My Evangelical Moment (It's Not What You Think!)

How is it possible that I am almost fifty years old and only now am I discovering the healing and restorative properties of alcohol? Stunning, I know. And it is made all the more remarkable by the simple fact that The Husband owns and operates an artisan distillery  that is producing some very well received whiskies and vodkas. (Shameless personal plug: Please check out his website and purchase a bottle or two. Girl's gotta eat, ya know!) Me? Well, I just have never cared for any of it. I have found the taste of most spirits to be akin to swallowing paint thinner. And wines..well...as flavourful as many might find them, they have always been less than satisfying to my underdeveloped palate. I hate and fear the loss of control that liquor affords; once a type A always a type A, I suppose. I have zero physical tolerance for the stuff given my almost half century of teetotalism. My friends have experienced first hand that I literally cannot tell my left hand from my right when I drink even modest amounts of the grape. Also.....and this is a big one for somebody who has constantly battled extra poundage......I have always hated the thought of drinking my calories. I would much rather indulge in a plate of fries or some chocolate. My conventional thought was that they were so much more satisfying. As a result, alcohol has been a rare indulgence for me throughout my lifetime.

But I have come to see the error of my ways. I have come to understand that there is true magic in a glass of cabernet and great curative properties in a snifter of brandy. I realize that I am not stating anything cutting edge that the average frat boy or stay at home mom hasn't known for years, but for me this is as close to a religious conversion as I think I will ever get. I have tried to ascertain when my personal "Road to Tarshish" moment occurred, and as near as I can deduce it started last year around Rosh Hashana.

Last summer brought on a horrible asthma season. The wheezing and coughing that I experienced was never calmed enough by the myriad of bronchi-inhalers, anti-histamines, steroidal puffers and an assortment of herbal remedies. In fact, a week before the High Holidays I came down with a horrible case of laryngitis brought on by the symptoms and after effects of each successive attack. As if my stress levels surrounding the most vocally taxing time of the year weren't enough, now I had to cope with the very real possibility of not being able to sing. The Husband, ever the saint at this particular time of year, (the religious metaphors simply abound, don't they?) was once again ready with his 3S cure all. This time I readily accepted the scotch with willing throat and found that while I still couldn't understand the worldwide fuss over single malts, I did find that there was indeed a medicinal property that allowed me the get through the Ten Days of Awe in decent if not perfect order. After the holidays, I promptly returned to my water guzzling ways exclusively.

But the strangest thing happened. I found that I missed it. Not the taste, mind you. That experience was still reminiscent of sucking back burnt campfire wood.  No. I missed the calm. I missed the warming sensation of sipping it late in the evening while chatting amiably with the Husband. I missed the stress release that it so obviously provided. I missed the routine. Should I be worried? Was this a cry out for an intervention? No, of course not. Rather this was an embracing of the thought that maybe....just maybe....I actually liked it? Hey! I'm a grown woman. Why shouldn't I enjoy the odd glass of something when the mood suits? Guilt and calories be damned. Welcome this moment of clarity and learn from it.

Clearly I needed to find a substitute for the swill of single malt that monopolizes our liquor cabinet. The Husband, always the willing guide on the subject, suggested brandy. BINGO! It was just what I was looking for. And so began a several week trial period of evenings curled up on the couch with my Courvoisier in a glass and endless reruns of Murdoch Mysteries on television. (I promise that sometime this month I will write an entire love letter to this show, but for now just know that it is a true passion for me. I can't wait for Season 6.)

Step one had been taken. I was actually enjoying my dalliance away from temperance. Oh the humanity! But true consumption can only be sincerely experienced in the company of friends. Sort of "if a tree falls in the woods" scenario. And so, last week I did something that I haven't done in years. I ordered a glass of wine while out for dinner. Twin Son and His Better Half looked a bit stunned, but they embraced my new-found liberty as readily as I knew they would. It was like they had won an epic battle and had brought me over to the dark side. Light sabres could finally be holstered. Years of cajoling had finally broken me, and here I was wandering in the abyss at last with all of the other mere mortals. Of course, after one glass of Shiraz I couldn't feel my feet, but we all understand that it is a process.

