MRS. ROOSEVELT'S CONFIDANTE — and the Great FDR vs. Winston Churchill Martini Battle

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: Breaking News!
 It's release day for our darling Red Susan's new book--I mean, Maggie Hope and Eleanor Roosevelt! I swoon. And so do the critics: PW calls it "enthralling" and Kirkus "enchanting." 
I adore this book, and so will you. (And you can talk to both of us about it in person! See below for more.)
But first--inside a fabulous party that only our dear Susan could create.
CHEERS!

SUSAN ELIA MACNEAL:   To celebrate the publication of MRS. ROOSEVELT'S CONFIDANTE, Maggie Hope #5 — which takes place in December of 1941, during Prime Minister Winston Churchill's historic post-Pearl Harbor visit to the Roosevelts' White House— we had our own FDR-inspired "Children's Hour." 

And we pitted (pun intended) the two great leaders' very different versions of the classic Martini cocktail against each other. 

So, let's see who wins the Great Martini Smackdown of 2015, shall we? 

I mixed both Churchill's more pristine ("bow in the direction of France" instead of adding vermouth) and FDR's vermouth and olive-brine heavy Martinis. 

Husband Noel, and our guests, Rob, Victor, and Leila, were encouraged to be candid in their reactions to each cocktail.

Here's my recipe for Winston Churchill's Martini:

Winston Churchill's enjoyment of spirits was legendary, but by all accounts, he preferred his drinks unmixed. According to various accounts he was appalled at the copious amount of vermouth in President Roosevelt’s martinis, but drank them agreeably, in the name of diplomacy.

* gin
 (according to some he preferred Plymouth, according to others, Boodles or Beefeater)

* crushed ice

Shake gin in a container half filled with chipped ice. 

Bow respectfully toward France (where dry vermouth is produced)

Strain into a chilled cocktail glass or coupe. 

Garnish with lemon peel, if desired.

  

And here are the guests' opinions of the Churchill Martini: 

NOEL: This is a really good cocktail — it would be great in the summer. You can really taste the gin but also taste the lemon. Very refreshing.

ROB: I love the simple simplicity of it.

  

SUSAN: Simple simplicity?

ROB: Simple simplicity.

SUSAN: It's elegant. Tastes like the martini at Dukes Hotel, in London. 

VICTOR: The Churchill Martini is very European — "We don't care about driving later — we want alcohol now!" It has a good aftertaste, too — juniper and citrus.

ROB: It's nice to look at the lemon rind floating around in it.

SUSAN: Rob, how many have you had?

ROB: Hey, this is my first drink!

  

LEILA: It's like a tickle in the throat, but a nice one — smooth and not harsh.

SUSAN: It almost tastes like a Gimlet.

NOEL: Is that the one with the little pickled onions?

  

SUSAN: No, that's a Gibson. A Gimlet is gin with lime and sugar syrup. It was Betty Draper's cocktail of choice on Mad Men. But that’s another blog post....Or at least another party.

  

And now on to President Roosevelt’s Martini:

President Franklin D. Roosevelt did always mix drinks at Children’s Hour and reportedly enjoyed making martinis. As far as I can tell there’s no exact recipe, but we know from his personal secretary Grace Tully’s memoirs that they were heavy on the vermouth (which was considered old-fashioned) and he was also known to add a few drops of Pernod, orange blossom water, or olive brine for flavor.

Here’s my best approximation of his martini. Enjoy!

* 2 parts gin
 (according to some he preferred Plymouth; according to others, Beefeater)

* 1 part dry vermouth

* splash olive brine




* 2 olives for garnish


* crushed ice

  

Shake gin, vermouth, and olive brine in a container half filled with chipped ice. 

Strain into chilled cocktail glasses. 

Add garnish.

Reflections on FDR's Martini: 

ROB: I do like a Dirty Martini! Did President Roosevelt invent the Dirty Martini?

SUSAN: I don't know if he invented the Dirty Martini, but he's reputed to have made and served them — much to Churchill's horror. FDR really liked to garnish, apparently. 

ROB: Well, I love it. It has a richer and plumper taste than the Churchill one.

  

NOEL: Plumper?

ROB: Plumper, I say!

  

SUSAN: I like the vermouth and gin together. It's a cocktail for heaven's sake, not just cold gin!

