Last night I was out with some friends at at least one enemy and I had just ordered the usual when someone ordered a Jimmy Walker.
Thinking that this was a relative of a Johnny Walker, I didn’t give it a second thought. But when our drinks came, the Jimmy Walker was almost the color of Campari in a cocktail glass, I asked, “What the hell’s in that, anyway?”
Here’s what’s in it:
Bourbon (a couple of ounces)
sweet vermouth (half an ounce)
a little lemon juice
a little grenadine
Or, if you like, try the cocktail db’s version.
Second round, I still hadn’t made a move to say, “I got this round,” or anything rash like that. I was still in complete control of my faculties, darlin’. But I did try a Jimmy Walker. I’d call it, no offense, a sturdy lady’s cocktail, but that’s just nodding to taste—definitely, the alcohol is there, and definitely, it demands slow sippin’.