Like sweet? Don’t fear the peat! There are approachable peated drams for every palate. Three of my favourites: Ardbeg 10, Laphroaig 10, and Talisker 10.
There are, apparently, 1200 English words meaning “drunk.” How wonderfully colourful this language of ours is!
My BFF is a momma. I am so proud of her!
As I get older, so many of my travel souvenirs are food and drink. What power has taste to evoke memory, induce reminiscence!
Chicago was popcorn and celery salt. Ireland was Bewley’s tea and dillisk and carrageen. And Scotland? Ardbeg Uigedail and Marmite, chutney and cocoa balsamic. On a night as dark as this, I’m savouring what’s left and dreaming of my next trip.
In the age of Trip Advisor, Yelp, and travel blogs, of what value are guidebooks? Is the purpose of the guidebook now only to inspire? While I formulate my own thoughts, have a peek at Ted Trautman’s take over at The Atlantic.
“To His Dead Body”
By Siegfried Sassoon
When roaring gloom surged inward and you cried,
Groping for friendly hands, and clutched, and died,
Like racing smoke, swift from your lolling head
Phantoms of thought and memory thinned and fled.
Yet, though my dreams that throng the darkened stair
Can bring me no report of how you fare,
Safe quit of wars, I speed you on your way
Up lonely, glimmering fields to find new day,
Slow-rising, saintless, confident and kind—
Dear, red-faced father God who lit your mind.
Since my whisky conversion, I’ve happily proselytized about the spirit to anyone who’d listen. And here’s just the flowchart–via a whisky neophyte friend–to help my cause.
The election results really make me feel like an outlier in my ward. Whither progress, Toronto?
Thanksgiving has come and gone for 2014, but I am still thankful: for those who helped shepherd the food to my table, for quiet nights in, and for having someone in my life to share all that.