Cocktail 28: The Imp of the Perverse

A paradoxical something, which we may call perverseness, [prompts us to] act, for the reason that we should not. In theory, no reason can be more unreasonable, but, in fact, there is none more strong. With certain minds, under certain conditions, it becomes absolutely irresistible.

The first half of Poe’s story is essentially an essay explaining this phenomenon. (Along the way he mentions man’s “organ of amativeness,” which simultaneously provides fodder for sophomoric giggles and explains a lot about man’s compulsion to misbehave.) It’s a bit unclear whether the notion that “we should not” is imposed externally (like the stricture against adultery) or rather more intrinsically (i.e., that the act would be harmful to us). At one point in his essay Poe speaks of our desire “to do wrong for the wrong’s sake,” which sounds like a desire to go against convention. And yet the long example he provides–in which the story’s narrator describes how he was compelled to incriminate himself for a murder that he’d gotten away with years earlier–suggests the essay is concerned with how we act against our own interests. Either way, Poe’s “Imp of the Perverse” is the personification of the urge to misbehave, even (or especially) when it’s bad for us.

Surely you can recall instances where you felt compelled to act in a way that, deep down, you knew you shouldn’t. Did you give in to the urge? Or did something–a sense of morality or conscience, or perhaps just a desire for self-preservation–prevent you from acting on that urge? Would that I had been blessed with a bit more self-restraint when I was younger. (For the back story, see my memoir, Midcentury Miscreant.) Meanwhile, an article in a 2018 issue of Pacific Standard magazine describes the Imp phenomenon, and helpfully explains that “the thoughts themselves are fairly harmless…but how we respond to them can be a problem.” You don’t say.

Now, Poe’s story concerns major wrongful acts–neglect of duty, opposing the will of God, suicide, and murder. He did not include on his list the category of crimes against Mixology.  But I will. So join me as we blithely and recklessly give in to the Imp of the Perverse.

The full story is available here.

Let’s also blithely ignore the aphorism “Grape or grain, but never the twain.” This piece of folk-wisdom holds that you should never mix wine and spirits, either in a single drinking session or, presumably, in a cocktail. Here comes the twain!

Finally, it’s commonly held that one should only shake cocktails that contain fruit juice; all other cocktails should be stirred. Our drink eschews fruit juice, and yet we’re going to shake the hell out of it. Embrace your inner Caligula!

The central crime of grape and grain is provided by some Amontillado (for obvious, Poe-related reasons) and some neutral vodka (because even in this “perverse” cocktail it’s probably wise to minimize the extravagant clash of tastes). As mixers let’s use some Triple Sec and Cynar. (Cynar, as you probably know, is a liqueur made from artichokes, of all things. This in itself lends a bit of perversity.)

Ingredients:

Add the first four ingredients to a shaker with ice, and shake it. Then, pick up the shaker and shake that. (Haha!) Strain the mixture into some ridiculous non-barware. (I used my Studebaker Museum coffee mug.) Maybe add one of those giant ice cubes that are all the rage these days, simply because they’re ridiculous. If you want to make the drink a little less disgusting, you can dilute it with some tonic water. Garnish with your own token of perversity. I used a candle, which, it may be remembered, was the murder weapon used by the narrator in this tale. Seriously.

Take a swig, and you’ll understand why those cocktail rules were created in the first place. You’ll also be tempted to never again give in to the Imp of the Perverse. You’re welcome.