Apple Cider Cocktail

An ordinary week. The ordinary week that I write about because the ordinary weeks are where the life lives. Monday: closed, family day, the altar, burgers, Fuego, the kids, the desert evening. Tuesday: Rivera's, 267 customers, the brisket sold out at 2:30 PM, the green chile stew lasted until close. Wednesday: Diego's soccer game (he scored — the boy who could not hit a baseball can apparently kick a soccer ball with the same joyful abandon he brought to every swing). Thursday: Rivera's, Roberto's Saturday visit moved to Thursday this week because Saturday is the Arizona State BBQ Championship.

Roberto at the counter on Thursday. Gerald beside him. The newspaper between them. The brisket plates in front of them. The routine that has become sacred — two men, two newspapers, two plates, the silence of companionship that does not require words. Roberto ate half a brisket plate. Half. The portions shrink with the visits and the visits shrink with the energy and the energy shrinks with the years and the years are accumulating in a body that I watch the way I watch the fire: constantly, attentively, with the faith that the watching keeps the flame alive.

I told Roberto about the State Championship on Saturday. I said, "Dad, I am entering the State Championship as Rivera's BBQ. Brisket and ribs. Tomás as my second." He said, "What score do you want?" I said, "100. Perfect. Like the 100 I got before the restaurant opened." He said, "Two years ago you got 98 at the Spring Championship. I said: find the two points." I said, "I found them." He said, "What were they?" I said, "Time. The wrap was thirty minutes late. The bark dried." He said, "Time is always the answer. Time is the only variable the cook cannot control. You can control the rub and the smoke and the temperature. You cannot control time." He is right. Roberto, sixty-nine years old, sitting at a counter, eating half a plate of brisket, dispensing the wisdom of a man who has been in a conversation with fire for forty-five years. You cannot control time. The brisket teaches this. The father teaches this. The fire teaches this.

Saturday. The State Championship. The fire awaits. The competition awaits. Rivera's awaits. Roberto will not be there — the four hours in the sun are beyond his body now. But his voice will be there. The index cards will be there. The teaching will be there. You cannot control time. But you can control everything else.

Roberto said it best on Thursday — you cannot control time — and I have been turning that over ever since, through the prep and the index cards and the quiet before Saturday’s fire. But Monday was its own kind of time: family day, the altar, the kids chasing the last of the desert light, burgers on the grill without a score to earn. That evening we passed around something cold and fizzy and a little sweet, nothing complicated, nothing that needed tending. This apple cider cocktail is what I make when the week asks me to just be still — before the competition, before the smoke, before anything needs to be controlled.

Prep Time: 5 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 5 min | Servings: 1

Ingredients

2 oz bourbon or spiced rum
4 oz fresh apple cider (chilled)
1 oz ginger beer
1/2 oz fresh lemon juice
1/4 oz pure maple syrup
1 cinnamon stick, for garnish
1 thin apple slice, for garnish
Ice cubes

Instructions

Chill your glass. Fill a rocks glass or copper mug with ice and set aside while you mix the drink.
Combine the base. In a cocktail shaker filled with ice, combine the bourbon (or spiced rum), apple cider, lemon juice, and maple syrup. Shake firmly for about 15 seconds until well chilled.
Strain and top. Strain into your prepared glass over fresh ice. Pour the ginger beer gently over the top and give it a single slow stir to combine without losing the fizz.
Garnish and serve. Tuck a cinnamon stick alongside the ice and lay an apple slice on the rim. Serve immediately while cold and sparkling.

Nutrition (per serving)

Apple Cider Cocktail — The Night Before the Fire, We Sat Still