Every time I walk past a branch of Jamie’s Italian, I have this barely resistable urge to reach for the spray can and write “No, he’s not” underneath the sign.
However, when I saw this recipe for a port and rum negroni in today’s Guardian, I could resist no more.
It’s not a fucking negroni.
Stop.
Please.
For the love of Christ.
Don’t get me wrong here: it sounds delicious (unlike the accurséd apple martini). And 10 Greek Street is a lovely place. But this is not a fucking negroni.
It’s a valid drink. It might be a little sweet for my taste, but I bet it will sell like gangbusters.
But, dear bartenders, you are the heirs to such luminaries as Jerry Thomas and Harry MacElhone. Do you think they ponced about naming their creations an XX martini or a YY negroni. No they bloody didn’t. They used their imaginations and came up with great names for their drinks that survive to this day.
Give it a name of its own.
Because it is not a fucking negroni.
Opinionated Drinking 