Wayne Curtis, an Atlantic correspondent, wrote his article, Cocktails of the Past, in order to reveal to his audience of cocktail enthusiasts how “history and fickle trade patterns have influenced what we drink,” in America. In writing with a casual, reflective, and humorous tone at times; Curtis effectively showed his audience why “when it comes to drink, Americans rarely clamor for subtlety.” By appealing to pathos in his detailed explanations of exotic drinks and in exploring the possible causes of his claim, Curtis creates a convincing article exposing “the demand for violet liqueur [which] suggests that the home bar may be following the trajectory of the kitchen pantry.” He hoped to offer an explanation as to why the bartender at the “Tales of the Cocktail” convention in New Orleans began a presentation with a slide that read, “That Damn Eric Seed.”
Curtis appeals ethos near the beginning of his article, building his credibility, when describing how Eric Seed has succeeded in creating a heartwarming drink for everyone. He tells his audience that he actually had the opportunity to meet Seed himself and converse with him over a few drinks, allowing readers to trust him more easily. He makes it clear that Mr. Seed has dedicated his career to importing liquor that is unattainable “unless you have a time machine”. Curtis chooses to describe one drink in particular, the “Crème de Violette” with such descriptive word choice that readers are almost able to taste the cocktail in their own watering mouths. “This is an ethereal lavender-hued liqueur, with the fleeting, elusive taste and aroma of spring violets, from which it’s made,” he says. Curtis then explores the possible causes of his claim that might explain the popular American “demand” for a drink that reminds them of good old times. He believes that a common curiosity about old celebrated recipes might have been one possible cause.
Using the Aviation cocktail as an example, Curtis laments that since its original recipe called for a liqueur that was nearly impossible to make, “the Aviation became simply gin, lemon juice, and maraschino liqueur, with no hint of the azure sky that inspired it.” Curtis’s rhetorical appeals to pathos here that describe the sky said to have inspired the recipe persuade the reader to further accept his claim. Curtis goes on to describe an experience of his own at “Arnaud’s French 75 in New Orleans, a comfortably dusky bar of dark wood, quarter-size hexagonal floor tiles, and Edith Piaf in the background;” creating very effective support for his argument. The impact that a certain atmosphere can have on a person was incredible. Curtis concludes his article by tying it back to the beginning explaining with luscious detail why he found himself damning Eric Seed for complicating his life after his third sip of Crème de Violette as well. Curtis, like most Americans enthusiasts, could not get enough of the “refreshing elixir that recalled a spring evening, lifting [him] gently out of the confines of place.”
http://www.theatlantic.com/doc/200904/cocktails