I love you, Mum!

Please allow me to regale you with the tale of The Time My Mom Vomited Into Her Purse.

My beloved Mum (whom I’ve written about here and here) is a pint-sized powerhouse who can hold her liquor. Until she can’t.

 Both Mum and Pop are attorneys (very Adam’s Rib) , and once upon a time in the 80’s, they worked crazy hours and had a wacky office full of interesting characters. It would have made a great sitcom.

One of the recurring characters was my Pop’s best friend, JPhillip, a man of rather grand charisma like my father. One night, after a long week of doing Important Work, the power trio of Mum, Pop, and Jphillip needed to blow off some steam. This was achieved chiefly a pursuit of large amounts of swearing, rich food, and top shelf booze.

It should be noted at this point that the two gentlemen in question were men of rather large girth as well as charisma. Mum is a wee pixie, just under 100lbs soaking wet. But she’s also tough as nails. I am dead serious when I say that my mom can beat up your mom. This is why no one thought a thing of it when she kept pace with every bite and every drink.

JPhillip was assigned the transportation duties, and Pop apparently called shotgun - which left Mum sitting alone in the back seat, slowly becoming acutely aware of the depth of her intoxication. And while she may be a badass, she’s also a lady, so when she was finally overcome, she quietly opened her handbag and puked inside.

Meanwhile, I was a surly 16 yearold busy listening to the Cure, dying my red hair black, and shuffling around in witchy boots with bats on the buckles. So, you know, there was a natural sense of conflict. Which is why I was surprised at her response that morning when I asked if I could have $20 for gas.

I should have sensed the disturbance in the Force right away because she immediately said yes and told me I could get it out of her wallet. This was unprecedented. But I was young and dumb and really wanted the $20.

I learned a number of things from my Mum on that day.

1. You can be a badass and a lady at the same time.
2. If you are clever, there is no situation - no matter how potentially humiliating - that you cannot turn to work in your favor.
3. Don’t fuck with Mum. She will always win.

I am grateful for these lessons, and many more (long hemlines just make you look shorter, spelling counts, question authority, etc.) that she has passed to me. I am also grateful for her Bloody Mary recipe. Mum likes them spicy, boozy, and homemade. And as usual, she is right.

Mum’s Kick Ass Bloody Mary
    •    8-10 limes, juiced
    •    11/2 tablespoons celery seed
    •    4 tablespoons horseradish (Grate the real thing if you can, or use a good quality prepared version if you must)
    •    2 quarts V-8 (this is important! Don’t use a nasty fucking mix, people. And don’t use plain tomato juice. Trust us here.)
    •    3 tablespoons Tobasco
    •    2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
    •    1 3/4 cups good vodka, chilled in the freezer
    •    Salt, pepper, smoked paprika, and additional celery seed (to garnish the rim of the glasses)

Get a big pitcher, and juice the limes directly into it (over a strainer - seeds are not welcome here!). Throw in the horseradish, celery seed, a generous pinch of Kosher salt, and about 10 grinds of black pepper - muddle them all together with a big wooden spoon.

Add the vodka, V-8, Worcestershire, Tobasco, and stir to combine. Refrigerate it for a while, so everything can get acquainted.

Combine salt/pepper/smoked paprika/celery salt in a shallow saucer; Rub one of the spent limes around the rim of a large tumbler, then invert into saucer of salt rub to rim the glass with tasty goodness. Fill tumbler with ice, pour chilled Bloody Mary mix over the top, garnish with celery stalk.
Proceed to get drunk with your mom and remind her how much you love her.