The frosty summer recipe you can’t live without

My fellow inebriates,

Sometime ago I tweeted to Wendy’s, urging them to bring back the vanilla frosty. They had eliminated it for no obvious reason, although I suspected COVID-19 had reduced demand, rendering two oozing machines excessive.

You may think alcoholic bears don’t like ice cream (or ice cream facsimiles). But as I explained to Wendy’s in my tweet, I like to put Crown Royal in a vanilla frosty. And it just has to be vanilla, because chocolate is distracting.

Well, today I learned that Wendy’s was listening! My fellow inebriates, it was so gratifying to know that they took my tweet to heart. They brought back the vanilla frosty, and now I feel heard, seen, and valued.

So, my fellow inebriates, now you can do it too! Here’s how:

  • You need a mickey or a flask of Crown Royal. Most Wendy’s restaurants will not let you open-carry your booze, so be discreet.
  • Order a frosty! They’re 99 cents right now.
  • Scoop out some of the ice cream (or facsimile). Give it to a small child—or even a nasty teenager if that’s who accompanied you to Wendy’s.
  • Now that you’ve made space, pour your Crown Royal in. Stir it up! I like a 2:1 Crown-to-frosty ratio, but you may prefer just a taste… say, 1–2 tbsp (what I call a breakfast frosty).
  • Drink the rest of your mickey or flask.
  • If the teenager is 16+, let them drive home.        

What do YOU like to put in your frosty? If you’ve tried something besides Crown Royal (tequila? rum?) tell me all about it! Drop me a line.

A mea culpa to White Owl Whiskey in the interests of journalistic integrity

My fellow inebriates,

My parents pointed out that it was unfair of me to describe the taste of White Owl Whisky after it had been soaking into my fur.

My on-again-off-again girlfriend Dolly seconded my parents; she said the odour I was wafting could not in any way have been intended by the makers of White Owl Whisky.

Happier times with Dolly.

Even more chastened than last time, I begged my mother to buy a fresh bottle of White Owl Whisky so we could give it a fair shake. She refused. She said the nasty aroma had stuck with her for hours—and by the way, did I realize I’d taken the finish off the coffee table when I spilled it?

So, MFI, I now rely on you to send in your impressions of White Owl Whisky. If you don’t want to buy a big bottle, maybe you can find a mini-bottle affixed to the neck of a bottle you do decide to purchase. I will wait for you.

How White Owl Whisky made me a more responsible writer

My fellow inebriates,

I’ve been a fan of This Week in Virology (TWIV) for quite a while, even if 99 percent of it is beyond my two brain cells’ capacity to understand. I even pasted a poem into TWIV’s comments a couple of weeks ago, which they deleted.

In TWIV episode 760, the virologists and some guests took on the Nicolas Wade article about the possible origins of SARS-CoV-2. They accused Wade of not bothering to do the proper research.

Photo by CDC on Pexels.com

Then they addressed all writers, which I took to include yours truly, saying we need to be more responsible in our reporting.

Duly chastened, I went back to my post about SARS-CoV-2 to check it for balance.

After reading it carefully, I realized I had oversold you on Moosehead beer, which is basically a typical lager-style hockey beer.

It is refreshingly fizzy, though, and I stand by that.

~

This experience has taught me something.

I realize I have a duty to warn you about White Owl Canadian Whisky, made from wheat and rye and stripped of colour through charcoal filtering.

A small shelf-talker bottle of White Owl Whisky had hitchhiked home around the neck of a big-ass bottle of Wiser’s Deluxe that my mum bought before Christmas. (I’ll tell you about the Wiser’s another day.) The tiny bottle naturally ended up in my Christmas stocking. Delightful though that was, my paws were unable to open the damn bottle, and so it took up residence on the coffee table, taunting me.

Finally, I got it open. The effort was so jarring that I spilt it all over myself. I didn’t mind, though! I happily slurped it out of my fur—and as a bonus, White Owl is clear, so no washing machine for me.

But White Owl ain’t no sipping whisky. The filtering process that makes it look like vodka takes it halfway to tasting like vodka. It’s not mellow or caramelly; it’s harsh and spiky—a weird, in-between product. Granted, it’s more viscous than vodka, and it tastes rounder and more complex, but OMG, there were some nasty-ass flavours fighting it out in that little bottle (and in my fur!).

So consider this my (unaccredited) journalistic warning—White Owl Whisky should not be savoured. Throw it into a strange cocktail you’ve never heard of before. Why? Because then you won’t compare it with your experience of drinking that same cocktail made with a nice brown whisky. Try it in a Whiskey Smash maybe.

My mum came into the room while I was licking my fur and gave me a weird look. “What?” I said. “That’s what animals do. Look at the gerbils—they’re licking each other right now.”

She sniffed and then uttered the words: “washing machine.”

But she can be super-lazy, so she forgot all about it. And by the next day, the smell of White Owl Whisky had entirely evaporated.

Said my friend Scarybear: “See? That’s what happens to evidence.”