Just over a year ago, I moved back home to the Bay Area after spending 7 years in New York. When I left home in 2007, I had an inking I would be back; after all, my family was and always would be in California. I was excited for the change, but felt as if living in New York had a timestamp attached to it; there was always an expiration date hovering in the background. I was 3,000 miles from the place I had grown up; how could anywhere else be as important to me as that?

But packing up last summer was much harder than I expected it to be. I had built a life in these boroughs: it was where I had grown from a floundering post-grad to a slightly-less-floundering adult; it was where I found friendships unlike others I had experienced; it was where I had started (and mourned) my own company; it was where I fell in love with the man I’m going to marry; it was where I learned to trust myself. The city was a gift to me in more ways than I think I fully realize, and was a home to me as true as my birthplace ever was.

The other day, I came across a picture that had captured New York in that perfect way that only happens every so often. The sun was setting, the skyline was crisp, the leaves were endless shades of red and yellow and orange. The sight of it hit me like a sucker punch in the stomach; I missed that place so much I could feel it deep in my bones. It felt a little bit like the way you feel after seeing a photograph of an ex-lover, happy and smiling in a new life that doesn’t include you—full of sadness, ache, happiness and nostalgia. It was raw and real and I took a moment to let my eyes well up with tears and feel the feelings I didn’t know I had.

Of course, those feelings lessened as I went on with my week, as most feelings do with the passage of time. I lingered a little longer in the California sunshine, spent time with my nieces, reconnected with high school friends. These things reminded me of why I did end up coming back home, and why I had always known I would. But that longing for New York won’t ever truly end. I can still recall it with memories of late nights in dark Manhattan bars, warm afternoons in Central Park; the million mistakes and accomplishments and joys that are, in my mind, so wonderful if only because they were made in New York City. And those bittersweet, beautiful memories have no expiration date at all.

---

In celebration of this great city, I decided to make a New York Sour. Just like a traditional whiskey sour, this version includes whiskey, lemon juice and simple syrup—the variation is created with the addition of a red wine float. I know it sounds strange, but it actually works—you’re only adding an ounce or so of wine, which ends up blending perfectly with the whiskey.

I used bourbon instead of whiskey here, mostly because I buy (and drink) more bourbon than whiskey—for no real reason, exactly, except maybe I’ve had more exposure to it and it is slightly sweeter, which I like. What even is the difference between bourbon and whiskey, you might ask? I’m still learning the intricacies myself, but the basics are: bourbon is distilled from a grain mixture that is comprised of at least 51% corn, which gives it that sweetness. There are also some differences in storage methods and proof requirements, but we’ll tackle that another day.

I picked up this Cyrus Noble bourbon at a wonderful new spirits shop in our neighborhood called Alchemy Bottle Shop. The store is full of unique spirits, many from small distilleries around the country that you won’t find at the big-box stores. The prices are actually pretty reasonable (only a few bucks more than you might pay elsewhere) and the shopkeepers give you the best recommendations without even rolling their eyes at your stupid questions! And trust me, I ask a lot of stupid questions.

The bottle rang in around $30, and I was told is suitable for both sipping and mixing in cocktails. I’m not even going to pretend I know a great bourbon from a crappy one (yet!), but I thought this one was certainly pleasant to drink. It’s distilled in Kentucky, but bottled here in San Francisco. The history of this bourbon is fascinating, created exclusively for SF in the days of the gold rush (1871!). Very cool.

The wine used was what I had leftover, Cupcake Red Velvet (have you had this? It’s like $8 but I swear is a totally drinkable, cheap wine for a Tuesday night), but anything not-too-oak-y would work in this cocktail, like a Shiraz or Malbec. Once assembled, the result is classic but unique, and has some definite curb appeal—much like the Big Apple itself.

Here’s looking at you, New York!

New York Sour
makes 2 cocktails

• 4 oz whiskey or bourbon
• 2 oz fresh lemon juice
• 2 oz simple syrup
• 2 oz red wine
• ice
• rocks glasses
• spoon

Assembly:
Add ice and first three ingredients to a cocktail shaker; shake vigorously until outside of shaker becomes cold. Strain equally over ice into each rocks glass. Hold an inverted spoon over one glass and gently pour 1 oz wine over back of spoon; it looks like it is sinking but it won’t! Repeat with the second glass.

Barware notes: My rocks glasses are from cb2—they are paper thin and so lovely to drink from. The shaker is from Bottlerocket in NYC. You can buy it over here.

The juicer is from Crate & Barrel—a recent purchase—and has changed my cocktail game entirely. I was using one of those awful, cumbersome handheld juicers: the worst. Please do yourself a favor and buy one of these. It will be the best $10 you ever spend.

The sidecar (used here for the wine) is also from Crate & Barrel—if you don’t have a sidecar, you must get one immediately! I love making a double batch of cocktails and pouring half of it in the sidecar. That way, you don’t have to go through the whole process again when you wolf down your first cocktail in 10 seconds. Just me?