So fed up with everything everywhere that I suppose it's time to make things happen, when really all I want to do is smoke reefer, watch more episodes of The Office (I saw my first yesterday at the gré of my shocked brother, who's one of many shocked I hadn't seen it before. What can I say but 'Two lesbians. Sisters. I'm just watching.'), and eat delicious things. Physically speaking I feel like a pillow someone's been drooling on, mentally - well - I haven't seen any more dancing robins, but it wouldn't surprise me. And my apartment is some sort of biohazard.
I'm going to clear my calendar, quarantine myself, and take care of some business; but before I do, some notes for my readers. The asiago cheese my father very kindly bought me against his better judgement was indeed deserving of being in contrariance with his better judgement. Tre Stelle's Canadian asiago doesn't deserve the prices charged for it; it doesn't even deserve the name of asiago, which at its best should be a delicate yet piquant harder cheese experience, like the Soulwax mash-up Smells like Teen Booty. This crap is bland. Asiago should be many things, but bland isn't one of them. Steer away from that shit and pay an extra five bucks to get an import.
Second note: grappa is a fine, fine drink. And a grappa drunk is a fine, fine drunk. Coming from an ethnic group that risked blindness and death on a yearly basis to produce and imbibe this stuff, I may be biased, but I'll tell you this: every time I get shitfaced with grappa, it's a happy time and the next day there are no ill effects except epic crankiness, which with a personality like mine is well-disguised. Some older people also complain of heartburn. Mmm. I wish I had some more grappa RIGHT NOW.
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Re: Grappa
Fine, wise and sage words. What I really like about Grappa is you can get the regional Grappas made from the respective vine leftovers. Oddly enough I find Barolo grappa very very easy to drink
Testify. Piemonte is rotten with the grappa of the region's grapes. And the shops bandy about these *darling* grappa bottles whose beauty and complexity put an 18-year-old's favourite bong to shame.
*And* it sounds like a naughty word. "All he ever thinks about is poteen, poteen, poteen."
Anyways, I'll believe it after I try it. Maybe.
I wonder if Rakija, which is made on the other side of the Adriatic sea, is the same thing. I've never tried either.
I think so, Jiri, I think both are made from the mace or must or whatever you call the crap left over from squeezing the juice out of the grapes for the wine.
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