Rob and Pawpaw got to thinking about moonshine, which rips me, and more importantly, brandy. I think A-Man should make some brandy from those blackberries. At the very least it would cork the ass whilst delivering a potent buzz. All I ask, ever.
All by way of saying I love brandy, but seldom drink it. It is a great aperitif, and I dearly love a snifter at the Greenbrier, but it's a bit rich for the blood. For, you know, spree drinking.
Then I remembered I had some left over from the Artillery Punch. A quart of regular brandy was required, then a half-pint of Benedictine. And so I found the left-over Benedictine, and hads me a sniftah as my One And Done. It was wonderful.
My humble opinion? The greatest contribution of the Catholic Church was Bennies, labouring furiously over their brandies. Fuck, that is good stuff. In the Olde Days, when my company was printing monies, we used to finish every business dinner with Remy Martin, at something like $125 a glass. One finger. Those fucking days are gone. Now it's an esspresso, and I won't pay for your dry cleaning when you slop it upon yourself. Hey. We're all about extracting value now. If I'M healthy, YOU'RE healthy. My job is like a sex-ed film now.
Back to the brandy. Never had blackberry brandy, but I'm figuring Rob can pull it off. He a bootlegger, a stiller, at heart. That blood runs deep. Next meet. I want to drink some. After feeding some to the obligatory lab rat for vision testing.
Nothing personal. It's an OSHA thing, man.