But now a new horror presented itself, and one indeed sufficient to startle the strongest nerves. My eyes, from the cruel pressure of the machine, were absolutely starting from their sockets. While I was thinking how I should possibly manage without them, one actually tumbled out of my head, and, rolling down the steep side of the steeple, lodged in the rain gutter which ran along the eaves of the main building. The loss of the eye was not so much as the insolent air of independence and contempt with which it regarded me after it was out. There it lay in the gutter just under my nose, and the airs it gave itself would have been ridiculous had they not been disgusting. Such a winking and blinking were never before seen.

The overwrought prose huffs and puffs melodramatically over trifles. “If! Distressing monosyllable! what a world of mystery, and meaning, and doubt, and uncertainty is there involved in thy two letters!”

But of course Poe is satirizing a form of writing popular at the time–a style Wikipedia calls the “Gothic Sensation Tale.” 

At the climax of the story the narrator (an ostentatiously dressed woman named Signora Psyche Zenobia, or perhaps Suky Snobbs) loses her eyeballs (!) in an absurdly improbable accident involving the minute hand of a huge clock in a church belfry. First one eyeball pops out and falls into the roof’s rain gutter. And then the other. And then they stare back at her.

And of course it is these two ocular orbs that we’re going to evoke with our cocktail.

The full story is here.

So, having been defeated in the lychee department, I naturally turned to radishes. These have the advantage of roughly sharing the size and shape of an eyeball, plus their root resembles an optic nerve, and on top of all this the red skin can be peeled to reveal a bloody-white eyeball. It’s as if the humble radish was born to stand in for an eyeball. I mean, what else is it going to do??

For the drink itself, I wanted something garish and colorful like Signora Psyche Zenobia, who informs us that she has a “commanding” appearance. Quoth she:  “On the memorable occasion of which I speak I was habited in a crimson satin dress, with a sky-blue Arabian mantelet. And the dress had trimmings of green agraffas, and seven graceful flounces of the orange-colored auricula.” I zeroed in on her sky-blue Arabian mantelet which, I am told, is a “woman’s short, loose sleeveless cloak or shawl.” And it seemed to me that blue curacao would evoke “sky-bue” admirably. So, we’re going to make what amounts to a Blue Hawaii, with a double-eyeball garnish.

First, prepare your eyes! Use a potato peeler or some similar contraption to peel off most of the red skin from two radishes. Leave just enough red skin behind so as to resemble bloody veins and such. Then use a small melon baller or similar Inquisition-worthy torture device to hollow out the front of each radish. Put a dab of jam into each radish hole, followed by a blueberry. Congratulations–you’ve just made two eyes. Stick them on a long toothpick.

Now, mix the vodka, blue curacao, and pineapple juice with ice in a mixing glass, and strain into a rocks glass with fresh ice. Garnish with eyeballs. If you’ve done this right, they will regard you with an “insolent air of independence and contempt.”

The teeth! –the teeth! –they were here, and there, and everywhere, and visibly and palpably before me; long, narrow, and excessively white, with the pale lips writhing about them, as in the very moment of their first terrible development. Then came the full fury of my monomania, and I struggled in vain against its strange and irresistible influence. In the multiplied objects of the external world I had no thoughts but for the teeth. For these I longed with a phrenzied desire.

Then Berenice apparently succumbs to her disease and is buried in the family plot. The next day Egaeus is awakened from a trace-like state in the library by a tap at the door. A servant reports that Berenice was discovered, alive but disfigured, near her open grave. Then Egaeus notices that his own clothing is covered with blood, and that a dirty shovel is leaning against the wall, and a small box is upon the table. As the horrible realization begins to break through, Egaeus lunges for the box, which falls and shatters upon the floor, scattering dental surgical tools and 32 teeth.

The full story is available here.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: Is that any less insane than incorporating the teeth into a cocktail? I did think about this, and decided if I can somehow isolate the teeth from the drink itself, there at least would be less chance that you’ll end up swallowing a few stray bicuspids. I resolved, therefore, to lock the teeth away in ice. This is especially appropriate because the last three letters of the story’s title spell ICE. C’mon–keep up with me here!

I decided to freeze the teeth in an inch or two of water at the bottom of a martini glass, so the teeth would be collected in a small space and thus be more noticeable. I also used distilled water in order to maximize the clarity of the ice. So as long as you finish the drink before the ice melts, you should be OK. 

Arrange the teeth at the bottom of a martini glass. Pour in a little distilled water so that it covers the teeth. Now freeze the glass in your freezer.

Once the water has frozen, mix the remaining ingredients together in a shaker with ice, and strain into the glass. Voila! You have a martini with teeth at the bottom.

