glass and garnish with the twisted orange peel.

This article was not sponsored or supported by a third-party. A Cocktail Moment is not affiliated with any individuals or companies depicted here.

#art #design #cocktailrecipes #cocktails #drinks #hanky panky #gin #vermouth #fernet branca #orange #ada cileman #coley #1920s #savoy #london #uk #mark tawain #charlie chaplin #iconic

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cesarhernandez · 8 months

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#Fernet branca

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skara-da · 7 months

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Dipping my vanilla-caramel ice cream cone in Fernet Branca and thinking about the time I made my roomate speachless offering her the cheapest vanilla pudding straight from the canteen smothered in Pelinkovac and the whole thing worked. She was austrain so she was already used to Kräuterlikör and to sickly sweet desserts but putting the two together really did a number on her. Just about too stupified to be pissed off.

Please if you already like amaro liqueur and sweet rich creamy stuff try to sprinkle the former on the latter to unlock a new dimension of flavours

#ice cream #amaro #fernet branca #alchool #tw alchohol mention #Kräuterlikör

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paulburkhart · 1 year

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The Black Advent (a Holy Day Cocktail)

At the beginning of this new Church Year, I'm going to start posting my #HolyDayCocktails to my blog with more background and specifics. This is going to be fun.

Recipe 1oz Black Rum 1oz Brandy 1oz Averna 2 dashes Chocolate Bitters 2 dashes Citrus Bitters 1/4tsp Fernet Branca Stir with ice, and strain neat into a rocks glass. Garnish with two cherries and add some of the juice into glass as well. * * * * I have been crafting cocktails for Holy Days and seasons for a little bit now, inspired by Michael P. Foley’s amazing Drinking with the Saints.…

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#averna #brandy #cocktails #fernet branca #rum

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orianas-world · 2 years

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Drinks

#Fernet #Branca #Corona #Beer

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nzomarchi · 9 months

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intento de concurso para branca. seguiremos intentando muchas veces mas!

#fratelli #branca #fernet #ilustracion #digitaldraw #photoshop #wacom

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juanganavy · 1 year

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Ame como quedó está sesión para @fernetbranca_ar . En @cima_bar_mza . ¿Les pinta que arme un pack de 10 presets, 1 un vídeo explicando cómo usarlos en tus fotos? 🪙📸🪙📸🪙📸🪙📸🪙📸 Mándenme un mensajito, si les interesa. Y les paso los 10 que más uso para distintos tipos de eventos. ✉️🔥✉️🔥✉️🔥✉️🔥✉️🔥 Casamientos, sunsets, discos, bar, gastronomía, indumentaria y versiones en HD como las que use en esta sesión: ****Neon Branca + Neon Branca HD + Neon Branca HD sin Flash.**** . Para Adobe Lightroom Classic. . @jaguileraphotography @solpalmarocchi @__aishalima @lorens_carvallo . #nikon #juanga #juanganavy #juangaaguilera #juangaaguilera #d3100 #photograph #cima #cimabar #noche #bar #evento #fernet #branca #fernetbranca #fiesta #party #messi #photographer #photography #jaguileraphotography #fotos #nightclubphotography #argentinacampeon #mendoza (at Cima Bar) https://www.instagram.com/p/CpDk1j9pLa4/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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adribosch-fan · 2 years

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Fernet, histórico y con doble nacionalidad

Branca, la marca líder de esta bebida tan amada por los argentinos, cumple 175 años. Nacida en Italia, existen suficientes pruebas y razones para adoptarla como propia: una de ellas, el gran invento cordobés de mezclarla con coca. La Prensa los invita a un recorrido por los orígenes de esta “costumbre nacional”. Si bien el fernet nació en Italia, a esta altura no parece errado afirmar que merece…

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#Argentina #Bernardino Branca #Boticario #Doble nacionalidad #Fernet #Historia #Italia #La Prensa #Milán

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acocktailmoment · 1 year

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Sugar Monk’s Hanky Panky !

