Okay so you know how people always say, “Only in New York”? Well, they’re right. And here’s why: Last Saturday night, I crashed an anniversary party. Totally by accident, of course. But I also left that party with the recipe for the most heavenly cocktail I’ve ever tasted. Honestly, it was such a Rachel moment.
Let me set the scene…
The Rooftop That Wasn't Mine
So I was supposed to meet Monica at this rooftop bar in SoHo—one of those places where your drink costs more than your coat and your coat costs a lot. I got to the building (amazing tiles in the lobby, by the way), followed some people into the elevator, pressed the top floor, and voilà… I arrived at this stunning rooftop deck strung with fairy lights, people in floaty summer linens laughing over candles and jazz.
Naturally, I thought, “Oh! They're really going all out tonight!”
Spoiler alert: They weren’t my people.
But did I figure that out right away? Noooo. I thought Monica was “running late” (classic), so I grabbed a glass of what looked like sparkling rosé—(it was not)—and just went with it.
The Clue That Something Was…Off
After about ten minutes, I realized I didn’t recognize a single human being. Not one. That’s when a woman in the most divine floor-length silk dress walked over and said:
“So how do you know Theo and Nathan?”
…Who?
I panicked. Which led to me saying the first thing that popped into my head:
“Oh! From college. Kinda. Long story!”
(?? I did not go to college with Theo or Nathan. I don’t even know a Theo.)
When In Doubt… Compliment and Sip
Luckily, New Yorkers are excellent at pretending to know each other if you sound vaguely familiar and compliment their earrings (which I did). So I was offered a refill of this dreamy pale pink cocktail, which caught my attention way more than Theo-or-Nathan's backstory.
It was citrusy but smoky. Like summer in a very chic glass. Garnished with basil (hello?!), and a grapefruit twist. It was refreshing, complicated, and just the right amount of mysterious—basically, it was the Cillian Murphy of cocktails.
So I asked the bartender—who, thank god, was very laid-back and probably knew I didn’t belong there but chose kindness over confrontation—what it was.
“We’re calling it the Rosy Finch. Mezcal, Aperol, fresh grapefruit, lime, dash of agave. Basil and grapefruit to garnish.”
And I swear I nearly proposed marriage. To the drink.
The Great Escape
Right around the time people started toasting to ten years of marriage (and telling stories that definitely did not include me), I gave myself the out I needed: thanked someone named Melanie (no clue who she was), left my half-finished glass of Rosy Finch behind, and texted Monica to ask where the hell she was.
Turns out I was on the wrong rooftop. She was across the street on a much less married one and had been waving at me from the balcony for like fifteen minutes.
Oops.
New York Lesson Learned:
There’s a fine line between being fashionably late and being fabulously lost.
Cocktail Takeaway: Make the Rosy Finch Immediately
Here’s the semi-illegal recipe I've recreated with, let’s call it, confident memory:
The Rosy Finch
Ingredients
- 1.5 oz Mezcal
- 0.75 oz Aperol
- 1 oz fresh grapefruit juice
- 0.5 oz lime juice
- 0.25 oz agave nectar (or simple syrup)
- Ice
Garnish
- Basil leaf
- Grapefruit twist (extra points if you turn it into a flower—I've been practicing)
Instructions
- Shake everything except the garnish in a shaker with ice.
- Strain into a coupe glass (or whatever you have that makes you look like you know what you’re doing).
- Garnish. Strut around your apartment like it’s your own private rooftop soirée.
Would I Do It Again?
Absolutely not. (Okay maybe.) But in a city like this, where a wrong elevator ride can become the beginning of a love story—or at least a love-affair with mezcal—I say… let New York surprise you.
Just maybe bring backup earrings. Compliments go a long way.
xo,
Rachel
P.S. If you know Theo or Nathan, um… thanks for the party! 😘
