When I was growing up, everybody drank booze. Beer was something you drank during the day if it was hot and you were thirsty, and if you drank wine (and most people didn’t) you drank it with dinner, and it always came from a gallon jug. Teetotalers were thought to be odd and untrustworthy, so in our circle, everyone threw back the hard stuff, starting with bloody marys and coffee royals in the morning and the classics come late afternoon. Seven and sevens. Scotch and sodas. Vodka tonics. Martinis. Manhattans. That kind of stuff.
We had one cabinet in our house that was full of booze, and everybody we visited had one as well. None of it was fancy, and a lot of it was rotgut, worse than what you’d find in the wells of the shittiest dives, but it got the job done.
A few years after my wife and I moved into our current house, my brother and I remodeled the kitchen. There was a closet in the dining room, so I took off the door, slapped in a pair of cabinets, added a bit of tile, and used it as a place to store my booze.
My wife and I (cough “me”) had a lot of friends and relatives who liked to drink, and we had some fine times back in the day, but we no longer entertain the way we used to, and a few weeks ago she said, “Do you think you can get rid of all that booze?”
“What do you mean?”
“We rarely have anyone over anymore, so why are you keeping all of those bottles?”
“But what if someone DOES come over and they want a vodka tonic? Or a rum and coke? Or a martini?”
“When was the last time that actually happened? Nobody just ‘pops in’ anymore, because all of the people we know who used to do that have moved or passed away. If you want to keep it, that’s fine, but just think about it.”
So I did just that. I thought about it. And I decided she was right.
And so two nights ago I picked up a half empty bottle of Jameson Black Barrel and said, “Time for you to go.”
I don’t remember where this bottle came from, but both Neil and Cornholio drink this shit, so it was probably left over from one of our fishing trips. Anyway, there wasn’t much in it, and the next night it was toast.
A lifetime ago, when the Austrian came out for a visit, I purchased a bottle of 21 ‘Farclas. Actually I purchased several bottles, but the remains of one bottle somehow survived. A reliable source tells me that Bookie Mitch puts the odds of his return at 100 to 1, so no need to keep this shit around any longer.
More to come.