Solomon Grundy

• 1½ oz London Dry Gin
• ¾ oz Amaro Lucano
• ½ oz Sweet Vermouth
• ¼ oz Fernet Branca
• Stir over ice for 20-30 seconds
• Strain into a chilled nick and nora glass
• Garnish with a cocktail cherry

Happy Friday, friends!

As our time in Canada marches on, I have become increasingly aware of how I measure it.

Sometimes in months. Sometimes in milestones. Sometimes in the space between an application submitted and an email finally received.

In recognition of time, this week may I present the Solomon Grundy.

For my fellow comics aficionados, the name should ring a bell. For my British friends, it may ring a different one. Either way, there is a clock ticking somewhere behind it.

The drink was created by Dan Long, while bartending in Los Angeles in 2011. The cocktail takes its name from the DC Comics character, who in turn borrowed his name from a much older nursery rhyme.

That is quite a journey for a name: from a lifetime compressed into seven days, to a villain who cannot seem to stay dead, to a glass that I would very much like to take my time drinking.

Solomon Grundy first appeared in All-American Comics #61 in October 1944, facing the Golden Age Green Lantern, Alan Scott. Once a man named Cyrus Gold, he emerged from Slaughter Swamp as a towering, undead creature whose body mingled human remains with the plant matter around him.

Not the sort of fellow you would necessarily invite over for cocktails.

But an interesting namesake nonetheless.

Grundy’s story has been revised and retold across decades of comics. The recurring idea is that death does not quite finish him. He returns–sometimes changed, sometimes diminished, sometimes more dangerous than before. DC has even structured a seven-issue series around the weekdays of the rhyme that haunts him.

That is a peculiar way to mark time.

For the rest of us, the years tend to move in one direction. We do not get to emerge from a swamp and start the chapter over. Which may be a good reason to pay attention while we are in it.

The cocktail itself is an equally interesting collection of competing personalities.

It begins with London Dry Gin. I used Beefeater, whose clean, crisp character gives me the immediate citrus and piney juniper I want in a drink this herbal.

Then the recipe turns toward the bittersweet with Amaro Lucano.

Created in 1894, Lucano is built around a secret blend of more than 30 herbs. It is one of those foundational amaros that rewards keeping a bottle within easy reach: useful in cocktails, satisfying on its own, and capable of adding complexity without requiring an entire supporting cast.

In this glass, I find caramel, toffee, a little licorice, and the earthy bitterness that prevents those sweeter notes from settling in too comfortably.

Next comes Italian sweet vermouth.

For this, I used Carpano Antica Formula. Its vanilla-rich profile brings weight and generosity, with dried fruit, warm spice, cocoa, and bitter orange alongside its sweetness. Carpano identifies Alpine wormwood as an important part of its botanical structure.

To my palate, that richness also suggests dark cherries and red plums–fruit that works beautifully alongside Lucano’s caramel and the gin’s brighter botanicals.

And then, just when everyone seems to be getting along, Fernet-Branca enters the conversation.

Fernet-Branca is one of the most polarizing bottles in the amaro category. Its own producer describes a profile that can be bitter, herbaceous, menthol-like, and sweet—and admits it is not for everyone.

I find its minty, medicinal intensity both challenging and compelling. It does not merely add another flavour. It changes the shape of the drink around it.

Here, that is exactly the point.

The Fernet announces itself on the nose with herbal mintiness. At the front of the palate, Lucano’s caramel and the vermouth’s vanilla and red-fruit richness briefly lull you into satisfaction. Then the gin’s juniper joins the bitter herbs of both amaros, commanding your attention as the sip moves across the mid-palate.

The sweet and bitter elements reach their crescendo on the finish: cooling herbs, warm spice, fruit, and roots, none entirely willing to concede the last word.

It reminds me of the eternal comic-book contest between opposing forces. No definitive winner emerges. So, naturally, I take another sip.

Forever hopeful.

The Solomon Grundy is an assertive drink, but it is not simply an exercise in bitterness. Its pleasure comes from the tension between richness and restraint–and from discovering how much can happen in the time it takes to finish one glass.

I selected this cocktail as a way of thinking about time passing.

Behind the comic-book character is the nursery rhyme:

Solomon Grundy,
Born on a Monday,
Christened on Tuesday,
Married on Wednesday,
Took ill on Thursday,
Grew worse on Friday,
Died on Saturday,
Buried on Sunday,
That was the end,
Of Solomon Grundy.

A whole lifetime in a week.

Efficient, certainly. Though I would prefer a little more space between the wedding and the funeral.

I am not tracking my own life by the days of that rhyme. But the older I get, the more aware I become of the other ways we keep count.

Birthdays, of course. Next month, our daughter will celebrate her 23rd trip around the sun.

Anniversaries, too. Last month brought the 25th anniversary of the September 11 attacks. And, as I wrote in last week’s Thunderbolt post, my wife and I recently celebrated 24 years of marriage.

These dates do something important. They put a frame around experiences that might otherwise drift into an indistinct past.

They let us stop and say: this happened. This mattered. We are still here to remember it.

Perhaps there is an illusion of permanence in that. Perhaps we are honouring not only the event but the fact that we have survived long enough to look back at it together.

I do not think that makes the ritual any less valuable.

Between those larger milestones, however, life keeps its own smaller calendar.

The lifespan of a bar of soap in our shower.

The tube of toothpaste my wife and I share.

The five weeks between my haircuts.

These are not occasions anyone puts on a commemorative plaque. But they are real. They accumulate. They are the ordinary evidence of a life being lived.

Another empty tube. Another haircut. Another month that somehow slipped by while we were occupied with everything else.

And then there are the dates I watch much more closely.

The dates of my immigration to Canada.

As of today, it has been:

• 478 days since I crossed the border for good on June 18, 2025.
• 388 days since I submitted my application for spousal-sponsored permanent residence.
• 147 days since I received my Canadian work permit–a milestone followed by my B.C. driver’s license and access to provincial healthcare.
• 88 days since I began working at Iron Mountain as a Canadian employee.

Those numbers mean different things.

One measures how long I have been here.

Another measures how long I have been waiting.

Another marks the return of professional possibility.

And another measures how long I have been contributing again, rather than preparing for the opportunity to contribute.

When you are moving through an immigration process, time can acquire a peculiar texture. A week can disappear into ordinary activity, while a day spent waiting for an update can feel disproportionately long.

You learn to live with two calendars. The calendar of the life you are building.

And the calendar of the application that will, hopefully, give that life a more permanent footing.

This week, the second calendar finally gave me something new to mark.

It has been one day since I received instructions for the next step: the immigration medical examination.

It is not an approval. It is not a promise about how much longer the process will take. IRCC still has decisions to make.

But it is movement.

After so many days of checking, waiting, and trying not to interpret silence, movement feels wonderful.

I am grateful for it.

And perhaps that is what this drink has helped me recognize: I have been counting the days, but the days have not been empty.

We have made friends. Built routines. Helped our daughter begin a new chapter. Celebrated our marriage. Found work. Shared meals, rides, tastings, and conversations that would not have happened had we stayed where we were.

So I raise this Solomon Grundy to the people at Immigration, Refugees and Citizenship Canada working through my application, to this encouraging next step, and to the life taking shape between the official milestones.

The numbers matter.

But so does what we put between them.

How do you mark the passing of time?

Cheers! 🥃🍁💖