Here comes the sun
and a recipe for a Sri Lankan Sunrise, the sunniest of cocktails
Is it Wednesday today? Or has Thursday already come around?
Time zones can really mess with your mind.
In the course of the last two weeks I’ve been in four of them, some barely perceptible a change, yet enough of a difference that I just don’t know exactly what time it is. First 12 hours ahead of home, then 10 hours and now 10.5 hours. Throw in Daylight Savings Time and I am well and truly turned around.
You’d think that with all that “extra” time on my side, I’d have this newsletter ready well before Sunday. But the switching of my body clock wreaked havoc on my best-laid plans.
The problem, of course, is trying to keep track of time in two different places. “What time is it in Toronto?” is shorthand for whether I can get some emails done before everyone’s awake back home, be the first to wish someone a happy birthday, start the New York Times Spelling Bee. Or even be a bit early getting Delicious Bits out, instead of four days late.
When the endless calculations become a bit too much, I turn to the sun to set my body clock right.
Here comes the sun
I was never an early riser, much to my mother’s chagrin. Sleeping in late of a Sunday morning was my idea of a tiny bit of heaven. Sleep, glorious sleep, was what I craved most.
But the passage of time is a funny thing. As I’ve gotten older, it’s the early morning hours that I love best. That’s especially true in our new home. Our 180 degree view, spanning from east to west, gives me ample opportunity to set my circadian clock to rights. Watching the sun rise every day is a magical light and colour show that never ceases to calm and mesmerize me.
That’s even more true when I travel. When I’m sitting on what feels like the end of the world, that sunrise is even more powerful. Add the lapping waters of the Indian Ocean in the Maldives, or the preternatural calm of a Sry Lankan reservoir, throw in some birdsong, perhaps a bit of mist or brooding clouds, a heron patiently waiting for its breakfast, and my body automatically knows what time it is.
Time to rise and shine.
In a far away place, you want to be centred in the here and now, the present moment. It’s truly the best way to take in every new sensation and experience, to breathe deeply and exhale slowly.
Might I suggest you rise a wee bit earlier than you might have planned, and have a visit with the mighty sun? He may blind you with his piercing gaze, but his aim is true. That shot of pure adrenaline light will light you up and set you right.
Sri Lankan Sunrise
serves one
With every sunrise, there comes a sunset, and with that, the opportunity for a delicious sundowner to wind down the day. A new favourite is the Sri Lankan Sunrise, which I had earlier this week in Colombo at the old school Galle Face Hotel. Variations of this popular drink can be found in many places but this one is the best.
Note: Sri Lanka is the largest producer of Ceylon Arrack. A distinctive liqueur, arrack is made from the fermentation and distillation of a single ingredient, the sap of unopened flowers from a coconut palm. Substitute any coconut-flavoured liqueur for this fruity and refreshing drink.
Ingredients
1½ ounces Ceylon Arrack, or other coconut flavoured liqueur
1 ounce fresh lime juice
The pulp of one medium fresh passion fruit (substitute 2 ounces of passion fruit juice if fresh passion fruit is not available)
Club soda to finish
In a cocktail shaker without ice, combine the arrack, lime juice and passion fruit pulp. Shake vigorously to blend. Pour the contents of the cocktail shaker into a highball glass half filled with ice. Top with club soda. Garnish with lime, mint or dill and serve.