by THE EARTH-OMEGA CHIP ANDREWS (ALIAS “THE STINGER”) with DAVID HYDE
Listen, nobody sets out to be a sidekick. It’s something you fall into. Let’s say your parents die horribly in a high-profile crime and suddenly a billionaire you’ve never met takes an interest in your sad story. Next thing you know, you’re a ward. Then one day, while exploring your mysterious benefactor’s labyrinth-like mansion, you discover a secret dungeon of high-tech crimefighting equipment and weird mementos of costumed evildoers. You’re a sidekick, son.
Or maybe one night you get busted stealing the tires from a vigilante’s car. Only, this grim-and-gritty figure of the night doesn’t turn you in to the police or send you back to juvey. He understands. He takes you under his wing.
Perhaps you accidentally discover that your favorite aunt’s longtime fiancé has a secret. What happens is that everybody’s headed down to the lake for a BBQ, but you forgot your phone. When you go back to the house, you walk in on him in the guest bedroom half-dressed in brightly-colored spandex. The first thing he says is, “Don’t tell your aunt.” The next thing: “Did you ever want to be a superhero?”
And that’s how you become a sidekick. I’m not going to lie; it’s a weird life, and damn stressful. By night, you’re fighting the worst criminals Fortune City has ever seen. But school is so much worse. You have to explain a lot. No, those bruises aren’t a cry for help. Yes, I do realize that it’s weird to shave my legs even though I’m not on the swim team. No, I don’t belong to a fight club. No, I don’t have a safe word. No, I don’t have a death wish. What you have is a secret. And you need a drink.
The Dragonfly
• 11⁄2 oz gin
• 4 oz ginger ale
• lime wedge
I know what you’re going to say, so let’s acknowledge the elephant in the room: Almost all sidekicks are underage. And underage drinking is breaking the law. But we’re vigilantes, man. We’re breaking the law to uphold the law. It’s complicated. The first time Dragonfly found me drinking, it was pretty tense. He grabbed my half-empty Collins glass and shouted, “THIS YOURS?” He shattered it in his hand without even tasting the drink. “I made it for you,” I stuttered. “I made it for you.” And that’s how The Dragonfly became my go-to drink.
Fill a highball glass 3⁄4 of the way with ice. Add gin and ginger ale. Stir. Garnish with a lime wedge and, if you have one, a purple lilac.
Cheers, Dragonfly. I made this for you.
The Stinger
• 2 oz cognac
• 1 oz white crème de menthe
Drinking a cocktail that shares the name of your alter ego is kind of like a rock star wearing a T-shirt for his own band. But . . . it’s also kind of cool. Besides, I drink alone. Who’s going to know?
Stir the cognac and crème de menthe in a cocktail shaker, strain into a rocks glass.
A Poisonous Escape
• 11⁄2 oz rum
• 1⁄4 oz Amaro Nonino
• 1 oz coconut cream
• 1⁄2 oz pineapple juice
• 1 drop rose water
• 1 cup crushed ice
• 1–3 drops orange bitters
• orange slice, edible flower
Is there a better way to celebrate escaping from The Matchstick Men’s lair than drinking A Poisonous Escape? No, I don’t think so.
Pour all ingredients (except for the bitters and garnish) into a blender, then blend for 10 seconds. Top with bitters and garnish with an orange wedge, an edible flower, and a cocktail umbrella. Serve in a tiki mug.
The Sidekick
• 2 oz Cognac
• 3⁄4 oz Triple Sec
• 1 oz orange juice
• 1⁄2 oz lime juice
Have you ever noticed how female superheroes never have male sidekicks? Lady Dragonfly, I am here for you.
Shake all the ingredients with ice, then strain into a chilled coupe glass.
Lady Dragonfly? Text me. I’m ready for our team-up.