VICTOR: Yes, I can see how this was more popular with the American palate — less alcohol, more ingredients. It's heavier.

NOEL: This is more of a winter cocktail. 

LEILA: This is not a Dirty Martini — this is more like dirty laundry. Yuck.

SUSAN: I like it! More olives, please!

And the winning Martini is.....

SUSAN: So, which do you like best?

NOEL: I think Churchill's for summer and Roosevelt's for winter.

  

SUSAN: That's a very politic answer, dear.

  

VICTOR: I vote for the Churchill. And I'm taking a taxi home.

SUSAN: I must admit I like any excuse to eat olives. I'm going with Roosevelt's.

LEILA: Oh, olives in gin are yucky. I pick Churchill's.

ROB: Must we choose? Can't we just enjoy both? I pick both!

SUSAN: And so the Churchill Martini wins — by one vote! Cheers, everyone!

HANK: I'm a no-vermouth girl myself. And a twist. And a pre chilled glass.  (I always ask for the olives on the side, in case there's no other food. ) And if you want to chat with Susan and me in person? We will be at the wonderful Jabberwocky Bookstore in Newburyport MA at 7 on Friday October 30. We always talk about a Reds party--now it's on!

SUSAN: So, Reds and lovely readers, what makes a great party? Would you rather be a host or a guest? What was the best party you've ever been to? Let us know in the comments!

What We're Writing: Susan Elia MacNeal and Mrs. Roosevelt's Confidante

SUSAN ELIA MACNEAL: October 15.

That's the date I'm working toward.

That's when I need to hand in Maggie Hope #5, Mrs. Roosevelt's Confidante, to my editor.

Less than a month away.

And oh, lovely readers, it's not pretty around here.

There is much head-scratching, hair-pulling, and gnashing of teeth as I try to finish and tie up all the loose ends.

Right now there are a lot of loose ends. But it's all right. I have faith. And also two week-long solo writing retreats before the end.

At any rate, here's a snippet from the beginning of the novel. In it we see President Roosevelt and First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt together on December 22, 1941 — the day Winston Churchill and his staff (including Maggie Hope) will arrive in Washington, D.C.

Enjoy!

xxSusan

It was morning, and Eleanor Roosevelt opened the door of the President’s bedroom without knocking. There she stood, glaring, hands on her hips. “Franklin,” she demanded in high-pitched tones just short of dulcet, “why didn’t you tell me Winston Churchill’s coming to the White House?”

Mrs. Roosevelt was a slim, tall, middle-aged woman who seemed constantly in motion—except for rare moments such as this. Her thick grey hair was pulled into a low chignon. She was already dressed for they day, wearing a simple suit and low-heeled shoes.

President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, armed with newspapers, mail, and messages, was taking breakfast in bed. The morning headlines were far from reassuring: 80 JAPANESE TRANSPORTS APPEAR OFF LUZON, U.S. SANK OR DAMAGED 14 U-BOATS IN ATLANTIC, and HITLER OUSTS ARMY HEAD—TAKES FULL CONTROL. As he read, he fed tiny pieces of bacon to his small black Scottish terrier, Fala, curled up on the bed beside him.

The President shrugged. He’d known the British P.M. was coming ever since the attack on Pearl Harbor, nearly two weeks before—but for security reasons, had kept the news to himself. At fifty-one, Franklin Roosevelt was a large, robust man—that is, except for his legs, which were paralyzed by polio. He had a large oblong face with a jutting jaw and silver pince-nez spectacles balanced on the bridge of his nose. He kept his Camel cigarette in an ivory holder between his teeth, held at a jaunty angle.

Mrs. Roosevelt continued, “Well, one of the first things we must do is remove all the art depicting the War of 1812. That would be a horrible gaffe.”

The President reached down to stroke Fala’s silky ears. “Yes, dear.” The dog wagged her tail, then hoping for more bacon.

“I think we can keep the Revolutionary war paintings. But perhaps take down President Washington.”

“Washington? Keep him up—Churchill has high respect for the Founding Fathers, so I’ve read. And even if he doesn’t, Washington’s still our first President.” Franklin looked at Eleanor over the wire rims of his spectacles. “He’s a guest, yes—and now our ally—but we’re going to be negotiating quite a few things while he’s here. Might not be a bad idea to remind him who won the Revolutionary War.” He slipped a morsel of bacon to Fala, who wagged her tail in appreciation.

