For Julia Reed

I wrote the original version of this post on March 17, 2014, but on August 28, 2020, the unimaginable happened. Julia Reed died of cancer while vacationing with friends.

I say unimaginable because—even though I didn’t know—know her—she was part of my life. I had all of her books; I collected her newspaper columns; I read everything written about her that I could get my hands on. I wanted to meet her but didn’t think I really had to—because she was already my friend.

She made me laugh and shared her best recipes. She introduced me to her beloved beagle, Henry. She gave me decorating tips. She seemed larger than life and too good to be true. It’s hard to say rest in peace for the girl whose motto was Let the Good Times Roll, so I’ll just say thank you.

Here is Jon Meacham's Tribute to Julia Reed in Garden & Gun.

Original post from March 17, 2014:

Alex Witchel and Frank Rich used to top the list of people I’ve never met but wanted to invite me to dinner. I was hoping for great conversation and these lamb chops. But not anymore.

I want Jon Meacham to invite me to his place for a party.

Yes, we can discuss Thomas Jefferson. Yes, we can talk about Winston Churchill and FDR. Yes, I can ask what Joe Scarborough is like and see if he doesn’t think Mika Brzezinski deserves the Nobel Peace Prize for trying to keep the decibel level on Morning Joe down.

But what I really want is for his wife Keith and her friend Julia Reed to have me over so we can cook and eat together.

“There is nothing that makes me happier than discovering a new canapé or spending long days—and nights—planning a party. I have clocked so many hours with my friend Keith Meacham, who, like me, was born in the Mississippi Delta, armed with legal pads and Post-it notes, poring over seating charts and mapping out possible menus, that her husband Jon, the author and editor of Newsweek, now refers to us—with more than a hint of derision—as the ‘crabmeat caucus.’” 

—from Ham Biscuits, Hostess Gowns, and Other Southern Specialties by Julia Reed (St. Martin’s Press, 2008)

I keep Julia Reed’s food columns from The New York Times in a binder. (The one called “Member of the Club” is my favorite.) Her books Ham Biscuits, Hostess Gowns, and Other Southern Specialties and But Mama Always Put Vodka in Her Sangria are dog-eared on my shelf—and downloaded to both my Kindle and iPad for easy access. I even subscribed to Garden & Gun magazine just to read her monthly column, The High and the Low.

In a previous incarnation, I lived in Atlanta for eight years. I celebrated Thanksgiving weekends cheering on the Georgia Tech Yellow Jackets or watching football between the hedges at the University of Georgia. I ate my fair share of “puhmenna” cheese and hot pepper jelly and had a Varsity hot dog or two.

So, I understood exactly what Julia Reed meant when she wrote:

“In a city where ‘hors d’oeuvres’ all too often mean ubiquitous skewers of dried-out chicken saté or half-cooked snow peas with an ambiguous ‘fish paste’ piped inside, it is relatively easy to wow people, and I have yet to discover a deviled egg or a giant lump of crabmeat bathed in homemade mayonnaise that didn’t do the trick.”

—from Ham Biscuits, Hostess Gowns, and Other Southern Specialties by Julia Reed (St. Martin’s Press, 2008)

Now the 2014 holiday season is upon us, and in honor of Julia Reed, I’ll be drinking as much Champagne as I can get my hands on come New Year’s Eve. But once January 2nd rolls around and the post-holiday doldrums kick in, I’ll be dreaming about green grass, blue skies, 80-degree days—and this drink.

It’s my go-to summer cocktail for entertaining, and it’s adapted from Julia Reed’s Corpse Reviver No. 2. I’ve named it after Flavia de Luce, the intrepid young sleuth in Alan Bradley’s mystery series that begins with The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie. With the Pernod left out, the corpse is left cold… not revived.

Flavia
Adapted from But Mama Always Put Vodka in Her Sangria by Julia Reed (St. Martin’s Press, 2011)

For one drink

1 ounce fresh lime juice
1 ounce Plymouth gin
1 ounce orange liqueur (I use Mathilde XO; you can use Cointreau)
1 ounce Lillet Blanc
1 Luxardo cherry, for garnish
Shake the first four ingredients in a cocktail shaker filled with ice until very cold. Serve in a martini glass garnished with a cherry.