Just a TouchIt is a cold night, rain everywhere, football players falling like timber in sudden swamps. A vast and angry front moved through: I hear tell there's flooding to the south of me tonight. May the valleys be well. Nights like these call for a drink, and I have rum.
After putting the kettle on, I initially reached for the Internet to give me a recipe for hot buttered rum, but I put it back. I went instead to the shelf where the cookbooks sit, and pulled down an old one, written before butter was bad for you and oysters were somehow an ingredient in everything. The recipe was quint, and I mumbled into the kitchen to dig for the cloves just as the kettle began to pipe.
I can hear you laughing now: looking for a recipe for a hot buttered rum? Well. I got to hold a good book in hand, read the thoughts of people who lifted spirits a century ago. It was fitting, tonight.
A mug, some sugar, some cloves, some butter, some rum. Muddle. Fill the mug with hot, hot water. Stir.
All content under copyright by the author. Dancing is permitted. The strange deltic glyphs in the sand under tidal flow are a pleasure to watch in their deepening. Offer not valid in Kansas. We put it down and then we lost it. It all happens in the corner of the eye. Mail accepted for the bears in the basement. We have a dog, but we do not own it. Thank you.