My granddaddy was an airplane mechanic for Pam Am at SFO—San Francisco international airport. The guys on the tarmac all called him Hawkeye, because he could always spot what was wrong with a plane, and he could always spot a pretty woman. Mind you, my granny was some looker. Hawkeye was blue collar and middle class, but working for Pam Am meant that he could take his wife and kids to Hawaii which, in the 1950s, was pretty dang spiffy. My Grandparents went everywhere—Kenya, Guatemala, Tahiti. They instilled a love of travel in their kids, and they passed it down to my generation. I grew up bouncing back and forth between California and Texas, and spent a lot of time on airplanes, and grew to love the cute little stuff that came along with flying, like airline forks and playing cards, little bags of peanuts, sleep masks. My family always had cute travel gear, usually blue with the white Pan Am logo.
I’ve spent a lot of time standing behind the bar slinging cocktails, different bars in different cities. People order all kinds of drinks, but one drink always sticks out: the Bloody Mary. I don’t know what it is, exactly, but Bloody Mary’s are magic! No other cocktail seems so tied to the kitchen table, so homemade and full of love like a warm quilt or a perfect cup of coffee. And people seem to know how they want it, whether they order it extra spicy or doctor it up themselves when they think I’m not lookin’. Once you get outside of a bar it gets even more personalized, and everybody seems to have their own secret. There may be only one way to make a martini, but there are a hundred ways to make a Bloody Mary.
The Bloody Mary is the perfect drink for those who work too hard, for those on the run, and those just trying to get from point A to point B. When you need a Bloody Mary, nothing else will do, and I’ve noticed that trying to get a decent one at an airport, or in a city you don’t know, or worst of all, on a plane, can be nigh on impossible. So I started making these little kits for friends. We used to pack ’em into old cassette tape cases—remember those?
Bloody Marys weren’t my granddaddy’s drink, but he believed in doing what you liked and getting what you wanted, so you didn’t end up “suckin’ hind titty.” So I named my kit after him. I hope you spot what you’re lookin’ for, and I hope you get it. Meanwhile, have a Bloody Mary, and make it just like you like it.
—”Maggie” McKee
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