Rosemary Gin Fizz

June approaches, and the heat announces itself with the familiar swagger of a season that knows it owns the next three months. Carrie has two months left at home before Japan. The countdown is in everything — in the way she cooks (more intentionally), in the way she sits with Mama (longer), in the way she walks through the historic district (slower, memorizing, the photographer of a life she is about to leave).

I received a letter from the Charleston County Library Board — a commendation for thirty years of service. The commendation was a formal letter on official stationery, and the formality of it was both touching and insufficient, because thirty years of a woman's life cannot be contained in a paragraph, and the paragraph did not mention the children I read to, the patrons I helped, the banned books I displayed, the shelves I organized, the building I loved. The commendation was nice. The work was the commendation.

Robert built a planter box for the piazza — cedar, filled with herbs: rosemary, basil, thyme, the same herbs Mama grew in Beaufort, the same herbs I cook with every night. The planter is Robert's latest contribution to a kitchen he does not cook in but that he furnishes with the tools and the materials that the cook needs: the desk for the writing, the stand for the manuscript, the spoons for the stirring, the herbs for the seasoning. Robert builds the infrastructure. I build the meals. And the building and the building are the marriage.

I made pesto from Robert's basil — fresh, green, vibrant, the basil crushed with garlic and pine nuts and olive oil and the particular satisfaction of cooking with something your husband grew in a box he built with his hands. The pesto was on pasta for dinner, and the dinner was the collaboration: his basil, my pasta, the marriage on a plate.

After the pesto came the evening — and evenings on the piazza in June, with Robert’s planter full and fragrant, deserve something to sip while the pasta settles and the heat softens. The rosemary he planted beside the basil has been quietly thriving, and it seemed right to use it: his rosemary, my gin fizz, the same logic as the marriage. If one herb became dinner, another could become the toast to it.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 5 min | Total Time: 15 min | Servings: 2

Ingredients

4 sprigs fresh rosemary, plus 2 for garnish
1/4 cup water
1/4 cup granulated sugar
4 oz gin
2 oz fresh lemon juice (about 2 lemons)
1 oz rosemary simple syrup (from above)
Club soda or sparkling water, to top (about 4–6 oz)
Ice
Lemon slices, for garnish

Instructions

Make the rosemary simple syrup. Combine the water, sugar, and 4 rosemary sprigs in a small saucepan over medium heat. Stir until the sugar dissolves, about 3–4 minutes. Remove from heat and let steep for 10 minutes, then strain out the rosemary and allow the syrup to cool completely.
Build the cocktail. Fill two tall glasses with ice. To each glass, add 2 oz gin, 1 oz fresh lemon juice, and 1/2 oz rosemary simple syrup. Stir gently to combine.
Top and garnish. Top each glass with 2–3 oz of cold club soda. Give it one gentle stir. Garnish with a fresh rosemary sprig and a lemon slice. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Rosemary Gin Fizz — From the Planter He Built with His Hands