The Rocococktail

Valentine’s Day marks the turning point in which one might once more indulge in the rocococktail.

“Whatever is that?” you well might ask.

Comes a time when the light lingers a touch longer and the days might not be so bitterly cold, the sun peeks coyly through – this is the moment when we compose a rocococktail (it is a little known fact that cocktail is the feminin of Cocteau) and lift it to the health of kith and kin.

It all started with the kir. Usually this is a bit of black currant syrup in the bottom of a wine glass which is then filled with a dry white wine, such as muscadet. Some bistrots go all out and offer peach kirs. (I once had a kir with Chambord liqueur and champagne). One unusual kind of kir uses red wine and is called, for its color, either a hard left "kir communard" (for the reds of the Paris Commune of 1871) or indeed a hard right "kir cardinal" (for the red of the Richelieu’s robes).

Then came a fashion in Paris for violet kirs of some ten or so years back (I love all that is démodé). This might be the birth of what I baptised the rocococktail for their pastel tints and floral frivolity. The violet kir reigns supreme but as a variation on a them you might instead try a rose syrup or a lavender, indeed a lilac or an elderflower. I have even found that you can put some canteloupe syrup in a rosé for a blush beauty of a rocococktail. Because these syrups are so sweet it is imperative that the wine you splash over it be as dry as possible. No need for anything posh either as that syrup will make a moot point of the wine’s quality.

Oh and make sure when you toast with your companions to look each other straight in the eye when your glasses touch – otherwise seven years without love!

Tchin- tchin