The Albino Vampire Cocktail
[Other brands may be substituted]
- 1 jigger of white Crème de Cocoa
- 1 jigger of vanilla Stolichnaya
- 1 jigger of Lady Godiva white chocolate liqueur
- Chambord raspberry liqueur
Layer the first three ingredients in a martini glass in this order: Crème de Cocoa, vanilla vodka, finally
the white chocolate liqueur. Drop in a dollop of the Chambord. Don't
mix or stir. The Chambord will sink to the bottom, so the white
cocktail has a blood-red base (which adds
a nice kick at the end.)
Birth of a Bloody Good Drink
(Excerpted from Dancing With Werewolves by Carole Nelson Douglas)
"Another one for the road?" Even as Nicky spoke he nodded at the bartender. "The
traffic on the Strip could kill a sober pedestrian."
I laughed and hitched my skirt and myself onto a bar stool to eye the bartender.
"I'll have an Albino Vampire."
His congenial face went as white as mine was naturally. All along the bar,
chitchat stopped. Glasses ceased clinking. Other bartenders froze in the act of
pouring scotch, gin, vodka, wine, beer. Obviously, Christophe's staff knew the
boss hated that rumor.
"What's . . . in it?" My bartender sounded like he was being invisibly
Behind me Cocaine--Snow must be a, hmm, pet name-was pouring out a great rock
ballad about Lady Velvet. I could feel his sunglasses zeroing in on my bare,
defenseless, and still so well pampered back, and proceeded to ad lib a recipe.
"A jigger of white Creme de Cocoa, a jigger of vanilla Stoly, a jigger of Lady
Godiva white chocolate liqueur topped with a swirl of Chambord raspberry liquor
the color of blood, in a martini glass."
Nick Charles regarded me with awed approval and a gentle palm clapping. The
bartender shortly after presented me with a dazzling white dessert of a drink
tricked out with a hint of hot pink. The boys and girls at the bar gasped as
Nick and I chimed rims, then I swiveled to face the stage.
Cocaine/Snow still had the spotlight but the sunglasses might be looking
I lofted my glass in a farewell toast.
Snow lashed his spun-glass angel hair around like a white Persian
cat-o'-nine-tails and ended the song with long, wailing banshee of a guitar
I'd have liked to think the final flourish was just for me, but then so did
every woman present, and most of them were storming the mosh pit, clawing each
other for the honor of being one of the women Snow bent down to kiss.
Ridiculous. . . .
[ Read an Excerpt from Dancing WIth Werewolves ]
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