It's called a Ramos Fizz. This little relic of a cocktail reared its ugly Victorian head during a otherwise pleasant sunny brunch this weekend at The Ramp in San Francisco, where a friend of mine spotted it on the menu and made the ill-advised decision to summon one from the bar.
It's gin, lemon and lime juice, sugar, orange flower water, cream and egg white, all together in filthy blended foamy matrimony, a grisly, tart, sweet and eggy marriage made in cocktail hell.
Everyone at the table had a brief sip, then my friend choked through a couple more sips, before it was finally relegated to the far end of the table. It sat alone scowling and festering in the sun and, in a fleeting bit of disgusting protest, curdled and separated into a two distinct foamy white and greenish clear layers. Ugh.
1 comments:
Next time, we find a bar that knows how to make one.
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