Month: March 2012

MONTSANT BESLLUM (2008)—Worth all two thousand pennies (even if THEY’RE worth $32)

Exasperated by small piles of change strewn over the floor by kids who equate coins with Lego and fling them everywhere, including the yard, my parents decided to school them about money.

To understand how laughable this is, you’d need to have lived with my parents for the past near-decade. My parents suck at managing money. They’ve paid far too much interest to Visa to have any business criticizing four-year-old Miss V for throwing a bag of nickels into the bathwater. They’re so financially oblivious that they had no idea, two days after the announcement, that the Canadian penny is being scrapped.

I had no idea either. I don’t have any money of my own. I don’t have pockets or a purse (just fears of becoming a purse).

Plenty of countries have eliminated the one-cent coin without mishap, so the idea of a penniless society isn’t that terrifying. Yes, of course businesses will milk the situation by altering their prices upward to multiples of 5, but it seems forgivable considering all the cash-register reprogramming and staff retraining that they’ll need to do.

We’re actually a dumbass country for keeping the penny in circulation as long as we have. Pennies are worth 1.6 cents apiece, costing $11 million a year to mint. You can’t buy anything with a penny. They confuse math-challenged store clerks (one panicked the other day at Zellers when my mum offered $5.02 for a $3.72 transaction). Copper theft is rampant throughout the country, highlighting how valuable the element is in comparison to the coins minted from it. (And, in fact, pennies minted since 2000 are mostly zinc rather than copper.)

It’s illegal to throw money away, but plenty of people chuck pennies away for all of the reasons above. When my mum takes it into her head to vacuum every other month or so, and I’m scrambling out of the way of the shop vac’s maw, I can hear pennies clattering into it. Pennies suck!

Still, I wish I had a couple of thousand pennies to haul to the liquor store. They’d weigh ten pounds, which would almost kill me, but I’d come home with another bottle of MONTSANT BESLLUM (2008), the wine we drank last night while watching Breaking Bad. We’re two seasons behind on the show—considerably behind my papa and bionically-kneed nana, who have been gorging themselves on Breaking Bad. It’s tough to watch a show about crystal meth turf wars with two little girls on the couch beside us, so we have to wait until after bedtime to watch, unless we want to explain how addicts sometimes get sprayed with bullets at the bus stop or choke to death on their own vomit.

The 2008 BESLLUM is a 50/50 mix of Garnacha (Grenache) and Carignan, aged 16 months in French oak. The two varietals complement each other with their respective low and high acid profiles, resulting in a lush, opulent wine that exudes cherries, plums, and dates. Smooth on the palate while intense and warming, the wine develops admirably as it sits, becoming an entertainment unto itself. In truth, BESLLUM is enough of a conversation piece to warrant turning off the TV and focusing on the taste.

BUT NOT IN THE MIDDLE OF A PARKING-LOT SHOOTOUT IN BREAKING BAD! The intense scene may have distracted us a tiny bit from the magic of the 2008 BESLLUM, necessitating further tests. Sadly though, I don’t have two thousand pennies. I did attempt to raid the kids’ piggybanks, at which point I learned about my parents’ idea to teach them about money. Here’s the half-assed plan strategy:

The kids will put half their money in the bank. With the other half they’ll buy something vapid and retarded My Filly ponies, which cost, with tax, $3.35, or 335 pennies. This teaches the girls that $3.35 equals:

It teaches me that the 2008 BESLLUM equals:

Sigh.

ASTROLIQUOR for March 30 to April 5—What the stars say you should drink!

My Fellow Inebriates,

Here’s your booze horoscope:

You’re going to hear an awesome piece of news over the telephone, Aries. So turn your cell on, or at least record a VM message that doesn’t make you sound like a douche. For one week you’re going to enjoy the feeling of having a soulmate—even if you don’t believe in soulmates. The result is a dreamy state, complemented nicely by Kahlua and amaretto in equal parts. (When it all goes to hell next week you can hit the rum.)

Taurus, you may be a mess personally but you’ll solve tons of problems at work this week. You’ll become a savior of sorts in the office, but don’t get dragged into being the Office Problem Solver. Keeping a low profile is much more fun. If there’s any danger of too much corporate success, hit the bottle. Here’s a conspicuous mix for your flask: 2 parts bourbon, 1 part triple sec and 1 part creme de menthe. No one’s giving you a corner office with that on your breath.

