As Valentine’s day looms,  I thought I would take a leaf out of the lovely Emily (aka Yinzeralla’s) book and share one of my dating horror stories with you.

Then we’ll have a cocktail and drink to forget.

But first lets step back in time to the late 90’s.  I was fancyfree and footloose.  And I met a boy who was funny, handsome and smart.

Or so he seemed the night I met him.

Mind you, my view may have been slightly skewed by a shit ton of booze and a pair of inch thick beer goggles. He called me a few days later and we arranged to have dinner at a Thai restaurant in the city.  He claimed it was the best Thai restaurant in Melbourne.  I’d never heard of it.  This should have been a red flag.

It wasn’t.

The place looked like it should have been condemned.  And believe me, I had plenty of time to examine it as I waited for him to show up.

At 15 minutes, I ordered a glass of wine and placed mental bets on which cockroach would crawl up the wall faster.

At half an hour I called his cell.  It went to voicemail.  I ordered another glass of wine. And, bored with the cockroaches, I counted the rest of the health code violations.

He arrived 45 minutes late.  “Got caught up” he said.  No sorry.  Just “Got caught up”.

Another red flag.

Which I ignored.

Because I’m stupid.

And you  know, it wasn’t like he was a brain surgeon, who couldn’t put down the scalpel to make a call.

He was an auditor.

Third red flag.

We moved from the bar to a table.  He ordered two Coronas.

“Wow, you  must be thirsty” I said. “Two beers”

“One of them’s for you”

“I don’t drink beer”

“Beer goes with Thai food.  No one drinks wine with Thai food.”

Yeah?  Just watch me.  Waiter?  Another Sauv Blanc please.

He then proceeded to order for both of us.  And let me tell give you a little clue gentlemen who read this…this is not Mad Men retro sexy.  It’s arrogant and obnoxious and patronising and makes your date want to punch you in the face. Repeatedly.

And quelle surprise, he had an unerring ability to pick the exact things on the menu I least wanted to eat.  Not that I wanted to eat there anyway.  Refer  back to my comment about the cockroaches and the code violations….

So,  by now, I kind of hated him and just wanted this farce to be over.  He could have two meals to go with his two beers.  I ordered another glass of wine.

He frowned.  “That’s your second” he said,  voice aghast.  It was actually my fourth but who was counting.

“Yeah, I know” I said.

“But….but…they’re seven dollars a glass”

“I’ll pay for them,”  I may have said this through gritted teeth. Then next time the waiter passed, I asked him just to bring the bottle over.

My date then talked about himself the whole meal.  And ate all the food.  Often at the same time.

That was delightful and endearing.  Whoops, no, I meant disgusting and nauseating.

When the bill arrived, I put down a 50 for the food I hadn’t eaten, (I paid for my wine separately).  He claimed not to have any change, pocketed my money and paid on a card.  I’d eaten a piece of broccoli and a spoonful of rice.

He then asked me how I was getting home.

“Taxi” I said.

He offered to drive me home.  Which seemed like an incongruous act of chivalry.  But yeah, ok…given I had paid for six fifths of the dinner I reasoned he probably felt he owed me.

So we drove to my house.  Parked out the front.  He turned and gave me a look of intense expectation.

I’m sure I didn’t do a good job of hiding my horror.  He honestly didn’t expect me to kiss him did he?

Short answer, no he didn’t.  Because the next words out of his mouth were  “So, what would a taxi here cost?”

“Twelve….maybe fifteen dollars”

“So how about you put in ten for petrol?”

I didn’t have a ten.  He took the twenty I gave him and drove off.  Thankfully, never to be seen or heard of again.

I went inside and made myself a grilled cheese sandwich.  Nearly a hundred bucks down and I still had to make myself dinner!

But, enough about him.  Let’s talk about the Cheap Love.

Parfait Amour, meaning Perfect Love in French is a much maligned liqueur, redolent of the 1970’s and sickly sweet concoctions.  However it is a gorgeous colour and my  local alcohol shop claims it is used in many romantic cocktails.

“Flavoured using rose petals, vanilla and violets it is no wonder that Parfait Amour is so closely associated with love”

Wait up what?  Rose petals, vanilla and violets?

You may as well just say raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens….

So , what could be better than celebrating Valentine’s Day with a cocktail made from a liqueur called Perfect Love?

And voila…..

The Cheap Love Cocktail

To make the Cheap Love, you mix Parfait Amour with  delicious berries, yummy orange and lovely lemonade.

So on the surface this should be the most amazing cocktail ever right?

Hmm, yeah….Not so much.

Best I can say is….it wasn’t awful.

And that’s what you call damning something with faint praise…

No, seriously, it wasn’t bad, it was just….bland.  And horrendously, tooth achingly, sweet.  And that’s coming from someone who has been known to sit in front of the telly with a tin of condensed milk and a spoon!

If I was to make this again,  I would add some zing, maybe with some lime juice and also maybe a kick of a flavoursome gin like Hendricks – I think the floral notes in the Hendricks would combine well with the floral notes in the Parfait Amour.

And now that I have a bottle of it to get through, we may be seeing a little bit more of it on here.

I can’t hardly wait.

Anyway, Happy Valentines day everyone, and in a complete reversal of this post may your dates be sweet and your cocktails cheap!

Oh and sorry, sorry, sorry if you got a bulk lot of everything I ever posted yesterday….we’re having some technical problems at la maison de la retro food!