When I was growing up, my brother and I used the “plop plop fizz fizz” phrase to describe the sound of solid waste dropping into a toilet. Yes, boys are VERY mature. Now, both of us in our thirties, just make odd faces, fart noises, and jokes about floating facedown in the pool. Back then it was “high” comedy. Now it’s populist.
But I veer away from the point! The reason I bring up the old Alka Seltzer slogan is this:
My homemade rotgut is developing bubbles at an exciting/alarming rate. I now have to slowly open the bottles and bleed off gas while my elixir fizzes up. It now has a fantastic scent of champagne, with tiny bubbles to match. Well, the one in the lexan Nalgene smells like champagne. I have two other mixes in the softer white plastic Nalgenes that have a disturbing eau d’brain-killing-petrochemicals. So I decided to be brave, play the brave man and such, and pour myself a glass of the new hooch. Odor: check. Bubbles: check plus! Alcohol: ….hmm, something missing here. It has the very faint taste of cider with a mild bite of diluted alcohol. So I’ve decided to put this in the fridge, to simulate the caves of the Champagne region in France. Except the caves are warmer and the stuff is high-quality grapes in glass bottles, not browning apples and sugar in plastic. But I have very low expectations. And skill in liquor-making. And enthusiasm for “research” and “doing it the right way so I don’t hurt myself”. I mean, come on, this is an Uncle F^$#-Up project!
My wife got me a Julia Child book on baking, so I’ll see if there are any recipes in there or in Hamelman’s book that I want to try for this weekend. As it’s getting cooler, I’m thinking some sort of savory rustic bread would be appropriate. Maybe a potato cheese bread, or some kind of multigrain? Either way, I’ll be so drunk on homemade apple brandy that I’m sure it’ll come out perfect. And by perfect I mean burnt to a cinder because I passed out on the kitchen floor with a half-finished appletini spilled down my shirt. Vive la cuisine artisanal!
Writer, architect, father, husband.
It's STILL funny:Knock, knock.Who's there?Stinky fart smell.Right? Who's with me?Q: Why did the chicken cross the road?A: It farted.
Oh Ha-ha. Boys will be boys. Enjoy the fizz–I'd love a picture of the face-down cooking project!