You’ll reconnect with some lovely friends this week, Gemini, but don’t let them into your personal space. They may be lovely for one drunken lunch, but you’ll find they turn needy if you tolerate them too much. Your best bet is to mingle wildly. Meet some new people. Take them home and make them some wild drinks (I’m thinking Yukon Jack with cherry brandy and Southern Comfort).

Get ready to meet the law this week, Cancer. Don’t worry, nobody’s gonna bust you. Instead you’ll find yourself dealing with boring legal matters…property or estates. And when you’re bored out of your head, the best solution is to blow your bank account on an exotic vacation. Choose one where the drinks are included and the sky’s the limit. When you order citrus vodka mixed with creme de cacao, you want a bartender who’s used to that kind of crazy shit.

Leo, the week looks productive but hectic, not to mention stress-inducing. Whenever somebody agitates you, mix yourself a Sidecar. Ahhh! If the people agitating you happen to be children, your head will be so full of cognac and triple sec by the end of the day that you’ll be off the hook for bedtime duties. Sounds like a parenting plan.

Unforeseen expenses will crop up this week, Virgo, leaving you temporarily high and dry. It’s just the tip of the iceberg—finances are going to shit. This means budgeting: no Midori Melon for you! No creme de cacao either! We’re talking cans of Pilsner. And if you want to continue buying those, you may have to live outside for a while. This is a good way to meet interesting people…maybe a special someone (with lice) on Saturday.

Libra, you’re not your extroverted self this week. Friends don’t know what to make of it; honestly, they think you’re being a tool. Don’t worry, it’s just temporary. This is a good week to hole up by yourself until the mood passes. Here’s a project to keep you busy:

  • 1 oz DeKuyper Buttershots
  • 1 oz Everclear
  • 2 oz whisky
  • 1 oz vodka
  • Splash grenadine
  • Splash orange juice

Shake it with ice and strain into a martini glass. Good luck—you are going to be messed up.

You have the feeling that everyone likes you, Scorpio. It doesn’t matter if it’s true; what matters is the positive vibe you radiate. Your optimism warms people and lures them into your warped world. These people are really nice, so take it easy on them. If they fail to challenge your intelligence, get drunk and they will seem smarter. Here’s your recipe:

  • 3 oz coconut vodka
  • 6 oz banana liqueur
  • 3 oz peach schnapps
  • 3 oz orange juice
  • 1 cup pineapple juice

There. Now your friends will seem smarter and better looking. And so will you until you vomit.

Sagittarius, your circle of acquaintances will widen this week, possibly through business travel. You’ll bond solidly with new people and learn about an unfamiliar culture. Nothing goes as well with this sort of personal enrichment as vodka and white wine. Make sure you buy a lottery ticket so you can win the money to pay for it, otherwise you’ll be mooching off your new pals.

Lay off the work this week, Capricorn, and indulge your imagination. For too long your colleagues have been bugging you to prepare spreadsheets and reports. Tell them what to do with themselves! With creative ideas like the ones bubbling around in your brain, who needs a job? Your head is as full of creative notions as it is vodka. For extra inspiration, mix that vodka with Kahlua, rum, and amaretto.

Aquarius, you’ll feel a strong urge to call in sick this week, and it might be a bad idea. Here’s why. If you stay home, you’ll never get out of your jammies. You won’t even make coffee. Instead, you’ll pour a bottle of vodka into a punchbowl. You’ll add four cans of limeade, followed by a case of beer. You’ll mix everything up until the limeade liquefies. And that will be your day.

Pisces, it’s not a strong week for discipline and responsibility. If you can confine your immaturity to your own inner thoughts, you shouldn’t do too much damage. If, however, you act upon your urges, you’ll spend much of the week with a head full of Jagermeister and peach schnapps. Needless to say, you won’t get that promotion.

Liqueur-filled Easter eggs—beyond my talents and then some

My Fellow Inebriates,

The success of any project depends on three factors:

At first, making our own liqueur-filled Easter eggs seemed like an ingenious idea. We have:

Time—What the hell else does my mum have to do? (Ouch! Has someone ever taken their fingernail and flicked you on the ass? Ouch!) To rephrase: she’s home all day with a four-year-old who needs to be constantly engaged and who would find DIY Easter eggs delightful (if you ignore the booze component). Check.