“But why didn’t you tell me, Franklin? And I can’t find Mrs. Nesbitt anywhere. What are we going to serve on such short notice? She’s a mediocre enough cook as it is. If only I’d known….”

PASAJE

There was the sound of heavy footsteps, then a knock at the open door. It was the President’s chief butler, Alonzo Fields, a tall, gracious, and dignified black man, well over six feet tall and two-hundred and fifty pounds. Roosevelt noticed him waiting at the door and lowered the emotional temperature.

“Now, Eleanor, all that little woman would do even if she were here, is to tell Fields what we can tell him ourselves right now.” He looked to his butler. “Fields, have your staff prepare the bedrooms for the Prime Minister and some of his party. And if you see Mrs. Nesbitt, tell her to find Mrs. Roosevelt. We’ll need dinner for twenty at eight, maybe nine.”

“Yes, sir.”

Eleanor blinked. “My word, Franklin, I don’t think you realize how much work a visit from a foreign dignitary takes! And with Tommy on Christmas vacation, Blanche didn’t show up for work today. She didn’t even call—it’s not like her.”

            “I’m sure she’s fine. And let the staff take care of everything. It’s their job.”

            Mr. Fields had waited. “Anything else, Sir? Ma’am?”

            “Thank you. That’s all,” said the President. Fields left, his tread heavy on the hall floors.

            “As First Lady, it all reflects on me. And in addition to my column, I have a press conference today—”

            “I know you’ll do a bang-up job, Babs.”

            His use of her nickname softened her edge a bit. But not her focus. “But Tommy’s visiting her family for Christmas.” Malvina “Tommy” Thompson was the secretary who usually took dictation for the First Lady’s “My Day” newspaper columns.

The President kept his eyes on the newspaper, but the First Lady would not be put off. “And Franklin, have you had a chance to look at my letter to the Governor of Virginia, regarding the impending execution of Wendell Cotton?”

            The President sighed. “If you haven’t noticed, dear, we’re at war. I have more on my plate with the Japs and the Huns than I know what to do with. And now, with Winston coming….”

            “A man’s life is at stake!” Franklin Delano Roosevelt was President, but Eleanor Roosevelt was the matriarch of the family and a political force in her own right. Not only was she the President’s eyes and ears for places his wheelchair couldn’t take him, but she was a moral influence of her own.

            “I know.” Roosevelt looked up at his wife, grey-blue eyes serious behind his pince-nez. “But I can’t afford to rile up those boys from Dixie right now, just as we’re entering this war. We all need to all pull together to win—North and South. I can’t afford to antagonize a nation that only recently wanted to throw me out of office and elect an isolationist.”

            “Shouldn’t your ‘together’ include men like Wendell Cotton? What about the Negros?” Eleanor walked over and sat at the foot of her husband’s bed. “This is their war, too, you know.”

            “You know what they say about us in the South—‘you kiss the Negroes, I’ll kiss the Jews, and we’ll stay in the White House As long as we choose.’ And I simply can’t afford to alienate Dixie any more, especially now that we’re at war.”

gosia herba

            The first lady gave a sad, disapproving look. Fala sniffed for more bacon.

            Roosevelt sighed. “I’m doing the best I can, Babs.”

Mrs. Roosevelt knew when the President had had enough. “I’m going to put Mr. Churchill in the Rose bedroom, what do you think?”

            “Perfecto, my dear.” He didn’t look up, but his voice was a few degrees warmer.

            Mrs. Roosevelt’s gaze went to the cluster of photographs on the fireplace’s mantel. Their boys were grown and in the military. They wouldn’t be home for Christmas this year. “It’s been two weeks since Pearl Harbor. It’s so strange to have Christmas with the country at war. And without the boys,” she said. “And without your mother, too, of course.”

            They both looked to the President’s black armband, worn in honor of his mother, Sara Delano Roosevelt, who had died that September.

            “And your brother.” The President cleared his throat. “Well, I have the feeling the atmosphere will be considerably energized when The Prime gets here.” He signed a few documents with a flourish, then looked up at his wife again, the twinkle back in his eyes. “You have no idea how much energy he has.”

