By The space between Christmas and New Year. The exhale. The leftover containers in the fridge. The children playing with new toys. The quiet that settles over a house after the holidays, when the noise of celebration fades and the ordinary returns, and the ordinary — after this year — feels like a gift.
New Year's Eve, pandemic edition: just us. Jessica and I on the patio with champagne (a bottle she bought in January 2020, before the world changed, labeled "for a celebration" — we decided surviving 2020 qualified). Sofia made it to 10 PM again (her consistent personal midnight). Diego made it to 8 (a new record for him, achieved through strategic deployment of chocolate). At actual midnight, Jessica and I stood in the backyard and watched the fireworks — distant, scattered, not the unified displays of normal years but individual households shooting their own, a constellation of small celebrations visible from our roof.
I said, "2020 is over." Jessica said, "2021 will be better." I said, "How do you know?" She said, "Because the vaccine exists and our family is alive and the grill still works. Everything else is details." The pragmatic optimism of a woman who has survived a pandemic with two children, a remote job, and a husband who fights fires and cooks obsessively. She is the strongest person I know.
2020 in numbers: approximately 300 meals cooked at home (up from the usual 200, because pandemic means more cooking). Ninety-two porch deliveries to my parents. Forty-seven community meal deliveries. Sixty hospital meal deliveries. Four firehouse cooking program modules taught. Zero competition entries. Zero Sunday cookouts (until Thanksgiving). One small outdoor Thanksgiving. One small outdoor Christmas. One Roberto hand-hold. One thank you. One year that took everything and gave back the only things that matter: family, food, fire.
2021 resolution (I do not make resolutions, but Roberto is not here to stop me): get vaccinated. Hug my father. Relight the Sunday cookout. Cook for everyone, not just the people within the bubble. Open the circle back up. Let the smoke rise for thirty people instead of four. Let the table grow. Let the world back in.
The coals are ready. 2021. Let us cook.
We finished the champagne at midnight — the bottle Jessica had held onto since January 2020, the one labeled “for a celebration” — and it tasted exactly like relief. But after the kids were asleep and the backyard went quiet, I poured something with a little more backbone: a Whiskey Sour, the kind of drink that doesn’t pretend the year was easy, just insists that you’re still here to taste it. If 2020 taught me anything about a drink, it’s that the sour belongs in there — you don’t skip it, you balance it.
Whiskey Sour
Prep Time: 5 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 5 min | Servings: 1
Ingredients
- 2 oz bourbon whiskey
- 3/4 oz fresh lemon juice (about 1 medium lemon)
- 1/2 oz simple syrup (or to taste)
- 1 egg white (optional, for a frothy finish)
- Ice cubes
- Garnish: maraschino cherry and orange slice
Instructions
- Dry shake (optional). If using egg white, combine whiskey, lemon juice, simple syrup, and egg white in a cocktail shaker without ice. Seal and shake vigorously for 15 seconds to build foam.
- Shake with ice. Add a generous handful of ice to the shaker. Shake hard for another 10–15 seconds until the outside of the shaker is well chilled.
- Strain and serve. Strain into a rocks glass over fresh ice for an “on the rocks” style, or into a coupe glass neat. The foam, if using egg white, will settle on top.
- Garnish. Add a maraschino cherry and an orange slice to the rim. Serve immediately.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 185 | Protein: 1g | Fat: 0g | Carbs: 12g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 5mg