Author Teri Anne Stanley shares her family recipe for Whiskey Sour; a cocktail made from bourbon.

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Most true bourbon aficionados would say that you should only drink Kentucky’s best with a little water, if you have to add anything at all. Some wouldn’t even condone ice. But seriously…how many people can drink straight whiskey without making that face? You know the one. The “HOLY CRAP, MY ENTIRE BODY’S GOING TO CATCH ON FIRE!” face.

And if the bourbon industry turned their nose up at the cocktail mixers of the world, they wouldn’t sell much liquor, would they?

Besides, there are so many awesome cocktails that include bourbon, that it would be very wrong to ignore them.

There’s the Old Fashioned, which is made with whiskey, bitters, simple syrup, a twist of orange and a cherry. The Manhattan, which has bourbon, vermouth (bleh!) and a cherry (I detect a theme!). Don’t forget about the Mint Julep…mint, sugar, bourbon…

And my old family favorite, the Whiskey Sour. I remember getting to have a tiny bit of this on special occasions when I was younger. It was sure better than the beer we’d maybe possibly try to sneak out of the garage refrigerator! The traditional recipe calls for fresh lemon juice, sugar, and whiskey, but here’s the Big Dick version (Big Dick was my dad, Richard. Not a commentary on the character or man parts of anyone):

1 can of frozen lemonade

Dump the contents of the can into a blender

1 can of bourbon

Use the lemonade can. It will help rinse all the lemonade into the blender.

Add a bunch of ice and grind the heck out of everything, until you have a slurry.

1 can of Sprite

Give it a quick mix.

You gotta do that part last, because 1), if you add the Sprite after the bourbon, you’ll be sure to rinse out any residual liquor that would otherwise go to waste stuck to the inside of the can, which would be wrong, and 2) the fizzy in the Sprite would go whizzy if you added it before you blenderized it.

Pour into glasses, give to guests, and watch Mom start to act silly.

Cheers!

Title: A Shot with You (Bourbon Brothers #2) by Teri Anne Stanley
Release date: January 9, 2017
Published by: Entangled Lovestruck

Synopsis

One more will never be enough…

Bourbon is in Brandon Morgan’s blood. His family owns the best bourbon brand in the country—or it will be with his marketing genius. And after meeting the fiery daughter of a tequila distillery owner, he’s never been more sure.

His barrels, her tequila. It’s a match made in heaven. But only if he can keep his hands off the owner’s daughter…and his secrets to himself.

Lesa Ruiz will do anything to keep Little Possum afloat, but one look at Brandon’s gorgeous dimples and Lesa knows two things for sure: forever is not in the cards with this man and he’s way too sexy to resist for long.

Well, three things… Brandon is hiding something, and she’ll need to get a lot closer to figure it out and save her family’s legacy.

Shots, anyone?

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About Teri Anne Stanley 

Teri Anne Stanley has been writing since she learned to hold a crayon. Though her handwriting hasn’t improved, her spelling is a little better now. She spends her days as an evil genius’s sidekick in a research lab, and her nights weaving tales of heroic hunks and sassy, smart women. When she’s not at work, Teri, Mr. Stanley, and the Stanlettes enjoy spending time at their weekend estate, located in the thriving metropolis of Sugartit, between Beaverlick and Rabbit Hash, Kentucky.

Connect with Teri Anne:   Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

Giveaway

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Excerpt

Brandon Morgan stood in front of the Travel Adventures office in Puerto Vallarta and stared down at Mexico’s youngest extreme watersports guide.

Nope.

Call him Mr. Excitement with as much sarcasm as you like, but he was on vacation, and he’d choose the fun. The “high adventure” he’d signed up for was as appealing as a trip to the dentist. For fillings. Without anesthetic. And it was his vacation, damn it. If he had to leave his cozy, air-conditioned stateroom and its wifi connection, he was going to live it up in a way that made him happy.

By working.

He looked at the kid and said, “Sorry, bud. I think I’m gonna contribute to my life insurance for a few more years. I’ll pass on ski-surfing today.”

“But senõr, you’ve already paid for the trip. If you join the tequila tour, you’ll have to pay again.” And I’ll lose the generous tip you’d give me for bringing you back alive. If I bring you back alive.

At least that’s what Brandon figured he meant, so he gave the kid a few bucks and escaped into the liquor store that had a sign reading, “Tequila tour! Cruise guests welcome!”

Before he reached the smiling attendant behind the counter, a familiar label caught his eye: Blue Mountain Bourbon, Dangerous Dave’s Eight Ball. Sweet. His distribution team had managed to get it out, right on time. It wasn’t available on the ship, so he snatched a bottle from the shelf and carried it back to the cashier.

“This bottle, and one ticket for the tequila tour.” He could skip the tequila tasting—yech—and have bourbon. No cactus water for him.

“You’d better hurry, amigo,” the attendant told him. “The bus is leaving.”

Brandon threw a handful of bills at the guy and sprinted from the shop, across the crumbling roadway, and leaped onto the bus filled with grinning, sunburned tourists.

As the doors shut behind him, he fell into an empty seat next to an elderly woman with purple hair. She didn’t glance away from the iPad she held to the window, videoing the scenery, which in this case, consisted of a broken-down truck in front of a store claiming to have “Authentic Aztec silver jewelry at rock bottom closeout prices.” Brandon would have to remember to stop by there to pick up something for his mom’s birthday. Mom would appreciate authentic rock-bottom-discounted jewelry. After all, she’d loved—and still occasionally wore—the vending machine plastic gemstone ring he’d given her when he was eight.

The bus jerked with a hiss of air brakes and jolted forward.

“Welcome to the Pequeño Zarigüeya tour! Sit back and enjoy the ride as you enjoy these hits of Mexican radio.” The music that fuzzed through ancient speakers was nothing that had been produced before his parents were in diapers, but then, he wasn’t a big connoisseur of south-of-the-border pop. Maybe they did play a lot of Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass here these days.

He’d made the right choice to bail on the extreme sports and could instead fantasize about mergers and acquisitions to his heart’s content. He slid the bottle of bourbon into his drawstring backpack and tucked it between his knees, grateful to have escaped another freaking adventure.