Whether you're an author or not, you've heard it before: All authors drink.
But what do they drink?
Shehanne Moore and the Singapore Sling
Hmmmm, what’s my poison? Not wanting to lower the tone of my lovely partner in doodling’s, blog, I’m going for that exotic and famous cocktail, the Singapore Sling--originally meant as a woman’s drink because it’s pink. Huh. At the end of a long, hard day on the beach it’s ideal, except I live in Scotland so I’m not on beaches too often. The Sling was originally created by Mr. Ngiam Tong Boon for the Raffles Hotel in Singapore.
Although it’s probably meant to be sipped on a rattan chair, under a ceiling fan, it’s still purty good taken beneath alien constellations in tiny Greek villages, not to mention night clubs in ruined villages in the hills.Just watch where you lead the conga line afterwards.
I don’t dispute the recipe is open to just that…dispute. Please don’t let me stir up any controversy but Benedictine is apparently the magic ingredient.
Combine all of the ingredients in a shaker, fill with ice and shake until the shaker is well frosted. Strain into a tall glass and garnish with a slice of pineapple and cherry.
I somehow had it in my head that Raffles Hotel was connected with Raffles, the gentleman thief. A big DUH. It was named after Stamford Raffles, the founder of modern Singapore. Visit these days and you can view the safe in which Mr. Ngiam locked away his precious recipe books, as well as the Sling recipe hastily jotted on a bar-chit in 1936 by a visitor to the Hotel who asked the waiter for it.
Shehanne Moore writes gritty, witty, historical romance, set wherever takes her fancy. What hasn’t she worked at while pursuing her dream of becoming a published author? Shehanne still lives in Scotland, with her husband Mr Shey. She has two daughters. When not writing intriguing historical romance, where goals and desires of sassy, unconventional heroines and ruthless men, mean worlds collide, she plays the odd musical instrument and loves what in any other country, would not be defined, as hill-walking.
Only one man in England can identify her. Unfortunately he’s living next door.
What’s left for a woman with nowhere left to go, but to stay exactly where she is?
And hope, that when it comes to neighbors, Devorlane Hawley won’t prove to be the one from hell.