Guest feature from The Whisper Sister author Jennifer S. Brown
Jennifer S. Brown’s debut novel, Modern Girls, was a USA Today bestseller, a Massachusetts Book Award “Must Read,” and a 2016 Goodreads Choice semifinalist for Historical Fiction. Her writing has been published in Fiction Southeast, McSweeney’s, The Best Women’s Travel Writing, The Southeast Review, and the Bellevue Literary Review, among other places. She teaches writing, both in-person in the Boston area and online through the Loft Literary Center. She holds a BFA in film and television from NYU and an MFA in creative writing from the University of Washington. The Whisper Sister is her second novel.
About The Whisper Sister: The author of Modern Girls delivers an atmospheric coming-of-age story set in Prohibition-era New York, tracing one immigrant family’s fortunes and a young girl’s journey from the schoolyard to the speakeasy.
Minnie’s Speakeasy was originally a gin joint owned by her father. Drinks came straight or with soda. Nothing fancy. When Minnie took it over, she turned the blind pig into a swank speakeasy. The drinks became more elaborate and delicious.
While a Black Manhattan isn’t mention in The Whisper Sister, it’s my favorite drink and definitely something Minnie would have served. It’s a riff on a regular Manhattan cocktail, substituting Averna for the Vermouth. Averna amaro was invented in Italy by a monk, Frà Girolamo, who gave it to Salvatore Averna as a gift in 1868. In 1921, Averna was introduced in the U.S.
Enjoy!
Black Manhattan
- 2 ounces rye whiskey
- 1 ounce Averna amaro
- 1 dash Angostura bitters
- 1 dash orange bitters
- Garnish: brandied cherry
Add the rye whiskey, Averna, Angostura bitters, and orange bitters into a mixing glass with ice and stir until well-chilled. Strain into a chilled coupe glass. Garnish with a brandied cherry.
Now for an excerpt! For a bit of context, Minnie’s father, Ike, has worked for the gangster Arnold Rothman since he arrived in America. Now, Ike decides it’s time to go legit, so he purchases a soda shop. His wife is thrilled. Minnie is suspicious. Her father is finally going to be law-abiding? She suspects the soda shop is a cover for something else, and when her father says he’ll be visiting the shop, she follows him.
EXCERPT
I leaped down the stairs, two at a time, then headed toward Baxter Street. Within a few blocks, breathless, I spotted Papa. Trying to stay hidden, I shadowed him to the store. Sure enough, he walked past the soda shop and down the alley.
The alley held no cover, so I was exposed when Papa turned to unlock the door. “Minnie!” His eyes shone with fury. “Go home. Now!”
“I want to see the bar.” It was a gamble, but one I was willing to take.
“Who said anything about a bar?”
“I’m no dumb Dora,” I said. “I can figure things out.”
“You can, can you?”
“Please? I want to see what a bar looks like.” We had arrived in America just in time for Prohibition, when drinking went underground. On the street, boys talked about making their own coffin varnish or where to buy the cheap stuff. Occasionally one would make it inside a joint, but for a girl, it was near impossible to get in.
“How old are you?”
“Thirteen in two weeks.” I threw back my shoulders trying to stand taller. “In the old country, I’d practically be married now.”
He chuckled. “That’s not exactly how it worked.” He put his key in the lock, and I deflated until he said, “If your mother learns of this place . . . well, I wouldn’t want to be you if your mother learns about this place.” He opened the door. “Nu? You coming?”
I bubbled with excitement. “Hell, yes!”
With a half smile, he held the door.
We walked into a black corridor, where he unlocked another door. It swung to reveal a dark room that didn’t illuminate much more when he flipped a light switch.
I’d seen bars in movies. Speakeasies with glitter and shine. Chrome counters, fancy-dressed bartenders, flappers flirting with sheiks, the tinkle of fine crystal.