You can, of course, use any other spirits in this drink, since the gimmick is just the teeth. I do think the ice is less noticeable by using a clear spirit. In fact, you might even ditch the bitters to make the teeth more visible still.

My eighth and last speculation has been in the Cat-Growing way. I have found this a most pleasant and lucrative business, and, really, no trouble at all. The country, it is well known, has become infested with cats — so much so of late, that a petition for relief, most numerously and respectably signed, was brought before the legislature at its last memorable session. The assembly, at this epoch, was unusually well-informed, and, having passed many other wise and wholesome enactments, it crowned all with the Cat-Act. In its original form, this law offered a premium for cat-heads, (fourpence a-piece) but the Senate succeeded in amending the main clause, so as to substitute the word “tails” for “heads.” This amendment was so obviously proper, that the house concurred in it nem. con. As soon as the Governor had signed the bill, I invested my whole estate in the purchase of Toms and Tabbies…. Their tails, at the legislative price, now bring me in a good income; for I have discovered a way, in which, by means of Macassar oil, I can force three crops in a year. It delights me to find, too, that the animals soon get accustomed to the thing, and would rather have the appendages cut off than otherwise.

This story does not have much of a plot, and it’s frankly one of Poe’s less entertaining efforts. But, as usual, Poe’s wordcraft is exceptional, and he does manage to come up with a couple of amusing jests. Sadly, the cat-tail scheme is not one of them. But as it is the final, successful project that rounds out the story, it will serve as the basis for our drink.

(The full story is available here.)

Thinly slice some ginger root (the more the better) and put it in a shaker. Add some fresh rosemary leaves (again, the more the better) and the vodka. Muddle it well, add ice, and shake it up. Let it steep for maybe five minutes. Give it a final shake and strain it into a Collins glass with fresh ice. Add lemonade and St. Germain, and stir. Add a fresh, cat-tail-like sprig of rosemary as a garnish. Then, in true Peter Proffit style, complain to your liquor shop/grocery store/me that the spirits/garnish/recipe is somehow faulty and demand 2x damages. Repeat as necessary.

Hereupon I bethought me of looking immediately before my nose, and there, sure enough, confronting me at the table sat a personage nondescript, although not altogether indescribable.  His body was a wine-pipe, or a rum-puncheon, or something of that character, and had a truly Falstaffian air.  In its nether extremity were inserted two kegs, which seemed to answer all the purposes of legs.  For arms there dangled from the upper portion of the carcass two tolerably long bottles, with the necks outward for hands. All the head that I saw the monster possessed of was one of those Hessian canteens which resemble a large snuff-box with a hole in the middle of the lid.  This canteen (with a funnel on its top, like a cavalier cap slouched over the eyes) was set on edge upon the puncheon, with the hole toward myself; and through this hole, which seemed puckered up like the mouth of a very precise old maid, the creature was emitting certain rumbling and grumbling noises which he evidently intended for intelligible talk.

The remainder of the story finds the narrator experiencing a convoluted series of far-fetched, outlandish coincidences involving fires and hogs and wigs and hot air balloons. In the end, the narrator falls from the sky through the chimney of his own house, and he comes to understand that the Angel of the Odd brought about these trials to convince him of “the possibility of the odd.” He ends the tale with these words: “Thus revenged himself the Angel of the Odd.”

The full story is available here.

Our formula for a cocktail seems obvious enough: We will “replenish [a] goblet (which [is] about a third full of port) with a colorless fluid,” which is, of course, Kirschenwasser. Here in the modern, English-speaking world the spirit is typically spelled “Kirschwasser,” but either way it is cherry brandy. (This means the Angel of the Odd “diluted” the narrator’s port with 80-proof alcohol, which is about twice the ABV of the port. I suppose this is one of Poe’s many satirical and/or comical touches.)

Anyway, using context clues, we can deduce that the drink created by the Angel of the Odd is one part port and two parts Kischwasser. I made myself a drink with those proportions, and found it to be far too bitter. Sticking with the cherry theme, I added a splash of maraschino liqueur, which did succeed in masking the bitterness a bit. But the drink is made more drinkable still by chilling it. (I stuck the finished drink in the fridge for a half hour.) In all honesty, this is a perfectly drinkable drink–which perhaps cannot be said for all the cocktails in this compilation.

Mix all three ingredients in a suitable “goblet.” Refrigerate for half an hour and serve.

Alternatively, you could combine them in a shaker with ice and strain into a chilled goblet. Either way, you’ll find it a serviceable alternative to your “frequent Lafitte.”