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ups and downs . . . you know, with another drink standing by.

ORANGE JULIUS CAESAR
JULIUS CAESAR (CIRCA 1599)
BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
    F riends, Romans, upperclassmen: with pals like this, who needs enemies? Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar reads like a luxuriantly extended definition of the word “backstabber,” as the title character’s rise in power inspires those closest to him to plot his assassination. Though Caesar gets top billing, he actually appears in only a handful of scenes; the real star here is Marcus Brutus, proving that sometimes a secondary player can walk away with the show. Sneak a little mother’s milk into an old-fashioned breakfast recipe—and trust us (no, really, you can trust us), the result is pretty killer.
    3 ounces orange juice
    2 ounces milk
    1½ ounces light rum
    1 teaspoon granulated sugar
    Â¼ teaspoon vanilla
    Have your closest frenemy load all the ingredients, plus a handful of ice, into your blender. Only after he removes his fingers, get whirring. Serve in a Collins glass.

VERMOUTH THE BELL TOLLS
FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS (1940)
BY ERNEST HEMINGWAY
    Y ou’ll need a drink for this one, a clench-jawed war classic that follows one Robert Jordan, an American abroad during the Spanish Civil War, and part of a daring underground mission to destroy an enemy’s bridge. With a reporter’s unflinching eye for the miseries of battle, Hemingway tells much of the novel in an English idiom that feels directly translated from Spanish, with a distractingly choppy narrative that’s worth the slog (lest you miss the earth-moving sex scene midway through). You’ll be a prisoner of more to our cocktail, featuring Spain’s own sherry. Serve the result and you’ll be building more bridges than you burn.
    2 ounces sherry
    1 ounce sweet vermouth
    Dash of Peychaud’s bitters
    Combine the sherry and sweet vermouth over ice in a rocks glass. Stir well and add the bitters. Serve to a longtime rival as a peace offering—and offer to take the first “poison control” sip.

SILAS MARNIER
SILAS MARNER (1861)
BY GEORGE ELIOT
    D ude writes like a lady! Penned under the name “George Eliot,” Mary Ann Evan’s Silas Marner is the tale of a man wronged by his church—closely mirroring the author’s own disenchantment with religion. It’s only after Marner loses his gold fortune (only after he’s forced to leave town under false accusations of stealing from his congregation’s coffers) that he discovers his true idea of wealth: becoming a father. Hailed as a clever critique of organized worship and industrialized England, Silas Marner inspires a drink that’s a little bitter and a little gold-flecked—sort of like a man’s own life.
    1 ounce Goldschläger
    Â½ ounce Grand Marnier
    1 (12-ounce) can ginger ale
    3 dashes Angostura bitters
    Combine the Goldschläger and Grand Marnier over ice in a highball glass. Fill to the top with the ginger ale and add bitters. Get ready for the next best thing to holy water.



THE OLD MAN AND THE SEAGRAM’S
THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA (1952)
BY ERNEST HEMINGWAY
    A Pulitzer winner drowning in biblical allegory, The Old Man and the Sea was Hemingway’s final published work in a career dripping with awards and accolades—and alcohol. The premise is simple (and familiar to readers of Moby-Dick and enjoyers of Moby-Drink on page 64 ): an old man sets out to destroy a fish in an act of single-minded delirium. During an epic three-day battle in which the marlin is finally defeated, hitched to the side of the boat, and—hey, old chum!—eaten by sharks en route to shore, the old man emerges weary but victorious. Do your best sailor imitation with the standby gear of any fisherman: whiskey and bait.
    2 ounces whiskey (like Seagram’s)
    1 (12-ounce) can lemon-lime soda
    Kumquat, for garnish
    Warning: you’re gonna need a bigger glass. Combine the whiskey and