This was not one of those establishments. This was a gritty gin joint, a blind pig, with peanut shells and sawdust littering the ground. My feet stuck to the floor as I walked farther in. Behind the plywood bar was a row of bottles, glistening under a pale bulb. A few rickety chairs and tables dotted the room. It smelled sour, yeasty, like Mama’s bread dough.
I loved it.
I wandered the room, touching everything: the tables, the chairs, the bar. At the counter, I looked at Papa, and he nodded, so I slipped behind it. The bottles were cool to the touch, as the basement held the chill of spring. I grabbed a balled-up apron and pulled it over my head. I placed both hands on the bar and leaned toward Papa. “So.” I used a gruff, deep voice. “What’ll you have?”
The front door opened, startling me. The word illegal flashed in my mind, so I hunched, trying to make myself small.
The man spotted me. “Replacing me already, Ike?”
I stood back up.
“Riley, this is my daughter, Minnie. Minnie, this is my barkeep, Riley.”
“How do you do.” I didn’t say his name because I remembered how Papa had yelled when I’d called Mr. Lansky by his first name. Riley was short and compact with pitted skin and beady eyes.
“Minnie was about to pour me a drink.”
Riley joined me behind the bar. “A whisper sister in the making.” Something in his tone made me take a small step back.
“What’s whisper sister?”
“A woman who runs a bar,” Papa said. “So, my little whisper sister, I’ll have a bourbon. Neat.”
I took umbrage. “I can pour without spilling.” My tone would have earned me a slap from Mama, but here it only made Papa snicker. I liked this place.
Riley handed me a bottle of brown liquor and a short glass. “Neat means straight up, no ice, no mixers.”
I pulled the cork from the bottle and tilted it over the glass. The booze gushed out. Riley said, “Whoa!” while Papa said, “Trying to get me blotto?”
Riley took the bottle from me. He held up the glass. “See where the design changes?” I nodded. “Stop pouring at the line.”
I’d filled the cup to the brim, as if it were a juice cup.
Papa pushed the overfull glass toward me. “Would you like to have this one, Minnie?”
“Would I!”
Riley pulled out another short glass and filled it a third of the way. He gave that one to Papa. Papa lifted his glass to clink with mine, like they did in the movies.
“Cheers,” I said, and he replied, “L’chaim.”
I gulped the liquor as if I were drinking the sweet Shabbos wine. Half went down my throat like a lit match. The other half I spit on the counter.
“Watch it!” Riley jumped back as I spewed bourbon.
“What was that?” I stuck my tongue out as if I could sputter out the fire.
Riley and Papa both reeled in laughter. “That is bourbon.” Papa caught his breath. “You sip it.” He demonstrated. “Try again.”
I didn’t want to try again, but I didn’t want him to think I was a cream puff. I picked up the glass and took a sniff. The odor singed my nostrils. I sipped the barest of sips. The alcohol was still fiery, but in a more pleasant, warming way. I drank a little more. Tasted like burning rubber. If I held my breath, the bitterness was less harsh. I moved to take another swallow, but Papa touched my hand. “Nurse it.” At my confused expression, he said, “Drink slowly. Take time between swallows.”
I counted to three out loud. “Long enough?” I drank without waiting for an answer, once again sending Papa and Riley into guffaws.
“Minnie, you have three servings in there.”
I drank more.
Riley said, “Quite the family resemblance, Ike. She drinks like you.”
I liked the comparison. “In the movies, people have cocktails with fancy names.”
“Mixers mask the flavor of the alcohol, so you can’t be sure what’s in it. With straight bourbon I know what I’m drinking, even if what I’m drinking isn’t very good. Trust no one. Especially when booze is involved.”
I nodded, drank more, and decided I, too, would drink my bourbon neat when I had the chance to drink again.
The bourbon didn’t sting as much. My body turned into a balloon, airy and light. I drank more.
“You’re going to wish later you’d nursed that,” Papa warned.
“Why?”
He shook his head.
Papa let me finish my drink before shooing me off. “I’ve work to do. Remember, not a word to your mother.”
