Twelve Smells of Christmas, Day Ten: The Trajectory of Fizz

I only recently learned how to open bottles of Champagne without spritzing an entire kitchen in the process.  It’s a useful skill.  You don’t have to bellow for your husband when the ladies want to make mimosas, you just do the opening and mixing on your own.

By the way, I know that I am not supposed to refer to any sparkling wine as Champagne unless it was grown in the region so denominated – my brother-in-law is French, you see, and so I know that it is really Vin Petillante and not Champagne. Whether or not it came from France, I have just noticed that you can get bubbles in your wine much more cheaply these days and that the Spanish are dab hands at this kind of doubly fermented drink. Continue reading

Boozeless Barflies

You wouldn’t think that drinking is an allusive pleasure, would you?  It is, but in a strange manner. If we do go down to the well on any given night and drink our fill, it seems that we do like to sit around thinking about it later, and we even like to smell of it – unless that is, we hit a speed trap on I-95.

The subject of beery perfumes is one for another day, but for those who enjoy, say, vodka, there is always Ambre Russe by Parfums d’Empire.  The perfume has gathered a bunch of rave reviews over time but unfortunately doesn’t  with me because I am anosmic to a particular synthetic used in high end amber perfumes.

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