            “Is that what you call him? ‘The Prime’?”

            “Indeed.”

            “Well, then I’ll do everything to get ready for him and his staff. We’ll put him and his detective and valet up here, and the rest can stay at the Mayflower Hotel—I’ll have Mr. Fields call over. And what do you think he’d like for dinner tonight when he gets in?”

            “I’m sure anything you choose will be splendid, my darling. Just make sure to have plenty of wine and scotch on hand. The Prime likes his whiskey. And of course I’ll make Martinis during Children’s Hour.”

            Eleanor grimaced. Her father had been an alcoholic and alcoholism had just claimed the life of her brother. She rarely touched spirits herself, only indulging in one of her husband’s Old-Fashioneds once in a blue moon. “I’ll see what I can do.”

            The President pulled a red cord that would summon his valet. “I’m going to the airport to greet Winston and his crew.”

            “You’re going yourself?” Eleanor sounded worried. “Can’t you send someone else and then greet him here?”

            “The Prime and his staff have been on a ship dodging Nazi submarines for two weeks—and they’ve only just docked in Boston. I think the least I can do to show up at the airport.”

Tina Berning

            Eleanor turned to go, but stopped in the doorframe. “Well, if you see Blanche, tell her I’m looking for her—will you please, dear?” Then, “I’m worried about her. She hasn’t been herself lately. She seems a bit…off.”

            Roosevelt smiled, one of those megawatt smiles that routinely made the newspapers’ front pages. “Babs, if I see Blanche, I’ll be sure to send her your way.”

SUSAN ELIA MACNEAL: Thank you for your time and attention, Reds and lovely readers. And now I'm back to work!

Walking in the Footsteps of History

SUSAN ELIA MACNEAL: First order of business — hearty congratulations to dear Reds Rhys Bowen, Hank Phillippi Ryan, and Julia Spencer-Fleming for being nominated for the Agatha Award, given by Malice Domestic. Kudos and huzzahs, ladies!

This week I'm living two novels at once. I'm doing the final copyedit of the page proofs of THE PRIME MINISTER'S SECRET AGENT, which has coincided with a trip to Arlington, Virginia and Washington, D.C., researching the next novel in the Maggie Hope series, THE FIRST LADY'S CONFIDANT.

Whenever it's at all possible, I love to travel to the places I write about, and walk the actual footsteps of the characters. Since THE FIRST LADY'S CONFIDANT takes place in D.C. and Virginia, during Winston Churchill's trip to North America just after Pearl Harbor, I'm visiting as many places as possible that he and his staff went.

One of those places is Christ Church in Arlington, Virginia, where Winston Churchill, President Roosevelt, and Mrs. Roosevelt all went to to commemorate World Day of Prayer for Peace on January 1, 1942.

As you can see, it was a beautiful day (although cold!). Christ Church is an Episcopalian Church and is also known as George Washington's church. It was finished in 1773 by James Wren in what's knows as the "Colonial style."

The door was open, and I was lucky enough to have the place to myself (along with the ghosts of history).

I sat for a long time in one of the pews, just taking everything in. The light was different from most of the churches I've been to in the UK — the glass is clear, not stained. The confederate graveyard behind the church was visible from the windows, and you could hear the rustling of dead leaves in the wind.

[Anyone looking at my photos would be perplexed, as I often take pictures of small details. I always take pictures of floors, imagining how shoes of the period would sound. (Those are my warm winter boots with rubber soles and wide treads, definitely not what Eleanor Roosevelt would have been wearing!) ]

The highlight of the visit was finding pew #59, George Washington's family pew, and also where the Prime Minister, President and First Lady sat. 

Like Goldilocks, I tried all three seats, each marked with a silver plaque.

And, of course, I had to sit in Mr. Churchill's seat. 

When I did, what a surprise! The poor P.M., although in one of the most respected seats in the church, had a view mostly blocked by one of the white columns.

I make no promises as to whether a scene in this church will actually be written, let alone make it into the book (although I'm thinking it will, along with Mr. Churchill complaining afterwards about the pillar). But I can promise you that it makes it all the more real to me — which I truly hope makes it all the more vivid to you, the reader.