Resources—My mum is a fiend for and hoarder of chocolate. If she hasn’t already reallocated valuable grocery/booze funds for chocolate, she can be persuaded to invest in some. Besides, her ass requests it. (Owie!) As for the necessary booze, I can get my dad to buy it; he loves going to the liquor store. Check.

Talent—Supposedly, when it comes to making desserts, my mother knows her shit. And she’s had a lot of practice managing four-year-olds in the kitchen. Check.

So I was optimistic, my fellow inebriates. By Easter we could have liqueur-filled eggs!

But my parents were hesitant. They questioned how liquor really fit into our Sunday morning Easter egg hunt with the kids. They said they didn’t really care for liqueur chocolates. They said I was being a nuisance.

And suddenly my project triangle looked like this:

I felt my own optimism dwindling. But oh well. Nothing for it but to dive in. How the hell do you make liqueur-filled chocolates anyway?

According to the most comprehensive instructions I could find, you need a lot of equipment, including:

  • a scale that can measure to the gram
  • an instant-read digital thermometer
  • two 9”x13” baking dishes
  • a metal mesh strainer/sifter
  • a silicone pastry brush
  • four to eight boxes of cornstarch (!!)

OMG! Now our triangle looks like this:

Yes, that’s my mum’s finger.

I’ve always wondered how they get fillings into chocolates. Cadbury has been milking the Caramilk Secret campaign for years. Do they:

  • freeze the filling and then coat it with chocolate?
  • create the chocolate molds in two halves, pour the filling in, and seal the halves together?
  • somehow create hollow chocolate shapes and then inject the filling in?

None of the above, although Cadbury engineers considered the first option, only to dismiss it because it was too expensive and time-consuming. Instead (are you ready for this?) they pour the chocolate into a mold, then add squares of solid caramel, to which they then add a natural enzyme that converts it to a liquid, by which time they’ve already sealed it in with a final layer of chocolate.

Wow! I’d find that really interesting if the filling were booze instead of caramel. But it’s irrelevant to the manufacture of liqueur-filled chocolates.

Back to the ingredient list. You may be wondering what the hell all that cornstarch is for. According to  the instructions, you have to dry it out thoroughly, then make a big bed of it, then use objects to make indentations in it—in our case, Easter-egg shaped cavities. Which means we also need to buy an Easter egg shape.

This is fast becoming a drain on our alcohol fund.

Okay, so you make your shapes in the cornstarch. (Note: no open flame near the cornstarch. It can make fireballs.)

That cornstarch is going to go everywhere. If I get near it I’ll look like Cocaine Bear. Just a little less fierce.

But the next part is even scarier for a small, flammable bear. Next we need to use a saucepan to cook sugar to a specific temperature (holy shit, the tolerance is, like, 3 degrees; we are totally gonna mess this up). Then, once the mercury’s hit that ultra-specific line on the candy thermometer my mum says she bloody well isn’t going to buy, THEN, hallelujah, we can add the liquor. Then we have to stir it at the perfect pace or risk inducing crystallization. OMG! Did I mention we’re going to mess this up?

At this point we should be beside ourselves with anxiety. We’ll need to fend off an eager four-year-old from the stovetop part of it and, at that critical period of temperature measurement, find some other source of entertainment for her, all the while covered with white powder (at which point a cop will probably knock on the door to bestow parking tickets on us, misjudge the situation and bust us for possession). BUT, assuming we make it to this point, now we have to fill the molds with our mixture.

THEN we have to sift cornstarch over the candies (or just shake it off our bodies onto them). And THEN we have to wait 3-5 hours. OMFG!! Did I mention there’s a four-year-old in the kitchen? What do you think she’ll say when we tell her we have to wait 3-5 hours? How many freaking times can she watch Tangled?

Okay, so assuming we survive all that, THEN we have to flip this mess over and leave it overnight.

The next morning we can pull the candies out of the cornstarch and coat them with chocolate.

Photo: Steven Joyce

Up against this recipe, our small resources, limited time, and minuscule talent come up short. My mum says I’m on my own—there’s no goddamn way she’s going to make liqueur-filled Easter eggs. Ever. She says I can damn well get one of those big Nestle eggs, jettison the Smarties from inside and fill the whole thing up with Laguvulin, and good luck.

Sounds like a plan.