I read once that there were three names known all across the “civilized world,” (whatever that means): Hitler, Beethoven and Jesus. Of those three I’d always decided Jesus was the greatest simply because he was is a member of a supremely rare cadre that long after death are still remembered solely by their first name. There were, and are, many Buonarroti’s, and even more Sanzio’s, but there is only one, Michelangelo; only one Raphael. If you leave it at, “Christ” most people think you’re swearing; which is an accomplishment in and of it self if you think about it. When your name is synonymous with swearing, you can truly say you’ve left a mark on the world in one way or another.
I had never aspired to have my name added to the above short list; rather I wanted my face on the US one dollar bill—smiling, teeth blinging a pearly white that could be seen from outer space, both middle fingers raised with a picture of the globe wreathed in flames behind me. While I’m not giving up on my dream of brandishing my mug in the memory of every American from now until eternity as a decent person suffocating in this new age of insanity, I have recently turned my mind to something that is more substantial than paper money and perhaps as old as swearing.
Tom Collins, Papa Dobles, the dubious Matt Dillon; I want to leave this world with a drink named after me as a constant reminder to people of my legacy. Not a bottle of wine I could craft nor a spirit I could distill, but a mixed beverage of universal acclaim that would linger on the tasted buds, and consciousness of people everywhere long after I turn to dust. Anyone from Jay-Z or Jerry Garcia can put their name put on a bottle, but what did Hemingway do that made his nick name synonymous with “Daiquiri?”
I feel this is the loftiest of aspirations I can can set for myself at the present. There are a few things made by men that can truly endure, no matter how substantial. There will come a time when War and Peace is forgotten and become even less than the memory of The Kebra Nagast or Outlaws of the Marsh; when 7 Samurai and Casablanca fade, what will people be drinking as they watch the new film classics?
The Martini, The Manhattan, A Cosmopolitan. These are the cockroaches of the bar; their strength and longevity have endured and will continue to flourish for generations to come. Taking a tangent back to Jesus, the Holy Eucharist isn’t too far off the mark from what recognition I’m aiming for.
The Eponymous Libation. What more can man aspire to achieve ?