There are more than just bananas in there...

Tag: scotch (Page 1 of 4)

Flannel Shirt

Wisdom comes from odd places. I’ve learned a lot in my nearly half century of making questionable choices. Although, I am big on preaching about saying yes to life, getting out there taking chances and experiencing new things, if I am honest, there’s a lot to be said for the comforts of home. I get that. I am all about being comfortable, especially in your own skin. That’s how I am made. Howling Wolf got it right, “I’m built for comfort, I ain’t built for speed; but I got everything all the good girls need.” What is it they need, exactly? Well, the ladies like things comfortable too, so with that in mind won’t you join me now as we stand and make the Flannel Shirt.

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Southern Scotsman

This is quite the conundrum isn’t it? Is it a drink? Is it a dessert? Are those things mutually exclusive? Do we need a spoon, a straw or is this a dive right in experience? So many questions, so little information floating around in this old monkey head. Bob Seger used to sing about “workin’ on mysteries without any clues” but maybe if we poke around a bit, we can get to the bottom of things. So, with that in mind, won’t you join me now as we stand and make the Southern Scotsman.

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Scotch Violets

“Sometimes, you can almost smell her perfume on the wind. Almost.” he said, to no one in particular. That faraway look told me he wasn’t really with us in that moment and I did not want to intrude, wherever he had wandered. I got it, though. It’s usually the other way around for me. A passing scent suddenly evoking a memory of a time, place or face long gone. They say that smell is more connected to memory than the other senses combined and I believe it. Still, I knew what he was feeling. It wasn’t quite pain and not quite joy, just a recognition of loss. So, in the spirit of people, places and things long gone, but still alive in our memories, won’t you join me now as we stand and make the Scotch Violets.

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Clandestine

Everyone has secrets, this is known, Khaleesi. We all keep things buried inside that we do not share with the world, sometimes we do not even share them with ourselves. I try to be pretty open with everyone about most things. I like to say I have no secrets, but that is a lie. My mind is filled with little bits I choose not to share about myself, but more often the thoughts remain secret because they are not mine to share. As much as I try to be open about myself, I will straight lie to your face in order to protect someone else’s secret. Is that right? I don’t know. I did not make the rules. Hell, I wasn’t even here when the game started, but I play my hand the way I was taught. So, in honor of the secrets kept and those spilled along the way, won’t you please join me now as we stand and make the Clandestine.

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White Knight

Sometimes, you want something rich and creamy. A dessert drink, if you will or if you won’t, it makes no real difference to me. I am not a huge fan of this class of drinks, but I was intrigued by the smoky scotch component, so here we are. Won’t you please join me now, as we stand and make the White Knight.

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Penichillin

It appears to be the first day of spring and the weather, clearly, got the memo. The last day of winter was overcast, misty, cold with a wind blowing out of the north that would cut right through you. A good evening for curling up next to the fire with a hot drink, which I did, before snuggling into the covers. They say things can change overnight, and they weren’t kidding. Our winter of discontent, was made glorious Spring by this sun, presumably the same as in York. It was straight up hot today driving around with the windows down and the sunroof open. So in the spirit of keeping our cool amidst the temperature swings of outrageous fortune won’t you join me as we stand and make the Penichillin.

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Hot Penicillin

“Brrrr! It’s cold outside, Aqua Sleep Man!” he said as they stared at him blankly. It turns out he had read the room wrong and quoting local Nashville advertisements from the 80’s was not making him any friends. Maybe they weren’t from around here, maybe they weren’t waterbed aficionados, either way, he had clearly chosen the wrong opener. “I just mean to say that it has turned unseasonably chilly”, he went on as they remained unmoved or impressed. “Perhaps, it is the damp, rather than the actual temperature, which, to be fair is only in the 40’s, unless you are from literally anywhere else in the world, in which case it is 4°, but with the winds it just feels…” he trailed off as they turned their attention elsewhere, dismissing him as a bit of a crank. That did not change the fact that he was cold or that he really felt the need for some sort of warm pick me up to make him feel better. Noting that no one was actually tending the bar, he slipped behind it and thought better of asking the crowd if they would join him now as he stood to make the Hot Penicillin.

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Mamie Taylor

Spring is just around the corner. I know because the buttercups are blooming right along side the flutterbups. You can’t always trust them, sometimes they pop up and hold their little heads high above the snow, but mostly, when you see them, you can start looking for your shorts. I have a particular field of buttercups that I always look for, planted on “the home place” by my great grandma Fannie Taylor, affectionately known throughout the family as “Mammy”. Every year, when that field where the old house stood turns yellow, we stop one afternoon to pick Mammy’s buttercups. There is no real need, I have some of them transplanted to my house, as does my mom and my grandma, but there is something nice about walking across that field where my grandpa played and worked as a little boy and my mom learned to ride a bike. So, in the spirit of connection and the little rituals that make us who we are, won’t you join me now as we stand and make the classic, Mamie Taylor.

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Rob Roy

There are lots of things that were not made to stand the test of time. Well, not originally, anyway. I often cringe when I look back at things I loved in the past, especially entertainment. A few days ago, I was explaining the allure of Knight Rider to the K.I.D.D. Honestly, I was trying to explain the whole vehicle as hero thing, embodied in that show, Airwolf, Battle of the Planets and even the Dukes of Hazzard. How we would sit there and watch, rapt, as we waited for the next appearance of the vehicle on screen, doing heroic stuff, often using the same clips shown over and over, repackaged each week as if they were new. I checked the current exchange rates and found that pictures are still worth 1,000 words each and that depending on the provenance, moving pictures could be incalculably more valuable in conveying messages to young, impressionable minds. After checking my account, I fired up some Knight Rider for the boy and cringed as 48 year old me was embarrassed for how much 10 year old me loved that show. To be fair, I wasn’t listening to the dialogue or trying to follow the one plot they repainted and passed off as new each week, I was just waiting for the car and the action. As bad as the show was, there were some moments of brilliance, and that Trans Am disguised as the Knight Industries Two Thousand, still rocks. So, in the spirit of the things that survived the test of time to outlast their inspiration, please join me as we stand and make, the Rob Roy.

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The Banana Stand

Asimov said, “Education isn’t something you can finish.” In fact, he wrote a great deal on the subject and the ridiculous idea that formal education was a rite of passage and that once you have passed beyond it you should leave reading books, having ideas and asking questions behind with other childish things. When I found myself with a surplus of experimental smoky scotch and banana based tiki drinks, rather than laying them aside, I opted to delve a little deeper into this bit of nearly forgotten lore. So, in that spirit of continuing education, won’t you join me now as we stand and make, The Banana Stand.

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