The BEST Sangria — Because a Hundred-and-Five Degrees Demands Something Cold in a Pitcher

Heat dome over Pendleton this week. Hundred-and-five inland. Caleb had baseball practice Tuesday and Thursday. I drove.

Caleb, 7, wants to be a firefighter still. Has not deviated. Hazel, 4, chaos incarnate. Put a peanut butter sandwich in the DVD player Wednesday. Showed zero remorse.

Watermelon at every meal this week. The hot weather demanded it.

Mom called Sunday. We talked while she was putting up tomatoes from the garden. She is sixty-something and gardening like she is forty. Megan called from D.C.. We talked twenty minutes. The relationship is better now than it was.

The freezer is the secret. The freezer was full this week.

Ryan went to his counselor Wednesday. He always comes home calmer. I am calm too, just from him being calm. The man Torres was killed with — Ryan calls his wife twice a year on Torres's birthday and the anniversary. The military widows are their own community.

The PCS rumors are starting again. The official orders will come in a few months. We could move. We could stay. The waiting is the worst part. Three years here and I have learned to not put down deep roots in any military town. Nineteen-year-old me would not have believed how good I have gotten at packing.

I read the blog comments at the kitchen table with my coffee. A young spouse in Lejeune emailed me about deployment cooking. I wrote her back at length. I told her about the freezer. I told her about Donna. I told her she would survive. I sent her three of Donna's recipes.

I unpacked another box from storage Tuesday afternoon. Three years on this base and I am still finding things I packed in Twentynine Palms. Military-wife archeology — every box is a layer of geological history. I found a ceramic dish from Lejeune still wrapped in newspaper from 2020.

Dad called. He has been gardening. He is sending zucchini updates again. The PTSD is managed. He talks more than he used to. He is becoming his own version of healed, which I did not think was possible at fourteen.

Ryan's friends came over Friday for a beer. I made wings and chips. They demolished both. Standard Marine appetite — they eat like they are still on rations. The kitchen looked like a battlefield by the end. They cleaned up. Marines clean up. Donna would have been impressed.

I went for a walk Sunday morning before the kids got up. Half an hour. The fog was burning off. I needed it. Some weeks I get the walk in. Some weeks I don't. The week tells me which.

The kids' soccer game was Saturday morning. The other parents brought oranges and Capri Suns. I brought a thermos of coffee for myself and a folding chair I bought at Target three years ago that has been to four duty stations now. The chair is a more loyal companion than some of my friends.

My therapy session was Tuesday. We talked about the deployment cycle and the way the body holds dread and the ways the body holds it. The hour passed. The work continues. I have been doing this work for years. The work pays.

Wednesday morning meal prep — Sunday afternoon, hours of containers. The freezer is full. The future-me thanks present-me. Donna taught me this routine. Donna's freezer was always full. Donna saved her sanity with quart bags labeled in Sharpie.

Hazel and I had a hard moment Tuesday at homework time. She is in a season of testing limits. We worked through it. We always do. She is mine.

The watermelon carried us through the heat, but Friday night — Ryan’s friends crowded into the kitchen, wings disappearing, the whole place loud in the best way — called for something in a pitcher. I’ve made this sangria enough times that I can do it by feel now: bottle of wine, a splash of brandy, whatever citrus I have rolling around in the crisper drawer. It goes together the afternoon before, sits in the fridge, and by the time people are at the table it’s exactly what a hundred-and-five-degree week in Pendleton deserves. Donna would have called it a pantry recipe. She would have been right.

The BEST Sangria

Prep Time: 15 min | Chill Time: 2 hrs | Total Time: 2 hrs 15 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

• 1 bottle (750ml) dry red wine
• 1/4 cup brandy
• 1/4 cup triple sec or orange liqueur
• 1/3 cup fresh orange juice
• 2 tablespoons sugar
• 1 orange, thinly sliced into rounds
• 1 lemon, thinly sliced into rounds
• 1 lime, thinly sliced into rounds
• 1 cup club soda or ginger ale, chilled
• Ice, for serving
• Fresh mint sprigs, for garnish (optional)

Instructions

1. Build the base. In a large pitcher, combine the red wine, brandy, triple sec, orange juice, and sugar. Stir well until the sugar is fully dissolved.
2. Add the fruit. Drop in the sliced orange, lemon, and lime. Use a long spoon to press the fruit gently against the sides of the pitcher once or twice — just enough to release a little juice without muddling.
3. Chill. Cover the pitcher and refrigerate for at least 2 hours, or overnight if you want maximum flavor. The longer it sits, the better it gets.
4. Finish and serve. Right before serving, pour in the chilled club soda and stir gently to preserve the bubbles. Fill glasses with ice, ladle in the sangria along with some of the soaked fruit, and garnish with fresh mint if you have it.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 165 | Protein: 0g | Fat: 0g | Carbs: 13g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 10mg