Ingredients:

Serving: 1

1 1/2 ounces unaged genever, preferably Old Duff Blended Dutch

1 1/2 ounces sweet vermouth, preferably Carpano Antica Formula

1 barspoon Fernet-Branca

3 dashes chile-infused orange bitters (see Editor’s Note)

Garnish: orange twist

Directions:

Stir all ingredients with ice.

Strain into a chilled Nick & Nora or coupe glass.

Twist the orange peel over the top of the drink to express the essential oils from the peel, then use the peel to garnish the drink.

Chile-Infused Orange Bitters:

Pour one 5-ounce bottle of Regans’ Orange Bitters No. 6 into a glass jar with two Thai chiles (also called bird’s eye chiles), cut in half. Cover the jar. Macerate for 6 hours. Strain and return the liquid to the bitters bottle, then cap tightly. Keeps indefinitely.

By Ektoras Binikos,

Photo: Nico Schinco

This article was not sponsored or supported by a third-party. A Cocktail Moment is not affiliated with any individuals or companies depicted here.

#art #design #cocktail recipes #Cocktails #recipes #monk #hanky panky #genever #vermouth #fernet-branca #orange #ektoras binikos #drinks #drink recipes #nico schinco

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indouloureux · 2 years

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𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬, 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬

— joseph quinn x reader

———

summary: the morning after the unforeseen, you wake up from the smell of nicotine and his rich scent of ardor; along with the burning questions of what's next, the trepidation of the truth, and whether joseph loves you or not

warnings: mentions of sex, smoking, swearing, slight angst, fluff, idiots in love, friends to lovers, not proofread, quick and shitty writing

a/n: a lot of you guys sent in requests for the smoking thing and i'm in love! i have a prequel for this one so pls sit tight mwah (the shotgunning is still here dw its just briefly mentioned i'm sorry)

In the sheets he calls his sacred oasis, you awake with the kiss of his cold silk against your bare skin. The dream stops like a pause, only what comes next is the sun filtering through the thin epidermis of your eyelids. You sigh deeply, opening your heavy eyelids, eyes straining from its exsiccation.

And what greets you next is the smell of nicotine from across the room.

“Christ. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

You glance around you, a quick reminiscence from last night — the clothes strewn across the floor, the dead cigarette from the ashtray beside you, an empty bottle of fernet branca, and the lingering smell of dior and sex buoyant with the summer air. You sit up, frowning quizzically at the sight of you in your undergarments when you can vaguely remember it being ripped and thrown aside somewhere in the corner of his affluent room. Then you see him:

As if the beam of sunlight guides you to let your eyes rest on the intrepid man, Joseph stands by the balcony, the sun in front of him makes his back look like a silhouette. He’s shirtless with sweatpants hung low on his waist, elbows perched on the rail. Smoke leaves his mouth, eyes trained across the city, eyelashes straight and bold against his cheeks when he blinks. You feel your heart palpitate at the sight of your best friend, like it always does, except this time the reason’s different.

“I don’t know. I guess we don’t always have to be lonely, right?”

Swallowing thickly, you push the sheets off you, letting your bare feet rest on the carpeted floor. You pick up a random shirt from the ground — his, you think, and wear it shamelessly. You pat off the dust it collected, watching as specks fall to the ground. But despite the hushed actions, Joseph senses your conscious presence. He turns his head around, chin almost on his shoulder to look at you.

Startled, you look up at him, fingers fiddling with the ends of his shirt, before he softly says, “hey, love”

You walk over to him, your arms and legs aching, shivering when your feet touch the cold cement of his balcony. And you mimic his position, only without the cigarette as you stare across the endless edifices. You feel him look at you, imperceptible in his glazed stare. He blinks when you clear your throat, urging yourself to look at him.

And fuck, even in the early morning with the sun beginning to rise behind the city, he’s unfathomably pretty. Brown eyes that rectify his emotions, so wide with knowledge; perusal in his requisite to know the truth, especially when it comes to you. The way his pupils dilate when he sees you is fooling, a trick you refuse to partake in.

