There are only a few times I think about ice.
I think about ice when I’m hosting a party and I have to run to the corner store to buy a bag of it. Invariably, the cubes have clumped together into a giant mass, and I have to stomp on the bag to break it up. Artisanal foot-ice, I call it.
I think about ice vis-à-vis the grandmotherly implications of plopping a few cubes in a glass of rosé when it’s hot outside.
I think about ice when I start to worry about how Jon Snow is really doing.
I imagine you’re like me, an ice dabbler at best, but ice obsession is an established phenomenon in the cocktail world. It’s a preoccupation that reaches both into booze’s past and into its experimental, sci-fi future.
Photo by Pat Moran.