Tuesday, June 01, 2010

Tuesday Tipple


While up in Blenheim last week, for work dammit - there are so many vineyards up that way I truly felt cheated to have to work! However, while there, I saw this! I am told the coffee at this place is best enjoyed without a cigarette....

And, fittingly, our tipple this week is a.............

Grand Marnier fireball

30ml Grand Marnier
30ml Cognac
orange wedge

Pour ingredients into a warm brandy balloon, ignite and add orange wedge. Let flame for about 15 seconds, then extinguish and inhale fumes while the glass is cooling.

Adjust your eyebrows and make another...go on, you know you want to!!


9 comments:

Owen said...

You are truly too funny !

Fill up the buckets and jerry cans and gas tanks with coffee to go, or with gasoline ? Drink the gas and burn the coffee ? In a great Grand Marnier apocalyptic fireball ?

But how can one adjust one's eyebrows when they have been singed clean off ???

And for some reason this reminded me of an old poem by one of my favorite poets which I thought you might enjoy, and anyone else who has been prone to windy, explosive even, weather, with great balls of fire in the makings....

The Three Bares... by Robert Service

Ma tried to wash her garden slacks but couldn't get 'em clean
And so she thought she'd soak 'em in a bucket o' benzine.
It worked all right. She wrung 'em out then wondered what she'd do
With all that bucket load of high explosive residue.
She knew that it was dangerous to scatter it around,
For Grandpa liked to throw his lighted matches on the ground.
Somehow she didn't dare to pour it down the kitchen sink,
And what the heck to do with it, poor Ma jest couldn't think.

Then Nature seemed to give the clue, as down the garden lot
She spied the edifice that graced a solitary spot,
Their Palace of Necessity, the family joy and pride,
Enshrined in morning-glory vine, with graded seats inside;
Jest like that cabin Goldylocks found occupied by three,
But in this case B-E-A-R was spelt B-A-R-E----
A tiny seat for Baby Bare, a medium for Ma,
A full-sized section sacred to the Bare of Grandpapa.

Well, Ma was mighty glad to get that worry off her mind,
And hefting up the bucket so combustibly inclined,
She hurried down the garden to that refuge so discreet,
And dumped the liquid menace safely through the centre seat.

Next morning old Grandpa arose; he made a hearty meal,
And sniffed the air and said: `By Gosh! how full of beans I feel.
Darned if I ain't as fresh as paint; my joy will be complete
With jest a quiet session on the usual morning seat;
To smoke me pipe an' meditate, an' maybe write a pome,
For that's the time when bits o' rhyme gits jiggin' in me dome.'

He sat down on that special seat slicked shiny by his age,
And looking like Walt Whitman, jest a silver-whiskered sage,
He filled his corn-cob to the brim and tapped it snugly down,
And chuckled: `Of a perfect day I reckon this the crown.'
He lit the weed, it soothed his need, it was so soft and sweet:
And then he dropped the lighted match clean through the middle seat.

His little grand-child Rosyleen cried from the kichen door:
`Oh, Ma, come quick; there's sompin wrong; I heared a dreffel roar;
Oh, Ma, I see a sheet of flame; it's rising high and higher...
Oh, Mummy dear, I sadly fear our comfort-cot's caught fire.'

Poor Ma was thrilled with horror at them words o' Rosyleen.
She thought of Grandpa's matches and that bucket of benzine;
So down the garden geared on high, she ran with all her power,
For regular was Grandpa, and she knew it was his hour.
Then graspin' gaspin' Rosyleen she peered into the fire,
A roarin' soarin' furnace now, perchance old Grandpa's pyre....

But as them twain expressed their pain they heard a hearty cheer----
Behold the old rapscallion squattinn' in the duck pond near,
His silver whiskers singed away, a gosh-almighty wreck,
Wi' half a yard o' toilet seat entwined about his neck....

He cried: `Say, folks, oh, did ye hear the big blow-out I made?
It scared me stiff - I hope you-uns was not too much afraid?
But now I best be crawlin' out o' this dog-gasted wet....
For what I aim to figger out is----WHAT THE HECK I ET?'

ρομπερτ said...

I never tried Cognac in my life. With two weeks of school to go, until the three months (!) break, it might be worth a try - maybe even working much better than any medicine.

Please have a wonderful start into the new month.

...louciao... said...

Holy smokes! What a way to go. I like the sound of that Grand Marnier apocalyptic fireball, kind of like "Whoosh--kaboom!" Seems like an excellent way for you to get dried out while at the same time getting sauced (or gassed), Saj. I am so happy to see you back, safe and sound! I have my eyeliner in hand, ready to draw on another set of brows after my 2nd drink. You'll tell me if they're on straight, won't you?

Would someone please take the microphone away from Owen?! I think he's about to fart...I mean to say start... another pome recital.

The Sagittarian said...

Owen - wonderful poem! I have one somewhere about a funeral and the ashes...might send that to you privately!

Robert - You're never too old to try something new! Happy June to you.

Louciao-haha, whoosh kaboom indeed! I'll possibly email you that crazy poem as well, that way we can set it to music and sing it on the opening night of our new hotel and restaurant!

Steve said...

I can no longer see straight... but this may be due to the fact my spectacles have melted.

Barry Coidan said...

You're wasted. BP could use you. You'd have the Gulf aflame in no time.

Which pump was diesel?

The villager: said...

That's a great shot, Sag ! Looks a bit wet though ?

Selina Kingston said...

Oh hallelujah! I need this and anyway eyebrows are so over rated. Cheers x

Meggie said...

Still laughing from the Pome.
Blenheim looks rather wet??