The way to LB’s heart—visit with a bag full of scotch

My Fellow Inebriates,

I got lucky last night.

No, no—not like that. Dolly made herself scarce on New Year’s eve so she didn’t have to deliver on the midnight kiss. (I guess she’s serious about her aversion to rancid beer-stained fur.) But I got lucky in an even better way: last night my friend (hear that, parents? …my friend) Christine visited, and she arrived with THREE high-end whiskies.

So what kind of person shows up with a canvas bag full of single malt treats? My kind of person, that’s who. These whiskies were so exceptional that it would be unworthy to wallow in withdrawal—it was a privilege to sample them.

Reviews to come this week:

Talisker 18

Caol Ila 12

Glenfarclas 17

There’s no way I can write a review right now. There’s basking to be done in the still-lingering aftertaste of these extraordinary single malt delights. Talk to you tomorrow (with jitters).

The secret cure for New Year’s doldrums—Cachaca!

A zillion microbes for your child to play with

My typist abandoned me today to take the kids to an indoor play area, a filthy, sweltering sauna (she complained) that could prompt any sound atheist to conceive of purgatory as being fully possible.

The smell at the play area? Deep-fried things, not necessarily food.

The patrons? The sub-70-IQ ass-crack parade, a truck ride away from Walmart. Big hair, small vocabulary.

Their progeny? The apparent hope of our planet.

If my mum sounds like a miserable snob and potential eugenics proponent, consider that she, with her crap finances, losing snakes-and-ladders game of a career, thrashingly desperate parenting, inability to vacuum, and impending 43rd birthday, is experiencing a post-New Year’s letdown.

I can relate. Our house is officially dry—if you ignore the Malibu dregs and worm-inhabited mescale my parents insist could poison us. A blue bin of empties (which my mum forgot to put out for the collection truck) attests to the fact that we are…bereft of alcohol.

No wonder my mum is being such a drag. If she’s a fraction of the alcoholic I am, she must be suffering. My dad too—he’s watched, like, a hundred episodes of Monk.

I tried to cheer them up by reminding them about the Brazilian rum sample headed our way.

Me: Make sure you’re home for the Cachaca delivery.

To make a copacabana cosmo, you need Cachaca.

Mum: The what?

Me: C-A-C-H-A-C-A. Tropical rum. UPS. You’re welcome.

Mum: Excuse me?

Me: So you have to be home for that. And the painting. We need a frame for that too.

Mum: Why don’t you answer the door?

Me: I’m a bear. Bears are scary. The UPS driver will freak.

UPS tracking says it's in St. Paul, MN. It's getting closer. Thank you, Dan Lacey!

Mum: I’m out tomorrow, sorry, buddy.

Me: NO! You have to be home! I need that Cachaca!

Mum: You’ll live. They’ll put a sticker on the door and we’ll get it later.

Me: Noooooooo!!!!!

Mum: I doubt it’s coming anyway. Seriously, who would send you alcohol?

OMG, my parents are so harsh.

4 reasons why you need a Bloody Mary right now

My Fellow Inebriates,

Twelve hours of swilling amber ale, champagne, red wine and Malibu leads to several things:

  • a furry tongue (if it isn’t already)
  • massive dehydration (especially if you’re non-polyester-based)
  • a thundering headache

Spending half the night in jail never helps either.

realgirlskitchen.com

New Year’s Day is only tolerable with the hair of the dog. And if you still haven’t mixed yourself a Bloody Mary yet today, then you must be a masochist. Why try to convince yourself that bacon and eggs will solve the problem? Hair of the dog trumps pig flesh and every other hangover solution.

But why?

There are a few schools of thought:

  • A hangover is essentially withdrawal from alcohol. Replenishing your system with fresh vodka will effectively quell its cries of privation.
  • The worst hangover symptoms are caused by methanol, an alcohol congener and the principal culprit in darker drinks such as red wine and bourbon. Methanol is metabolized by alcohol dehyrogenase—but so is ethanol. In fact, your body favors ethanol as a substrate, so by feeding yourself some nice clear booze, you generate a processing uptick. Arguably you simply delay the inevitable hangover, but in an oh-so-pleasant way.
  • Alcohol causes a sugar spike and hypoglycemic low. Drinking more of it is the fastest route to a new sugar bounce and happy times again.
  • The hair of the dog is homeopathic—“like cures like.”

If it’s good enough for Nazareth, it’s good enough for me.