Let me tell you a little story…
In a kitchen in the middle of the Canadian prairies, a short time ago, a woman opened a bottle of brandy that she had received as a gift. She was not normally a drinker of spirits, but it was a gift, after all, and she didn’t want to seem rude. She poured a sample amount into a glass and sipped it delicately. Getting used to the taste on her tongue, she poured a slightly larger amount into her glass for another small taste, just to be sure it was, in fact, good for consumption. And it was, oh my, it was.
Rather than simply drink the golden nectar, she added a generous amount of the brandy into a pot and proceeded to make poached pears. Certainly a respectable use of such a generous gift. However, to ensure that her taste buds were functioning properly, she poured a double serving of brandy into a glass and sampled one more time. She decided that the brandy was very much to her liking and added another 1/4 cup into the pot with her pears, just for good measure. Not willing to waste any, she held the measuring cup up to her face and swirled her tongue around the inside and around the edge to make certain that she got every last drop. Waste not want not, she decided.
Moments passed and she was beginning to feel quite a bit happier than she was feeling earlier that morning. “Does brandy taste differently directly out of the bottle?” she wondered. There’s only one way to find out for sure. Sip. Nope, it’s exactly the same. Sip, sip, sip. Imagine that!
Before the room began to spin out of control, she thought to get her ample bottom in gear and make the vanilla brandy syrup for her pears. She boiled the sugar, added the brandy as the recipe called for, and tasted it to see if it needed tweaking. It seemed OK. She tasted it again, but with a bigger spoon as if that would make any sort of difference. It was better than OK. It was downright delicious! She slurped up half of the vanilla brandy syrup directly out of the pot, without any thought whatsoever.
Suddenly, an incredible warming heat crawled from her belly to the top of her head. She thought that she was having a hot flash, but soon realized that it must be the booze coursing through her unaccustomed veins. So what’s a girl to do but strip off her sweater and rest for a few minutes on the cool kitchen floor.
Her husband walked in and wondered what the heck she was doing sprawled out on the kitchen floor like a drunken sailor. With the alcohol breaking down her inhibitions, she made a lewd and obscene pass at her husband as he stepped over her on his way to the fridge. He, of course, ignored her lascivious behavior. Half drunk woman. Not going there.
His loss, she thought, but oh, what a treat he was going to get on Valentine’s Day! She’d add some french toast to this boozy breakfast and that would make him come running.
For the record, I don’t, in any way, condone excessive drinking and cooking…at the same time. I do, however, encourage lewd and obscene passes at your husband on Valentine’s Day.
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