Goldschlager

Why fun is better than hot

My parents have refused to purchase critical items including but not limited to Johnnie Walker Black Label and Goldschlager. They tell me groceries take priority and that’s just how it is.

I get the solid-foods thing; I understand that people and especially kids need to eat meals, and that it’s important not to squander our resources. I do actually like the kids, even though they get a little nutty sometimes when it comes to yours truly.

Can you tell which handwriting is thumbless?

So yes, we should feed them, which means allocating funds for Rice Krispies and apple sauce instead of my booze wish list.

But sometimes my parents waste money.

For instance, they paid the school $10 for something called Hot Lunch and then forgot about it.

According to the school, Hot Lunch means a pizza day for the kids, so they don’t have to bring a sandwich. The school collects the money about two weeks before the lunch, at which time parents check off their preferences as to pizza topping and milk versus juice to accompany it.

Urban slang defines Hot Lunch a little differently—something the grade one teacher may be aware of, given that she rephrased it in the classroom calendar as “Fun Lunch.”

Either way, it slipped my mum’s mind and she packed a sandwich anyway—a waste of resources and (I humbly point out) a small but direct hit on the Goldschlager fund.

I expect my parents to forget stuff. But I wondered how they could forget the school’s exuberant urging to enjoy Hot Lunch.

I asked my mum if she was concerned about the school providing Hot Lunch for minors and making parents pay for the experience.

She smacked her own forehead, realizing she’d forgotten all about it and exerted herself unnecessarily to construct a ketchup-and-cheese sub. This mattered to my mum, who tends to economize with her parenting efforts.

“Is it the Hot Lunch aspect of it?” I asked.

“Fun Lunch,” she said.

“Because I think I’d decline an offer of Hot Lunch myself.”

“Oh, would you?”

“I would.” I was being very sincere.

“Miscreant.”

So I guess it looks like another dry day here at LBHQ.

Harrrrryyyyyyy! I’ve got a Gelt Martini chilling for you!

So I’m wondering where Hanukkah Harry is, and realizing something is wrong. You got it, my fellow inebriates—I’ve been forgetting to leave a treat out at bedtime.

How could I forget? We do this every Christmas Eve for Santa, who, it turns out, is probably my dad scarfing down the cookies after midnight.

But Hanukkah Harry is real; other, more reliable people than my parents have attested to his existence. So what sort of drink would make him feel welcome in our house? Why, a Hanukkah Gelt Martini.

Now, we’re talking! But what is gelt? Ahhh, money, often distributed as part of the Hanukkah tradition. So what makes a martini a money martini? Why, Goldschlager, of course! So why don’t we have any of this festive, gold-flecked booze in our house?

My mum won’t buy Goldschlager because she says it’s frivolous and no one wants cinnamon schnapps (excuse me? no one?). My dad won’t buy it because he doesn’t want to ingest any heavy metals. This seems like wussing out to me—back in the 1970s this guy staged-named Monsieur Mangetout ate all sorts of metal objects, piece by tiny piece. Over the space of two years he ate a Cessna 150, for crying out loud. So if some wingnut can survive consuming a plane, I don’t see why my dad couldn’t knock back a few gold flakes.

Gold is inert, which means it passes through the body with no consequence. You don’t even have to lube up your digestive tract the way Monsieur Mangetout did with castor oil before he consumed bikes and televisions. The Goldschlager flakes are 24-carat, so they pass harmlessly through you, and they’re so tiny they don’t even give you sparkly poo.

Now, if Goldschlager contained gold salts, it would be a more toxic matter. Then you’d be looking at falling hemoglobin/platelets, proteinuria, pruritis, rash and—OMG—diarrhea!

Monsieur Mangetout claimed he never had diarrhea, although he did die at 57, which isn’t so hot. That dude sometimes ate a pound of metal a day. So why is my dad being such a lightweight?

A 750-mL bottle of Goldschlager contains less than 0.1g gold—about $6 worth. Not only can my dad afford to buy it; he can afford to drink it without getting diarrhea.

Anyway, the Goldschlager’s not for my dad; it’s for Hanukkah Harry. Here’s how you make a Hanukkah Gelt Martini:

  • 2 parts chilled potato vodka (Luksusowa if you’re my parents; Schramm if you have more money)
  • 1 part Goldschlager (not kosher—hope that’s okay, Harry)

Combine in a martini shaker with ice, then mix and strain into a chilled martini glass. Come and get it, Harry! If you arrive tonight, I’ll think of another, non-diarrheic drink for tomorrow.

Dear Santa…

Open letter to Santa Claus:

Dear Santa,

I know you are very busy making dreams come true for westernized children all over the world, stimulating the economy and driving stressed-out parents to drink. That’s cool. I just wanted you to know that there are very few things in my liquor cabinet right now. The cupboard is bare, Santa, and I’m hoping you will come through for me.

Here’s my current inventory, if you haven’t been following me:

  • Bacardi Big Apple Rum—8 oz or so
  • Malibu—maybe 3 oz
  • Cusano Rojo Mezcal—2 oz, worm definitely dead
  • El Senorio Mezcal—4 oz, never opened, worm still hanging out in there
  • Appleton Estate Rum—2 oz

So that’s not very good, right? How can I mix myself a Green Man or a Snowglobe or a Naughty Monkey without some core ingredients? I know you understand because you have a very red nose—the kind that’s bursting with blood vessels from years of imbibing excess. You feel me, right? You get my needs?

Okay, Santa, so here’s what I’d like:

  • Bacardi white rum
  • Bacardi 151
  • Blackberry brandy
  • Strawberry liqueur
  • Banana liqueur
  • Hypnotiq (or more Malibu if you can’t find Hypnotiq)

That will take care of Christmas morning. In the afternoon I’d like (please):

  • Pernod
  • Champagne
  • Melon liqueur
  • Bailey’s
  • Crown Royal
  • Amaretto liqueur

Okay. That covers most of Christmas day. Then there’ll be a big song-and-dance about making dinner and I’ll disappear for a while for a nap. I might skulk to the table if there’s wine (would you bring some chardonnay and pinot gris please?) but won’t really need anything until later, and then…

  • Peppermint schnapps
  • Goldschlager – yeah!!!

I realize this doesn’t really stock a liquor cabinet; a lot of these are specialty items that don’t figure in everyone’s everyday drinking. But I think it’s a travesty that my parents won’t keep these things on hand. Sure, they can be relied upon to buy a bottle of wine or a six-pack of beer once in a while, but they are hopeless about setting up a bar. So maybe you can come through for me, Santa, and bring a few bottles. That is, if you are not too laden down with toys for the kids here (and really, they don’t need anything much, and what you do bring them could be very small and space-efficient, if you get my drift).

Also, if you wanted to bring these things early, for Hanukkah rather than Christmas, that would be great. That way you’d have lots of room in your sleigh and you could get some driving practice before Christmas Eve, so it would be very win-win for us. I celebrate every holiday to excess and believe that liquor has a place at each and every one.

I always believed in you Santa—don’t forget, okay?