Guzzling Like Gwynnie

Writing from her tiny Boston apartment, Jilly Gagnon is a 25-year-old struggling novelist who’s starving more than she’s selling. But this month, she’s decided to “Goop” her way to the good life by following the advice outlined in Gwyneth Paltrow’s weekly Internet newsletter. Track her progress with these daily status reports.

Day Two

As I start my daily Gooping, I thought I should pay homage to those who have Gooped before me, especially Rebecca Dana of the Daily Beast and Richard Dorment of Esquire. Not only have these trailblazers inspired me to take my Gooping to the next level, but they have also pointed me in the right direction when mapping out my Gooping strategy.

By this I mean they have convinced me not to try Gwynnie's cleanse. It sounds horrific.

That said, I'm more than willing to use Gwyneth's New Year's cocktail suggestions as a rapid-fire, alcohol-induced way to kick off my own personal detox.

So, armed with an ingredients list for all the cocktails Gwynnie recommends to ring in the new year (and a new, Goop-ier you?), I head to my nearest liquor store, ready to give myself one hell of a headache in the name of my inner aspect.First on the list? The Everyman Sidecar. Thankfully Gwyneth has provided a reasonable alternative to the 150-year-old reserve cognac the Ritz Paris uses for its, because, as she points out, "it's not everyday that you have 800 Euros at your disposal for a cocktail." True.

Instead, I start hunting for the "very good cognac" used in Gwyneth's modified version and turn up a $130 bottle. Next door sits a $52 fellow, but I question the quality—this may only be a reasonable cognac. Nay, this may be a mediocre cognac, its price driven up only by the cachet of the name. (The floor clerk informed me that all cognacs are brandies, but only French brandy can be cognac, much like only regionally specific sparkling wines are truly champagne.) Therefore, the obvious alternative is a $13 bottle of Christian Brothers brandy. If it's not going to be the best, it may as well be the cheapest, no?

I'm trying to make a similar decision in the Cointreau-and-its-orange-imitators aisle, when, as I'm jotting down the prices to do a bit of quick math, the store manager spots me.

"You can't do that in here," he says.

"Excuse me? Can't what?"

"You can't write down prices. It's illegal."

Is the gentleman confused, thinking I'm some sort of corporate spy? I quickly clarify.

"Oh, it's just for a blog I'm writing about Gwyneth Paltrow's cocktails. I'm just trying to get an idea of the …"

"You'll have to leave now. You can't write down prices."

"There's no need to be rude. I'm just trying to say that …"

"I'm not being rude. I'm asking you to leave."

And so, bum-rushed and speechless, I leave, kicked out of a liquor store for the first time in my life.

A much more everyman version of the Ritz's sidecar. Note the author's complete inability to twist a lime.

After a few more stops, I've armed myself with Coin-faux, very special brandy, and various out-of-season fruits that would make the Everyman Sidecar I needed to get my soul drunk enough to think it's living the celebrity lifestyle.

The result? Let's just say that while the sidecar, even in its most bastardized form, is a classic cocktail for a reason, I have to believe that the Ritz's ingredients would have added a little something to the experience.

Forging ahead, I start in on my cranberry simple syrup for P.D.T.'s Cranberry Cobbler. Sure, the drink involves muddling and the purchase of sherry, which I will undoubtedly never drink again (especially since the liquor store I visited after my ejection had only one variety—namely, the $8 variety), but it's so seasonal and pink and good for urinary tract infections.

The Cranberry Cobbler.

I know that was Gwyneth's intention with this one—to purify the nether regions (she does a lot of that)—and so I bravely drink on.

The next few concoctions on the list look difficult, and, seeing as they involve liqueurs with titles that include numbers and the word "pine," pricy. But this one with baked apples? That's a great idea. Let's use the oven!

While I'm waiting for those butter-soaked babies to cook, I'll try this pear-based number, using my local store's pear purée, by which I mean baby food.

Just makes you want to sip it down, doesn't it?

Looking at the mush, though, is a bit too much for my double-cocktailed stomach, so I stumble onward to the Strumble.

Lemons and simple syrup—I can just use the rest of the cranberry stuff I already made for the Cranberry Cobbler, right? Peach bitters, eh? I'm sure the juice in a can of Del Monte is about the same.

Well, that drink tasted like higher-class, organic Hi-C. Let's try another sidecar. I make a mean sidecar, a fact that, after the last three cocktails, I find is even truer than it was at the beginning of the evening!

The author believes her cranberry syrup made this drink if not tastier, at least far better looking.

And this is the point of the (solo) evening when my boyfriend wanders in from band practice.

"Hey," I say.

"Uh, hey, Jilly. What's up?"

"Oh, nuvvving. Just working on my stuff."

"What stuff?" An eyebrow raises.

"You know 'stuff' stuff."

"Have you been drinking?"

"No. I mean, yes. But it was for work."

"Wow, O.K., I'm gonna get you a glass of water." He heads to the kitchen. "Hey, is there a reason this oven is on? It smells like something is burning."


30 Days of Goop