I almost winked out of existence yesterday.
My parents had neglected to renew my domain name. In the face of I-don’t-know-how-many renewal notices from WordPress, they were vacillating about whether I should continue my blog.
Of course I was pissed! (Pissed angry as opposed to pissed pissed.) When I asked them why (“Why, dammit? Why?!”) they said things like, “Well, you haven’t really blogged since April” and, “You seem to have lost your mojo, LB.”
Let’s take these one at a time.
I have paws. I do not have fingers. So I need a typist. And my typists have been screwing around. They say they are too busy working to do my typing, but DO I SEE THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS BEING NEWLY ALLOCATED FOR ALCOHOL?
I most certainly do not, my fellow inebriates. In fact, this item showed up in our house last week:
My mother purchased it for $7.79 at our (also neglected) booze shop, where—get this—she said to the consultant: “I need half a cup of wine to make Chicken Parmesan but, let’s face it, I’m going to drink the rest of the bottle when I’m done. What’s the cheapest tolerable white here? Is this COPPER MOON stuff drinkable?”
After attempting to lead my mother to the Italian wine section and urging her toward something $5 more expensive, then resignedly following my mother back to the Canadian plonk section while no doubt listening to all kinds of justifications for drinking 625 ml of wine just because you need to dump 125 ml into a questionable cooking experiment and that’s what’s left over, the consultant sighed and agreed that COPPER MOON PINOT GRIGIO would be inoffensive if lacking in interest. Which was acceptable to my mother.
So how was the wine then?
Actually pretty good. COPPER MOON PINOT GRIGIO is crisp yet heavily redolent of pear, citrus and other orchardy notes. It’s unexpectedly light and decidedly un-cloying. While the flavours could play a bit better together, they don’t hit any really off notes, and at 12.5 percent alcohol, this wine is a good selection if you’re planning to pound it while you’re pounding chicken.
I would like to diss my mother here some more, but she actually stopped at one glass, which means we have over half a bottle left in the fridge. What did you say, my readers? “Sounds like breakfast?”
This wine is cheap as hell and doesn’t punish you for it.
Where the hell is all the MONEY my parents are supposedly earning when they could be typing for yours truly?
“Well, you know, the kids have dance and gymnastics and band and we have pets to feed and clothes to buy and conferences to attend and blah blah blah. All that stuff costs money, LB.”
Okay, so my parents’ priorities suck. On to the next issue:
Well, you would too, wouldn’t you? Imagine having your liquor budget ripped away and then spending months on pins and needles wondering whether your blog will be renewed and knowing that, even if it is, you’re dependent on humans with opposable thumbs to do your damn typing. You might say, F*&k that! I’m going to stare at the wall for half a year!
Anyway, that’s what happened. I guess I did lose my mojo, people. Thankfully there’s half a bottle of COPPER MOON PINOT GRIGIO in the fridge to help me get it back.
Over the next few weeks I will be talking about all the blah blah blah that has eroded my hard-drinking lifestyle and, by extension, this blog. It will break your hearts, my fellow inebriates.
8:00 a.m. today
Me: “Clearly, it’s time for the hair of the bear.”
My dad: “I can’t think of anything I want in my mouth less.”
Just about every morning, usually while the kids are getting ready for school, I pose the question: “When can I start drinking?”
If you can relate to this, you’ll be happy to pull yourself out of that crusty vomit puddle on the floor and look at the calendar. Because—OMG!—this week it’s Mardi Gras!
Also called Shrove Tuesday or Fat Tuesday, Mardi Gras is the last hurrah before Lent, the 40-day period before Easter that Christians earmark for piety, devotion, and giving up luxuries such as booze. This makes Lent terrifying for bears like me, and that’s why we have to get as much fun as we can out of Mardi Gras.
How do we do that?
Glad you asked, my fellow inebriates. Fully one hundred percent of my past efforts to put a bottle or two on the breakfast table have failed. My parents disagree that vodka would mix nicely into Earl Grey tea, or Sambuca into Starbucks. I mean, you’ve heard it all before—my parents just don’t have any sense of adventure.
But they do like stuffing their faces with pancakes… And pancakes just happen to be the traditional Mardi Gras food.
Now, I’m not gonna kid you. There’s no way I’m making pancakes.
- No solid foods here.
- The stove is TERRIFYING. I look kind of like an oven mitt.
So let’s just make the syrup:
1 cup water
1 and ⅓ cups sugar
⅔ cup brown sugar
1 Tbsp. whisky (I’m using Laphroaig Single Malt Quarter Cask—don’t tell my dad)
1 tsp. maple extract (or imitation maple flavoring)
Okay, so… instructions call for heating on the stove. Too scary. But for you solid-food eaters, I highly recommend visiting lifeasastrawberry.com and seeing for yourself how to make this delicious syrup. I’m doing it without setting myself on fire, thanks very much.
It’s a little crunchy. You probably really should heat this stuff up. You know, melt the brown sugar. Huh. Or whatever, just have the Laphroaig for breakfast. Sounds like the very definition of Mardi Gras.