It’s a familiar scenario: it’s not even midnight, but already you’re out of wine. You made the age-old mistake of thinking you really just would have one or two, and now the off-license doesn’t open for at least another nine hours, your mates from home are round, and after sinking a few bottles and eating half a tube of Pringles each you're all loose enough that you want to carry on reminiscing about the mean girls sticking chewing gum in your hair on the school bus - but you need another drink in your mitts to do it with the gusto of your dark little heart's desire.
So you turn to the diminishing booze cabinet, peering into the darkness by the light of your iPhone. In the murkiness, you can just about make out a few bottles; bottles that haven’t seen the light of day since the mid-1990s, either abandoned half-finished, or half-evaporated into the ether of time and a better sense of taste. You stretch forward, fingers leaving imprints on the dusty bottles, their labels slightly discoloured and peeling, the glass opaque and sticky.
Jackpot. There’s got to be about 15 units left in here.
Now, what in God’s name are you going to fucking do with it?
Limoncello
Oh yeah sure, it tasted good when handed to you by Francesco after eating enough pizza to feed a small nation, as you peered at the tan lines left by your watch and watched the sun go down over the Bay of Naples from your all-inclusive buffet throne. But it’s never the same back in old Blighty - everyone knows that!
And yet, we are a nation of people with luminous yellow bottles glowing in the back of our cupboards, whispering to us from the darkness - 'Please, let me out! Drink me! Drink me! I’m the taste of Venice 2006, remember!' The best thing you can do with Limoncello is pour it onto vanilla ice cream, but I have been reliably informed that a half-melted tub of Wall’s isn’t going to nurture an air of sophistication to any evening.
Therefore I direct you to the Limoncello Collins. Mix Limoncello, gin, lemon juice, top it up with soda water and plenty of ice. There are plenty of variations on this basic recipe that will keep you entertained as you work your way through the bottle - it goes nicely with raspberries, so think about cutting that forgotten Chambord loose too - why the hell not? Or just add a slug of it to anything that might go nicely with a citrus kick and you’ll probably be fine.
Creme De Menthe
It’s one step away from alcoholic mouthwash really - actually yeah you're right, maybe not even a whole step. To avoid getting confused, spitting it out down the sink and getting down to some good old fashioned flossing, you’ll first have to accept the nature of the beast. Mint is far too strong to put with anything fruity or spicy, so put down the Crabbies and step away from the Sloe Gin unless you want to hurl into that nice floral vase Auntie Lorraine bought for mum.
Luckily, if you have some Christmas Baileys hanging around, you can mix up a smooth little nightcap using these two. If you’re planning on trying to stick it out for longer then I respect your dedication to the cause - it’s going to be an uphill struggle and there will be some dark, dark moments, but try drinking Grasshoppers.
You’ll need Creme de Cacao, but you’ve probably got some of that lurking around too - now just shake it all up with some cream, or if you’re lazy, full fat milk out the fridge, and garnish with a sprinkling of Cadbury’s instant hot chocolate.
Ginger Wine
First, take a good hard look in the mirror. You’re sure you want to do this? Alright then, but don’t say I didn't warn you, yeah?
According to my mate who worked in an old man pub, this bizarre liquid is popular with the stone-livered and coal-lunged clientele as a mixer for dark rum or whiskey - but I haven’t got a lawyer to prepare my will and set my affairs in order, so I decided not to opt for that rank concoction. Instead I ran, like the child I am, into the fruit juice section of Tesco. Based on half and half measurements (my go-to ratio for everything from Cocopops to milk and gin to tonic), these were my findings.
Apple Juice: Posh, cloudy stuff is quite good. Cheap yellow stuff that looks a bit like dehydrated piss, not so much.
Orange Juice: Surprisingly disappointing. You’d think ginger and orange would be a match made in heaven - but then I truly believed with all my heart that Kate Moss and Jamie Hince would last, so what do I know...
Mango and Papaya Juice: There is way too much going on here. Totally in over my head.
Apple and Elderflower Juice: Honestly, I think the Elderflower is too delicate for the punchiness of the ginger, 4/10… Wankiest sentence I’ve ever written.
Beetroot and Carrot Juice: Tastes like the stuff that people who go to spinning classes and wear lycra claim to enjoy (it’s not a 'blend', it’s fucking juice mate, just the same as Robinsons Fruit and Barley is). Maybe I could pass off the combination as a ginger and root vegetable detox cleanse and spend my days in a self-righteous haze of being mildly trashed.
Port
Ever stood bleary-eyed in a Weatherspoons as the clock chimes 12 and demanded a jug of something purple with ten straws (nine of which you promptly throw on the floor), handed over a fiver and still got change? Well you, friend, have quite likely experienced the Cheeky Vimto. It’s port mixed with blue WKD and it’s a hurricane in a fishbowl, insulin-spikingly sweet and fully aware that it’s not a real cocktail but also not giving a single solitary shit.
Depending on what kind of night you’re planning and just how low your standards are, I say go for it - tip that garbage down your throat, it’s certainly a way to avoid the dark void of boredom. Alternatively get yourself a nice Camembert and settle down with your parents and that Scandi crime drama you’ve been wanting to watch for ages, because despite whatever ideas the teeth-too-big-for-their-mouth, gillet-wearing twat-brigade from uni chanted into your head, port is actually a brilliant drink.
Cointreau
This is one of the better ones, despite its archaic packaging and the fact it’s impossible to say properly without putting on a wanky French voice. Loads of classic cocktails contain it, and although they require a little more effort than the 2 step spirit-mixer routine we’re all used to, some ice and cocktail shaker will make the you feel like a real person as opposed to a vacuum of duty-free and desperation. Margaritas (Cointreau, tequila, lime juice and salt on the rim), Cosmopolitans (Cointreau, vodka, cranberry and lime), and Breakfast Martinis (gin, Cointreau, lemon juice, a dollop of marmalade and the smug decadence of drinking at 10am) are all within your reach, pal. The secret to success is to using fresh fruit peel as a garnish, by the way. Not to all success - it won’t necessarily get you a better job or a boyfriend or anything - but it is the solution to the Da Vinci Code of good cocktail making, minus the weird religious overtones and plus the bad accents.
Like this? Then you might also be interested in:
How To Pimp Your Budget Booze To Make It Less Crap Than It Actually Is
Follow Anna on Twitter @AnnaVictoriaSam
This article originally appeared on The Debrief.