I made it through a particularly taxing week, and on the way home from work I was considering what libation would be a good way to get my cosmically twisted badself perpendicular to the center of the earth. Even though the liquor
cabinet closet in the House by the Parkway contains quite an array of grown-up treats, nothing was coming to mind.
I knew that I was fresh out of Three Olives Chocolate Vodka, Triple Espresso Vodka and even of Three Olives Watermelon Vodka (more on that another time). An excellent bourbon (I have several) might be nice, but I wanted something over ice (clear ice, of course), and the bourbons I have should only be imbibed neat.
By the time I arrived home, I had pretty much decided on a Zyr Vodka (a most excellent adult bev) on the rocks. When I opened the freezer for some ice (clear ice, of course), I saw my only bottle of Firefly Sweet Tea Vodka tucked away under a bag of frozen string beans. There was still some left. I had forgotten it was there. SCORE!!! Zonker, the former blogger, and all around good guy, knowing I am a Yankee with the soul of a Southerner, had gifted me with the bottle when I was at Eric’s last month.
It is a perfectly wonderful drink.
Youse guys who live south of the Mason-Dixon Line should know that “sweet tea” is largely unknown in places like Jersey. If you were to order a glass of “sweet tea” here, the waitress, while secretly wondering which nuthouse you escaped from, would scratch her big hair and deliver to your diner table a glass of weak iced tea and point you towards the sugar bowl. Our loss, for sure.
Anyway, Firefly combines the best of sweet tea and vodka in a one-size-fits-all package. One must approach it with caution, for, like chocolate vodka, it doesn’t taste like booze, even though it is nothing but booze. If you find yourself saying, “Hmmmm, this is delicious” more than three times, you’re probably well on your way to being in some deep stumble around shit.
So, back to tonight. I poured several drinks over ice (clear ice, of course) until I squeezed every last drop out of what was left in the bottle. I celebrated each sip and lamented laying the bottle to rest in the recycle bin.
The bad news is that you can’t buy the stuff in Jersey, Of course, that means that the next time I find myself down South, in addition to eating a shitload of biscuits and gravy (We don’t have that here either), I’ll have to pick up a case or two of Firefly.
If I really like you, I might share, but don’t count on it.