Then Malabar ordered a power pack in her usual rapid-fire staccato: “A dry Manhattan. Standing up. With a twist. No ice. No fruit.” When the waiter tilted his head quizzically, Malabar exhaled her annoyance and repeated the order at exactly the same speed as she had the first time. I asked for a Taj Mahal beer.
—Adrienne Brodeur, WILD GAME: My Mother, Her Lover, and Me
My mother’s Manhattan’s were fairly standard, except that she tripled the typical amount of booze and never, ever added a cherry. Recipes were not Malabar’s thing— she could taste and replicate drinks, dishes, sauces without recipes! But, if I were to hazard a guess — it would go like this.