“Hey,” you murmur. The indigo sky mixes with the blithe colors of orange and yellow, a gaussian blur in your vision as your sight focuses on him and him only. Joseph’s eyes trail across the shirt you’re wearing, trying to hide the smile that threatens to come out, so he hides it behind his cigarette that he plucks back in his mouth. “You’re up early,”

He lets the smoke exit his mouth in a quick whiff. “Could say the same for you,” he rasps, ducking his face as a curl falls to his forehead. “You went out like a light last night. Thought you wouldn’t be up ‘till twelve,” Joseph chuckles. “Did…did I wake you?”

You shake your head, a sudden feeling of shyness has your eyes tracing the golden curve of his thin chain, brazen against his collarbones and opalescent skin. You remember the way it felt between your fingers — how he’d dotingly stared at you as before he pushed himself in. “No. Just woke up by myself.”

“Ah,” he looks down on his fingers. You wonder where all the confidence had gone. Perhaps alcohol was the only thing that unveils such ribald gallantry. Which explains the way he held you like something he’s lost, talked to you in Rabelaisian ways, touched you the way a lover would in the dark. Kissed you like he’s loved you forever.

Joseph looks embarrassed, ashamed of what he’s done. And you feel a sudden pit in your stomach as you think that maybe he’d regretted it. Regretted those words.

“So, um,” your index picks on the skin beside your thumbnail. “I guess now’s the right time to talk about it.”

There’s a huge intake of breath, as if he’s been preparing for this moment to come even in the earliest of mornings. Joseph takes another hit, before he forces himself to look at you once more. “Yeah. You’re right.”

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Listen, Jo. I- I was drunk. And so were you. And—” you want to tell him. That the words you said last night weren’t true. But they were; in every consonant and every vowel of the drunken words, they were true in its yearning revelation. But you’re a coward to rejection. “And I-...”

A flash of hurt strikes through his glassy eyes. “You didn’t mean it?”

“No!” your eyebrows furrow, hand raised into a debate to hold his arm or cross it around yours. You chose the latter.

“All these years. I’ve looked and looked for people to love and it turns out, that person was right in front of me this whole time.”

“Then what?” he turns his body to face you, a streak of withering patience across the lines above his eyebrows as he furrows them. “You were just drunk?”

“Well, I was,” you try to humor. “But I want you to know that…”

In that ephemeral cowardice, your heart decides to divulge in the treacherous escapade of truth; you’re tired of lying, sick of hurting yourself, especially now that you’ve both done something stupid and you’ve got the opportunity to make things better or worse. Because you long to melt into his touch. His arms that are so comforting in dark times where you’ve lost all light, his love that he gives and gives when you feel forsaken.

“I meant everything I said,” you whisper, watching the way his chest raises for more than a second like you’d caught him off guard — which you did. Joseph’s cigarette hangs loosely between his fingers, almost falling onto the ground as he stares at you in dubiety. “I meant it all, Jo.”

He whispers your name, and it feels like everything just stopped. The smoke frozen in the air, the rushing cars stopping in a motion blur, time stuck between the fast minute hand. And the only thing that moves are your heartbeats; entwined and synchronized.

“Yeah?” you nod. Joseph huffs through his nose, and with fingers never letting go of his cigarette, the other comes up to shakily cup your face. His calloused skin against your soft cheeks, an odd combination that has you sink into his doting touch. “I love you,”

You blink, the bottom of his palm grazing your lips slightly. “What?”

“I love you,” he repeats. “I’ve always loved you. Since you beat up that kid for breaking my glasses when I was ten. I love you for believing in me whenever I doubted myself. I love you even when you cry on cheesy movies. Or when you give me your mushrooms because you hate them.

“I’ve always been afraid to tell you because you were my best friend,” Joseph’s thumb rubs the skin adjacent to your eye. “I didn't want to lose the most important person in my life. Everytime I try to imagine even a day without you, it’s daunting. And I thought — I’d rather you only be my friend and stay than lose you. And to hear that you meant it—”

“I’m kind of upset that I said it while I was drunk,” you chuckle. “I mean, if I’d been sober, I would have been embarrassed. Or I would have cried.”

