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« It Might Have Been | Main | It's Enough to Give You a Headache »

August 07, 2006

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Bucky McOinkum's Barbecue

I just got turned onto a vodka that's made in the US, from Idaho potatoes... Teton Glacier Vodka. I have to say it's definitely one of the best I've had, and not too expensive.

Shawn Lea

Wow...your family reunions sound much more exciting than mine! Are y'all accepting applications? ;)

LC

Tell Shawn Lea: yes! She seems like the type of gal who would forget where she poured what too! 8*) -LC

gw

Your description of how to drink vodka reminds me of a Russian experience I had long ago. In a previous career, I occasionally led tours to what was then the USSR. We usually travelled around
December/January and on New Year's Eve there was always a 'snack' set out for the group prior to the big night's dinner. The 'snack' was in and of itself huge, with an assortment of breads, meats, and cheeses that could easily have been the night's meal apart from any other plans. One winter, travelling with us on tour was a 22 year-old, archetypally large Texan--his belt buckle was larger than my head, and he had a personality that matched his physical size. Despite his presence on the tour, he had early on declared himself to be no fan of Russian people, culture, or food [so why go?] and prior to the scheduled 'snack,' he was complaining once again. I attempted to defuse his negativity and declared that, in my experience, this snack would be an opportunity to test one's strength and mettle. In return, he loudly declared me something of an idiot. Based on my past experiences, I sketched out a banquette on which would be arrayed the components of our 'snack'--huge slabs of breads upon which we might stack hearty slices of meats and cheeses, making absolutely certain to add the gorchitsa [mustard] that I would request. I then outlined a scenario in which we would bite into sandwiches thus fashioned, exclaim loudly, throwing down food to plate, grabbing our respective noses in squinting pain, eyes watering and mouth aflame, and then hurriedly reassemble our now-disarrayed sandwiches for the next bite. He shook his head sadly, as if to again affirm my status as an idiot but agreed to attend. When we arrived, it was all as I had foreshadowed, and accordingly, Tony the Texan assembled, bit, yelped, dashed his sandwich to his plate, and went back for more and more. An epiphany of gastronomic proportions, within the year Tony was leading his own tours of the Soviet Union.

mesa medical marijuana

Im never drinking that again. I have a bad trauma on this liquor.

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