Spiced Eggnog Cocktail

November rain. The kitchen running miso every morning. Yoga Tuesday and Thursday at the studio. The classes were full. The body was the body.

Miya, 9, can shape onigiri without falling apart. She uses wet hands. She knows the order without being told. I called Ken in Sacramento. The pauses are longer now. I asked about the daikon. He told me, slowly, about the recent harvest. He grew six. They were perfect.

Roasted vegetables — kabocha, brussels sprouts, beets — finished with miso butter. The Pacific Northwest fall meal.

Barbara called Sunday. We talked for twenty minutes. She told me about the play she is directing. I told her about the kitchen.

I made dashi at five. The day began.

Therapy Tuesday. We talked about the wedding. We talked about Barbara. We talked about Fumiko. The hour passed. The work continues.

Yoga Tuesday morning. The studio in Sellwood. Eight students. The class was the class.

I read for an hour Sunday night. A book of essays by a Korean-American writer about food and grief. I underlined a paragraph that said exactly what I had been trying to say in the newsletter for months.

Miya is in elementary school. The Saturday Japanese school continues. She still complains. She is still going.

A reader sent me a handwritten card this week. Her grandmother had cooked Japanese food in 1970s Boise. She had felt alone in it. The newsletter, she wrote, made her feel less alone. I taped the card to the wall above my desk.

A panic flicker Tuesday evening, brief, manageable. I breathed. I drank water. I went outside and walked around the block. The flicker passed. The body did its work.

Coffee with a friend Saturday morning. We talked about books, about kids, about the way our forties became our fifties. The talking is the thing.

Sunday farmers market in the rain. The vendors knew me. The Hood River apple stand had honeycrisps. I bought four pounds.

I texted Miya a photo of the shiso. She texted back a heart and a single word: home.

The neighbor's dog barked at nothing for twenty minutes Sunday afternoon. The neighbor apologized. I told him I had been writing through it and the white noise was helpful. He laughed.

The cat was the cat. Mochi at fifteen sleeps most of the day. She still eats with enthusiasm. She still sits at the kitchen window watching the back garden.

Miya's old room is now my office. The desk is by the window. The shiso outside. The newsletter in progress. The afternoons are quiet.

Tomi watered the garden Saturday morning. The shiso was head-high. The shishito peppers were producing. The kabocha was running on the fence.

I drove to Uwajimaya Wednesday. Kombu, bonito flakes, white miso, a small bag of mochiko for tomorrow's project. The store smells like home.

Made dashi at five-thirty AM. Ten minutes in the kitchen alone with the kombu and the bonito flakes. The day's first prayer.

I wrote at the kitchen table from six to eight. The newsletter was forming. The opening sentence was the hard sentence — they always are. I rewrote it five times. The fifth time was the right time.

I cleaned the kitchen Sunday afternoon. Wiped the counters. Reorganized the drawer where the chopsticks live. Sharpened the knife. The reset was the reset.

I made onigiri for tomorrow's lunch. Three triangles. Salted plum in the center. Wrapped in nori. The cling wrap. The drawer where I keep them. The system.

The rain in long sheets Tuesday afternoon. I made tea. I watched it from the porch. The cottonwoods on the next block were silver in the wet.

The roasted vegetables were dinner — kabocha and beets and brussels sprouts finished with miso butter, the meal that anchors this kitchen every November. But after the counters were wiped and the chopstick drawer reorganized and Mochi had settled back into her window spot, I wanted something that felt like punctuation. A small ceremony to close the day. The Spiced Eggnog Cocktail has become exactly that: one glass, nutmeg on top, the rain still going outside. It tastes like the season agreeing with you.

Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 5 minutes | Servings: 2

Ingredients

2 cups eggnog (store-bought or homemade)
3 oz bourbon or dark rum
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon, plus more for garnish
1/4 tsp freshly grated nutmeg, plus more for garnish
1/8 tsp ground cloves
1/2 tsp pure vanilla extract
1 cup ice cubes
Whipped cream, for serving
2 cinnamon sticks, for garnish (optional)

Instructions

Combine. In a cocktail shaker or large glass measuring cup, combine the eggnog, bourbon, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and vanilla extract. Stir briefly to incorporate the spices.
Chill. Add the ice cubes to the shaker and shake vigorously for 15–20 seconds until the mixture is well combined and very cold. Alternatively, stir over ice in a pitcher for 30 seconds.
Strain and pour. Strain the cocktail into two rocks glasses or stemmed coupes over a single large ice cube or fresh ice.
Garnish. Top each glass with a generous dollop of whipped cream. Dust with a pinch of nutmeg and ground cinnamon. Add a cinnamon stick if using. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Spiced Eggnog Cocktail — A November Ritual, A Quiet Glass