Him being him, he makes a bawdy joke. “You still cried last night.”

Your fingers scratching his back, head thrown back with tears down your temple as he spreads kisses—sobered kisses—across your neck and shoulder. And he keeps whispering i love you like a mantra, like a promise, as he goes deeper.

“Oh! Jo! Don’t stop! Keep going,” he moans in a jest, eyes closing, head dipped back slightly as a hand comes up to clasp his chest. “Fuck!”

You had a nightmare. A repetitive nightmare. That you told him you loved him once and you ended up in some void all alone and loveless, watching as he walked through a door, shooting you a menacing glare before he walked away with the pieces of your heart puncturing his hand. But now you’re laughing with him, from his mockery and his absurdity, and he’d been the one to tell you he loves you.

So maybe in that unfinished nightmare, he opens the door back to that void with your heart glued to pieces, his own love being its glue as he gives it back to you; all fixed and built, made back into its form so he’s got something to love.

“Shut up, you whore,” you slap his chest, laughing. “My legs hurt. What’d you do? bend it around like I’m some gymnast? Are you Vecna, or something?”

“Nah, darling,” his thumb comes across your bottom lip, urging your mouth to part. And as Joseph takes a drag, cheeks sucking in before he removes it. He leans close, lips pursed and hovering over yours but never meeting as he blows it into your mouth — the white smoke evading your mouth like the chain to your hearts. “‘m just a lover.”

Tobacco on your tongue, you chuckle breathlessly, breath fanning his morning glow. “That’s such a gross line.”

"What, honey, it's true," he defends, taking another hit, cheekbones deep as he sucks.

You shake your head with a small laugh. "I hate to admit it, because I don't like that you smoke, but it's like...really hot," you murmur.

And again, for his love of a good show, he leans close to pour out all the silk smoke into your titillating mouth. And despite your demurral, you gladly accept his unhealthy offer. Joseph's face reddens at your compliment, gives a quick kiss to your nose before he closes the distance.

Letting his lips fall upon yours as he takes it with an open mouth, you moan quietly against him, head ducking up to rest your hands on his chest. His flesh is hot, the blood pumping through his veins lets his skin burn with vehemence. Joseph’s arms wrap around your waist, pressing his lips deeper that there’s minimal breathing space for the two of you.

Your hands touch his chain, to the slope between his shoulder and neck, to the mop of tangled curls on his head that you card through with your fingers. Joseph breaks away, nudging his nose with yours in an altruistic kiss.

“I love you,” you whisper to him, the apocalyptic world long forgotten now that he’s got his arms around you as some sort of yearned comfort. And when he says it back, right when the sun has risen up above to add a golden glow to his eyes, you know nothing’s better than feeling his lips on yours — his smoke eluding your mouth — even as the world falls apart.

reblogs and feedback are appreciated <3

prequel → apocalypse

#joseph quinn blurb #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x y/n #joseph quinn fluff #joseph quinn angst #joseph quinn fic #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn #blurb #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction

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macquarieridge · 4 months

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my friend from chicago is in tokyo since yesterday and he gave me a bottle of malort. my review: Like if they took away all the possible sweetness and herbal qualities out of fernet branca. pencil shavings is not far off either

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mypoisonedvine · 2 years

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so for reference, this is joe's absolutely bonkers order at james acaster's imaginary restaurant:

sourdough with salty butter, focaccia, and cheesy focaccia (but this is just bread, not the starter, and no butter on the focaccia)

a guinness and six oysters (but this is not his starter)

a few frites (also not his starter?) with mayo

steak tartare

a dirty martini with a sidejar

for his pasta dish BUT NOT HIS MAIN, orecchiette alla barese

a glass of bang-average white wine, chilled but totally forgettable

a big buttery fish, possibly the turbot from brat