Dark and Stormy
A famed Scottish storyteller finds a cure for writer’s block
By Rosannah Grivells
EDINBURGH, Scotland • 1881 — Jack Leopold Heid had been behind the bar at The Bishop’s Miniver for about five years, off and on, depending on his mood. He could be mercurial, even volatile at times, but Jack loved his regulars, mostly working men around the city—shopkeepers, printers, shipbuilders. Because of the pub’s proximity to the university, Heid also regularly served professors, lawyers, and writers.
Jack lit up on a rainy December evening when he saw one of his favorite customers walk through the door. “Bobby!” he called, beaming. “Let me pour you a pint, my friend.” Bob Stevenson was one of those writers, and he looked the part: bushy mustache, long dark hair, intelligent eyes. He was always asking after the lives of his fellow drinkers. Jack appreciated a customer who knew he was part of the tavern’s atmosphere, not just a patron.
But as Stevenson approached the bar, Jack saw he looked despondent. “What’s ailing you, Bobby?” Jack asked as he placed a glass of stout in front of the writer.
Dark and Stormy
2 ounces of dark rum (traditionally Gosling’s Black Seal)
½ ounce of fresh lime juice
4 to 6 ounces of ginger beer
Shake rum and lime juice with ice • Pour into a highball glass • Top with ginger beer • Garnish with a lime wedge
Stevenson was relieved that Jack was in good form. He was already dealing with angry magazine editors. The last thing he needed right now was an angry barkeep, too.
Stevenson had been successfully churning out weekly installments of his new pirate tale for Young Folk and the pressure was getting to him. In the last week he’d been stuck on a particularly knotty part of the story in which his young protagonist is trying to figure out his relationship with a dangerous pirate he’s encountered during his search for buried treasure.
“Thank you, Jack,” he said, taking a slug of his stout. “I’ve hit a rough patch in a story I’m writing for a children’s magazine.”
“For children? That’s wonderful, Bob. What’s the story?”
“It’s about buccaneers and deserted islands and maps to buried treasure,” Stevenson said. “I’m about a third of the way through the story, and suddenly I’m having trouble moving it forward. My editor at the magazine is insisting I give him more chapters right away.”
“Rough seas,” said Jack, eyebrows furrowed. “Who is your editor?”
“His name is Richard Quittenton,” said Stevenson. “Do you know him?”
“Ah yes, Richard,” said Jack, pausing and seemingly lost in thought. “Let me make you a drink that might help you start writing again.” He rummaged around behind the bar for a minute.
“We’ll use some rum to place you in the Caribbean, some lime juice for acid, and….hmmm.” He looked around his workstation, picking up different bottles. “Ah, here, this should work. Some ginger beer on top.” He stirred the drink and handed it to Stevenson. “I’m going to name this one after the mood Richard Quittenton has suddenly put me in. Let’s call it the Dark and Stormy.”
“Oh please, Jack – don’t worry about Richard,” said Stevenson. “It’ll be fine.” He took a sip. “This is terrific! You know, I believe it is putting me in the right frame of mind to write about Jim and Long John Silver. Thank you, Jack.”
As Stevenson took his second sip, Richard Quittenton and two Young Folk associates walked into The Bishop’s Miniver. They hadn’t yet closed the door behind them and Heid had already removed his waistcoat.
“Richard Quittenton, you have walked into the wrong tavern today!” screamed Heid. He jumped over the bar, breaking bottles and spilling pints of beer as customers ducked for safety. Heid lunged at the editor, bashing him repeatedly on the head with a large wooden handle he’d yanked off the beer tap. Quittenton’s colleagues, one bleeding from bitemarks on his hands, the other with a gash across his cheek, dragged the weeping editor back out the door.
Wielding the bloody tap handle above his head, Heid looked around at his customers, seemingly daring them to come forward for a beating. Stevenson, however, noticed none of this. He was, instead furiously scribbling at the bar about pirates and buried treasure on cocktail napkins, his back to the action.
“Jack,” he said. “Another Dark and Stormy, please.”
Editor’s Note: Fact-based cocktail historians claim the Dark and Stormy was created after World War I by British sailors on shore leave in Bermuda.
SOURCES:
Christine Cowlerp, Stomp His Fecking Neck!: 500 Years of Pub Violence, 1448 to 1948 (London: Porchert & Phraph, 1967) p. 2
Guy Olfert (@robertlstevensonboy), “Robert peed self often at Bishops Min pub b/c he was v afraid of a man who served drinks there h/t @rlstevensonboyz #treasure), Twitter, August 12, 2015
Richard Quittenton, “Why Did That Barman Smacke Me Upon My Head?,” Op-Ed, The Edinburgh Review Quarterly Weekly (Issue #47, 1881): p. 76
Contributors Notes:
Rosannah Grivells began thinking about her poem, “When The Cat Becomes Ill” in 1996, after watching a Wendy’s employee fall off a ladder.
Next week: Pisco Sour • New York City’s mogul mayor discovers a Peruvian classic
Loved this story! Dark and Stormy should be the honorary cocktail for BHI...!