Wishful Drinking: The Alien Baby

Dear readers,

Another week has come and gone, and the Bat City Herald is no closer to firing that disturbed young lady who has seized the reins of power at the once-prominent journal. Forty-five days into her journalistic junta, and what do we have to show for it? The return of Garfield to the comics page? Please.

But I digress.

Today's column, as promised, concerns two different drinks, both called, rightly or wrongly, the Alien Baby.

My first experience with the alleged extraterrestrial love child came from a disturbed young woman tending bar at Headhunters on Red River road. She filled a pint (a queen's pint) glass with some disgusting Red Bull competitor, which--in a crime against both God's and Man's law--came straight from the soda gun. Then she dropped a shot glass full of Jagermeister into this vile vial, leaned in close, and quietly urged me to "slam" the beverage.

Slam I did, at which point I felt a very unpleasant sensation in my abdomen.

"It's like an alien baby is trying to get out, right?" she said.

With a wild gesticulation I signified that yes, it did.

"That's what it is called. It's called the Alien Baby."

However, some days later at The [original] Hole in the Wall, I attempted to order said baby, as a cruel joke on an old accomplice. I was informed by Lindsay the bartendress that the drink I was describing was well known around the world as a Jager Bomb. Which, I suppose, is a more helpful and accurate name. Together, we consulted the bar's drink database and discovered that there is another drink called the Alien Baby, and here is the recipe (courtesy of the Internet and the always helpful Extra Tasty!):

Using a short glass (or even a shot glass) fill 2/3 with peach schnapps. Slowly pour the baileys to fill the glass. If it goes to plan, it should sits on top.

Splash in some grenadine. It should congeal and form a little pink foetus-looking jelly in the schnapps. Knock it back, the alien baby slides down your throat like only god knows what.

Lovely!

Lindsay flatly refused to make this drink, no matter how many hundred-dollar bills I spread across the counter. So I repaired, alone, to the Wishful Drinking Laboratory, to experience the true Alien Baby for myself.

With a flick of the wrist I was able to create a reasonably foetus-like splash of grenadine. The taste was actually quite smooth, and the Baileys and the schnapps combined into a creamy, fruity delight.

Royce's Rating: 87 bottles out of 99 bottles of beer on the wall.

And that's all for this week dear readers. Remember, address questions about drink to RUMANDRAKE (at) GMAIL (dot) COM.

Next week's column: Royce answers your questions! And, drinking in space!