Hottie – 5:00 Fridays

I have a brown thumb. I mean, yes, of course I literally have a brown thumb, two of them, as well as the other eight fingers. I am brown, after all. I mean I have a brown thumb in the figurative sense. Every year I try to grow a garden to sustain us. I manage to eek out a few things, but mostly I just grow weary. Candide needs to come here for a spell. He’s the dude to call on when it comes to cultivating your garden, right?

Our front yard is currently full of wild onions. Sometimes Bird and Deal pluck them and suck them. This renders my sweet boys S.T.I.N.K.Y. The back yard doesn’t even deserve the “yard” moniker. It’s just plain hard dirt, making this blog aptly named. If we weren’t in a drought (again) it would be a mud pit, in which case we’d crank some Jimmy Buffett and slip slide away. The backyard is atrocious. Bird and Deal complain about how hard it is. I complain how dirty it is. Even the dog prefers to romp in the neighbor’s yard. It doesn’t help that their yard is immaculate, making ours look exponentially worse. Oh, and the neighbors across the street who have to endure staring at our onions? Their yard could grace the cover of Southern Living. Something is colorfully in bloom all year. But hey, we have onions!

The only thing I managed to grow in abundance last year were hot peppers. Thai chilis. Habaneros. Jalapenos. I guess they like arid soil and thrive in a drought. I ran out of uses for those green and red beauties so I started infusing vodka, the obvious choice.

Hottie

Hot pepper infused vodka (I use Rain Organics with a handful of halved hot peppers soaking in the bottle for about three weeks.)

Splash vermouth

Pickled pepper (not necessarily picked by Peter Piper)

Lemon wedge

Fill a stainless steel shaker with ice. Add a couple shots of pepper infused vodka and a splash of vermouth. Shake. Shake some more. Shake your groove thing. Strain into a martini glass. Squeeze in a tish of fresh lemon juice. Plop in a pickled pepper for garnish.

I’m going to serve these to my neighbors (hey, no driving!). After a few of these babies the dismal state of our yard might morph into something more palatable.