This one’s for the cocktail column!
And it’s called “Sprained Sangria” because I only noticed my wrist was sprained after I finished.
It was a sunny, beautiful July 4th morning in Corvallis, Oregon. Paul and I were out biking, and though I’ve ridden one particular road many times on a road bike, I had yet to explore the beauties of the trails on a mountain bike. Though I dislike (greatly) the downhill, I still wanted to give it a shot. Downhill could be a better opponent than a speeding car afterall. My first tumble came at a slow speed. In fact, I was attempting to stop and stop I did. I just couldn’t get my feet out of the pedals in time. With this small war wound, I insisted that we carry on. We rode through campus and then up into the hills, lots and lots of uphill, huffing and puffing to get to Dimple Hill. Indeed, there was vista and I felt fit and ready to declare an affinity or at least a small liking to mountain biking.
Then we had to go downhill. The gears were very low to assist the uphill climb, so it was counter-productive and horrible for balance on the downhill. Add that to my fear of high speed descents and a few huge tree roots — then came my second fall. No worries. I protected Paul’s bike using my body to break the fall. In many different ways I felt I had impaled something. With that grunt and cry, Paul decided we begin mountain bike hiking (his preferred form of “hiking”). Once the trails were “done” – we were passed several times, naturally, and we’d trekked over a stream or two (this is NOT as treacherous as I like to make it sound), I decided I could handle the double track descent. There were fewer limbs and roots to contend with. The speed was picking up, so I started applying the brakes, trying the “feathering” technique Paul counseled. Something happened. I flew head first over the handle bars. I got some “air” and apparently appeared as if I were diving into a swimming pool. It was probably quite miraculous that I was able to ride home. I refused to discuss it, trying to contain my shock and my pride after the bucking mountain bike. Aside from the shock, really, I was fine. “Fine” – a loaded term. We made it home with me little miss cranky pants. We even headed to the store later (on bikes!) to pick up the goods for a afternoon BBQ. No problem!
And so, pretending the accident never happened, I set to course chopping and prepping for the menu. We had a chard potato salad (with tangy lemon tahini dressing borrowed from Sara’s kale & potato salad recipe). Paul was grilling chicken (for the guests) and tofu (for me!), and I was set to make the sangria and then a peach and blueberry crisp. After I had finished it all, and sat to sip my sangria, I realized I had actually sprained my wrist. Mildly.
Sprained Sangria
- 1 bottle Cabernet-Sauvignon
- 1 orange
- 1 lemon
- 1 lime
- Splash of orange juice
- 2 shots of Orange Liquor
- 1 cup of blueberries
- ½ cup of crushed pineapple with juice
- Ginger ale
Pour wine in pitcher and then cut the citrus into wedges, squeezing the juice into the pitcher. Cut the wedges into more bite size pieces and add to the mix. Splash in the OJ and the 2 shots of liquor. Add the berries and pineapple and give a hearty stir. Refrigerate as long as you can before ladling 1 cup (or so) into a pint glass over ice. Top off with ginger ale.
The Sangria
The Sprain
