Bourbon Slush — The Slow Pour After a Long Week

Aaliyah drives down I-10 to New Orleans for medical school. She cries the whole way. It's the first time she's left Baton Rouge. Her apartment near campus is small and smells like someone else's cooking. She finds the anatomy lab on day one and doesn't cry again for four years be

I went to the gym Tuesday and Thursday this week. Twenty minutes on the treadmill. Standard. The body is the only equipment I have for the rest of my life and I am trying to maintain it.

Sunday service at Bethany. The choir sang. The pastor preached on Hannah and Samuel. I sat with Tanya and Marcus. The hymn at the end was the one Mama used to hum. I cried into the bulletin. Standard.

I drove past the gas station where DeAndre died. I do not stop. I do not avoid it either. The drive past is the drive past. He is twenty-eight in my head. He stays twenty-eight.

Tanya brought a casserole over Wednesday. The Tanya casserole. Half went into the freezer. The other half fed me Wednesday and Thursday. Mama's casseroles are the silent backup of my entire adult life.

Friday night Darius and I watched a movie I have already forgotten. We fell asleep on the couch by ten. The dog (we got a dog last year, did I mention) slept between us. Standard.

DeAndre's birthday came around again. I made his favorite — andouille and chicken in brown gravy. I ate two bowls. I called Aunt Renee. We did not say much. We did not need to. The food was the saying.

Daddy called Sunday afternoon. He is sixty-something and his knees are still bad and he still has not gotten the second one replaced. I am working on him. He is working on me to stop working on him. We are at an impasse. The impasse is the love.

I sat on the porch Saturday afternoon with iced tea. The neighbor's kids were playing kickball. The Louisiana evening is its own kind of Sabbath. The cicadas were starting up. The light was the gold-going-blue light of the southern dusk.

MawMaw Shirley's recipe cards in the wooden box on the kitchen counter. I copied another one Saturday morning at her kitchen table. The collection is growing. She watched me copy. She corrected my Cs. She has always corrected my Cs.

Anatomy lab three days this week. The cadaver work is what they say it is — not gross, not romantic, just human. I went home after Friday lab and made gumbo because the only thing that quiets the body after a day in the lab is the slow stir of a roux.

Tanya's tomatoes were in this week. She brought a sack. I made a sandwich for lunch every day for four days. Heirloom tomato, white bread, mayo, salt. The summer lunch. The simplest pleasure of summer.

The apartment kitchen is small but it cooks. Two burners. One pot. A cutting board balanced on the counter because the counter is too small for both the cutting board and the toaster.

Daddy sent me an Amazon receipt accidentally Sunday. He bought a power tool I do not understand. Standard. He texted twenty minutes later, "wrong thread, sorry baby." I told him don't worry about it. He said thank you. The exchange was the exchange.

Crawfish boil at a friend's place Saturday. Twenty-five pounds. The shells filled three trash bags. Standard Louisiana spring. We sat at the picnic table for four hours. The corn was the best of the boil. The corn always is.

I sent MawMaw a photo of my gumbo Tuesday. She replied, "too light, baby, keep stirring." She has not changed the critique in twelve years. The critique is the love.

Between MawMaw’s recipe cards, DeAndre’s birthday dinner, and that Saturday afternoon on the porch with the cicadas starting up and the gold-going-blue light coming in—I realized this week asked a lot of me, and I gave it what I had. When Tanya came by and the casserole was already in the freezer and the day finally slowed down, what I actually wanted was something cold and a little sweet and unmistakably Southern: a bourbon slush, the kind people make in big batches for crawfish boils and back-porch Sundays. It doesn’t fix anything. It just says the week is done now, and you can sit.

Bourbon Slush

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 15 minutes + 8 hours freezing | Servings: 12

Ingredients

• 2 cups bourbon
• 1 can (12 oz) frozen lemonade concentrate, thawed
• 1 can (12 oz) frozen orange juice concentrate, thawed
• 4 cups strong brewed tea, cooled
• 2 cups water
• 1/2 cup granulated sugar
• Ginger ale or lemon-lime soda, for serving
• Fresh mint or lemon slices, for garnish (optional)

Instructions

1. Make the sweet tea base. Brew a strong pot of tea and stir in the sugar while still warm until fully dissolved. Allow to cool completely to room temperature.
2. Combine. In a large freezer-safe container or baking dish, stir together the cooled sweetened tea, bourbon, lemonade concentrate, orange juice concentrate, and water until fully combined.
3. Freeze. Cover the container and place in the freezer for at least 8 hours, or overnight. Stir once or twice during the first few hours to break up ice crystals and achieve a slushier texture.
4. Serve. Scoop about 3/4 cup of the bourbon slush mixture into a glass. Top with 1/4 to 1/2 cup of ginger ale or lemon-lime soda and stir gently to combine. Garnish with a mint sprig or lemon slice if desired.
5. Store. Keep the slush base in the freezer between servings. It keeps well for up to 2 weeks and can be scooped directly from frozen.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 210 | Protein: 0g | Fat: 0g | Carbs: 28g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 10mg