My fellow inebriates,
At LBHQ three of the humans are introverts. (The one extrovert is, like, maniacal.) One of them is, of course, too young to drink, but I’ve noticed the subtle and not-so-subtle effects of a drink on the other two. My parents each fall into one of these categories:
Which is to say it’s not a myth what alcohol does to introverts—it’s just variable.
What about you? What happens to your personality when you drink?
My fellow inebriates,
If you think you’re seeing a lot of “aspirational” reviews from yours truly these days, you’re not wrong. My parents aren’t visiting our local booze shop as often as I’d like, so instead of drinking, I spend my time drooling over hooch on the Internet.
Except today.
You see, I came across HOUSE OF TAMWORTH EAU DE MUSC whiskey from Tamworth Distilling.
Tamworth Distilling
Yeah, yeah, it looks lovely. But guess where the key tasting note comes from?
Guess…
Okay, I’ll tell you. It comes from a beaver’s ass crack.
It seems beavers secrete a substance called castoreum from a sac near the base of the tail. The flavourant supposedly tastes a bit like vanilla and berries, and its use dates back to old times. (How anybody got the idea in the first place … you really gotta wonder.)
As you might guess, this isn’t a voluntary donation on the part of the beavers. Somebody traps ’em, eats ’em, and sends the anal secretions to Tamworth Distilling to put in EAU DE MUSC.
Yeah buddy, I’d be scared as shit too.
Beavers remind me a bit of gerbils (which terrify me, but are part of our family). So I can’t get behind EAU DE MUSC even if butt-cavity-flavoured whiskey tastes like ambrosia from the gods. And luckily for all of us at LBHQ, it’s not on the table anyway. You have to go to New Hampshire (live free or die) to get this stuff.
Still, I’m curious. So if you’ve tried this whiskey, or even if you’ve just sniffed a beaver’s bunghole, drop me a line in the comments and I’ll add it to my compendium of hypothetical (if not aspirational) tasting notes.
My fellow inebriates,
If you’ve never visited LBHQ (which of course you’re welcome to) then you’ve never seen Langley in all its glory. Wanna see old washing machines out on the curb? Trucks up on blocks? Toilets full of shrubbery? Well hell, come on down to LBHQ.
My family does its bit to keep pace with the neighbourhood. We’ve neglected the flower bed for four years. The lawn is littered with all manner of Nerf weaponry and ammo. And as you look up at our house (we’re on a hill), you do so through a mesh of undulating dandelions.
That’s why I was so delighted to read about Claire Mountjoy, a British mum who decided to hang her washing in the front yard.
She had some good reasons—three boys = endless laundry; the sun had come out (which it does as infrequently in Britain as it does here); she wanted to save energy and be environmentally friendly; and she doesn’t have a backyard.
All good, right? (As long as there are no bears hanging from the line by their ears.)
Not cool!
Not so much. Seems a neighbourhood business owner was affronted by Mountjoy’s laundry and wrote this anonymous letter:
Photo submitted to CBC by Claire Mountjoy.
Of course Mountjoy was upset. An anonymous letter is the most dickish means of communication, and it turns out local businesses were not onside with it. They showed their solidarity with Mountjoy by airing their laundry too, until the whole neighbourhood was festooned with socks, pajamas and undies.
Photo submitted to CBC by Alison Stenning
While the sender of the letter remains unknown, the rest of the town seems pretty jubilant about its laundry. In fact, there’s talk of an annual laundry event.
So here’s to the town of Colyton for letting it all hang out. A dedication: DIRTY LAUNDRY “SAY YES” PINOT GRIS ($17.49).
Now, all I have to do is get my mum to buy some so we can share tasting notes, my fellow inebriates. She’ll say she’s busy doing laundry or something, but I think I can persuade her.
