21. Some Words With a Mummy

The application of electricity to a mummy three or four thousand years old at the least, was an idea, if not very sage, still sufficiently original, and we all caught it at once. About one-tenth in earnest and nine-tenths in jest, we arranged a battery in the Doctor’s study, and conveyed thither the Egyptian. … Readjusting the battery, we now applied the fluid to the bisected nerves — when, with a movement of exceeding life-likeness, the Mummy first drew up its right knee so as to bring it nearly in contact with the abdomen, and then, straightening the limb with inconceivable force, bestowed a kick upon Doctor Ponnonner, which had the effect of discharging that gentleman, like an arrow from a catapult, through a window into the street below.

In any event, the narrator is present as a doctor and several colleagues unwrap an ancient Egyptian mummy and playfully apply an electric charge to its limbs. They are amazed to discover that they in fact revived a living being, and proceed to have a conversation with the now-fully-conscious body over cigars and brandy. Hence, “some words with a mummy.”

The principal topic of conversation is whether 19th-century American civilization is superior to the ancient Egyptian civilization. The doctor and his friends proffer example after example of their modern achievements in architecture, science, transportation, arts, and the like, while the mummy belittles each example and offers a more impressive counterpoint from his own time and land. The Mummy almost convinces the group that ancient Egypt was in fact more advanced than modern America, but the men manage a last-minute triumph when they superciliously ask whether ancient Egypt had ever managed “the manufacture of either Ponnonner’s lozenges or Brandreth’s pills.” The mummy was speechless. “Never was triumph more consummate; never was defeat borne with so ill a grace. Indeed, I could not endure the spectacle of the poor Mummy’s mortification. I reached my hat, bowed to him stiffly, and took leave.”

The tale is obviously a broad parody of nineteenth-century Western chauvinism. Accordingly, the supposed triumph of the men is so hollow that it belies their blind faith in their own society. The narrator ultimately seems to sense this, for at the end of the tale he confesses “I am heartily sick of this life and of the nineteenth century in general. I am convinced that every thing is going wrong.” And he announces his intention to get himself “embalmed for a couple of hundred years.” Surely you have never experienced such an impetus to slap your knee and guffaw.

The full story is available here.

Now, fortunately for us, there’s a broad (ha!) category of cocktail called a Yummy Mummy, which generally is aimed at young mothers, especially on special occasions like Mother’s Day. So that will serve as our starting point. But as a link to Poe’s story this connection is a bit obscure. So to drive the point home we’ll wrap the glass in gauze. Really. You just read on.

First you’re going to want to prepare your glass. Get a good-size wine glass, the kind that is shaped like a small fishbowl on a stick. Now wrap it with adhesive gauze. The idea is to evoke the idea of a wrapped mummy. To get the full effect, don’t apply the gauze too evenly; you want it to look like it’s been mouldering away in a pyramid for a few millennia, like Boris Karloff’s Imhotep in The Mummy. Fill it half-full with ice.

Set aside the glass and grab your lime (if you’ll pardon the expression). Using a sharp knife, cut off a length of peel about ½” wide and 3-4 inches long. This will serve as a garnish that will again evoke the idea of mummy bandages. (To get an idea of what comes to my mind’s eye, look at the cover of The Alan Parsons Project’s “Tales of Mystery and Imagination.”)

Now, take the mercilessly-flayed lime and quarter it. Toss two or three of those pieces in a cocktail shaker. Then add exactly three mint leaves and muddle it all together. (The three mint leaves mirror the three tana leaves that kept the mummy alive in Universal’s The Mummy’s Hand.) Now add the gin and syrup and some ice and shake it up. Next we need to add some cucumber slices. The number of slice I used is five, which equals the number of persons (living and/or dead) who were engaged in the conversation described above. Shake the content vigorously, then drain everything (including the muddled mint and lime) into your prepared glass.

Top off the glass with cold tonic water, and gently stir while offering the incantation “Allamistakeo” (the name Poe’s Mummy). Finally garnish with the lime peel at a jaunty angle.

The result is a highly refreshing drink that, if you close your eyes, should fit the bill of a standard Yummy Mummy cocktail. But with your eyes open and fixed on this drink, you cannot fail but think of Allamistakeo in all his Ponnonner-kicking, Egypt-defending glory.