On election night, my evangelical moment reached its apex. I actually opened up a bottle of red and downed two glasses as I watched the returns come in. I loved every swallow. Barack and me and Dionysus makes three. Not a bad trifecta, if you ask me.

Black Friday Bonanza

I have never been a fan of the bloodsport of competitive shopping. In my mind there is something unseemly about camping for days in front of a Walmart in order to bargain hunt. I haven't got the stomach for the "every woman/man for themselves" mentality, and I certainly wouldn't go to the mattresses for a discount. (Is anybody else impressed with my "Godfather"reference?) I tried it once. This menace of zombie shopping. Not on Black Friday mind you, but on Boxing Day the day after Christmas. I was at the Southern Home as I usually am for the Christmas vacation. It was six weeks prior to Younger Son's Bar Mitzvah and I still had nothing to wear. I was seriously entertaining the idea of attending in my torn jeans and a turtleneck, when I cajoled my Other Mother (my mother was still in Toronto due to circumstances unforeseen) to trek to the stores with me in the desperate hope of finding something more suitable for the occasion. We left our homes at 6:00am so that we could a) Find a parking spot that wasn't in Tallahassee and b) enter Bloomingdales with the other crazies at 6:30. After pulling every possible item that wasn't jeans and a turtleneck off of the racks and shelves, (size matters not a whit when shopping with animals) I staked out my claim to the last available fitting room. I tried on clothes while Other Mother acted as runner. Competitive shopping is a two-person game, lest the inmates attempt to usurp your hard-won territory. After several hours of playing survival of the fittest, we left the department store with a silk skirt, a lovely top and a shrug all for a deeply discounted price. We never left Bloomies, our mission completed with one-stop shopping and neither of us having the stomach to venture deeper into the belly of the beast. Let the next morons have their shot. We both swore a blood oath "Never again".

But far be it from me to keep others from that which they love or find important. I freely acknowledge that the Jew in me doesn't fully understand the Christmas shopping mentality, so if Black Friday is your thing-have at it. I do however, want to put in a personal plug for the shopping season. Tomorrow has been labelled Small Business Saturday in the United States. I kind of love this idea. After you have muscled and bullied your way through the big box and chain megastores, try and send some of those shopping dollars to a small business in your area. How about frequenting the local pet store instead of Petsmart to find that perfect gift for Fido or Fifi? Or how about a visit to that funky bohemian clothing shop downtown, rather than Macy's? Maybe that local gourmet shop has some nifty kitchen gadgets that can't be seen at William's Sonoma? In these difficult economic times, it has been the locally owned and operated businesses that have taken huge hits. How about sending them some love and capital this holiday season? If Saturday shopping is not your thing, take Small Business Saturday and transfer it to Sunday or Monday. The sentiment is still the same.

In that vein, I would like to tell all of my Toronto-based friends about an exciting new local business finally opening for retail. The Husband and Twin Son have been making their artisan spirits for several years now and have been trying to shoehorn their way into a tightly government controlled market here in Ontario. They have finally, finally, finally been given permission to open a retail store on the site of their distillery and hope to have it up and running by December 1st, (Please note the date. They aren't ready just yet to receive the hoards that we know will be pounding on the door!!) just in time for all of those holiday parties. Please come and visit Still Waters Distillery at their new onsite retail outlet at 150 Bradwick Drive #26 in Concord. Details can be found at the website. The boys will happily set you up with their award winning vodka and some special single malts unavailable at your local LCBO. Sincere apologies to my out of town readers but e-commerce is not yet available. Hopefully soon.

Enjoy the day of bargain busting friends. Me? I will spend my time getting ready for Shabbat.

Shabbat Shalom to all who observe.