Merry Christmas from Canada! Did you know that Canadians keep all their booze in one place? What the hell, Celine?
As promised, I'm back in Canada for a business trip, so what better time to get drunk? At a funeral? Yes, but no one I know has died lately, so Canada will have to do. And since it's nearly Christmas, I ventured to the local LCBO (that's Canadian for "the only store we have that sells alcohol because no one knows why") to outfit myself with everything I'd need to share the spirit with a toilet bowl later in the evening.
When it comes to Christmas, most people think of the food, but there's a long history of booze that comes along with the season, and why not cram all that history into one bender?
I wanted to ease myself into this thing, which is to say that the idea of hot buttered anything sounded gross as shit. But a can of cider couldn't hurt me, right? Canada wouldn't let that happen. My choice was some manner of Honeycrisp cider, because that sounded pleasant enough. The drink itself, room temperature as it was, was not horrible. It tasted like apple juice that someone left outside for too long and maybe it got rained on a bit and maybe there's a bug or two in it, but by and large, it's still apple, so it's mostly non-toxic.
I don't know anything about cider except what Ned Flanders told me once, and that doesn't really explain much, especially about how this became boozy. I guess it's just fermented, so maybe my impression of it tasting like juice someone left outside isn't too far off.
Holiday Spirit: Yukon Cornelius
#6. Mulled Wine
I should have known anything named "Warm 'n Cozy" was going to try to fuck me like a slippery hobo hopped up on gas fumes, but here we are, and I have to finish this section. Anyway, to begin with, I would rather have each and every one of you punch me in the mouth than finish this bottle of swill. The smell was something like dirty ditch water with an old jock stuffed with bad fruit nearby. The taste inexplicably trumped this with impunity.
Have you ever taken out the garbage at the peak of summer's heat, yanked a bag from the can in the yard, and discovered that there was a hole in the bag? And from the hole seeped a tepid brew of rancid, fermented hot nasty that pooled in the anaerobic nightmare that exists between bag and can at 100 degrees, creating a putrid dump pruno that could choke a maggot into unconsciousness? That, plus the vague threat of a grape that was once murdered in a Denny's bathroom, is what this shit tasted like. I guess that's what mulling means.
I was not able to finish my cup of this garbage, and barely retained the mouthful I imbibed.
Holiday Spirit: The Ghost of Christmas Past from Scrooged, better known as Buster Poindexter
#5. Hot Buttered Rum
I got this recipe from Rachael Ray, so if I ever see her, expect that I'll spit on her. It requires spiced rum, and then some brown sugar creamed with some butter and spices. Heh. Creamed.
Once you mix all your shit together, you add the rum and then hot water. The resulting brew looks like mud and is garbage, so you dump everything you didn't drink down the drain because fuck this drink. I don't understand why people invent drinks that take a bunch of satisfactory ingredients and combine them into trash, but here we are. It's the hot water that ruins this. There's too much hot water, such that the whole shitty brew is watered down. Have you ever watered down alcohol and tried to drink it? It's just water with a terrible aftertaste. That's what this was. Brown water with that stringent booze aftertaste that everyone loves to get when they lick a Stridex pad.
I thought that maybe it needed to sit for a spell and that would improve things, but mostly the opposite happened. The longer it sat, the more it split into layers. I made this diagram to help you appreciate what that means.
Holiday Spirit: Santa with Muscles
#4. Hot Buttered Beer
According to the website on which I found the recipe for this grog, hot buttered beer is from medieval times, and this recipe is actually from the year 1588. Pro tip: people in 1588 either had no taste buds or were secretly courting the blessed sweetness of death at every turn. This was like drinking hot toilet.
For those not in the know, the process for making this shit is a bit laborious, which makes the final product ever so much more disappointing. You need to boil some ale with spices in it, then whip sugar and egg yolks together before mixing it into the beer and then melting butter into the whole nasty brew.
I followed the directions from 1588 pretty closely, and even got a bit of an arm cramp whipping that yolk and sugar by hand, because I don't often travel with electric mixers. You can guess how much whipping that must have been, because let's be honest, I masturbate a lot and my arm is in pretty good shape.
This drink looks appetizing when it's done. It's creamy and off-white and frothy -- it looks like some shit Starbucks would charge $7 for and then sprinkle with cinnamon like I'm a fucking baby or something. The taste, on the other hand, is like beer filtered through someone's butter-infused ass beard.
If you've ever tasted beer that's gone off, then you've enjoyed a beer tastier than this. It was so bad that I am forced to believe either the recipe was wrong or I somehow screwed it up without realizing it, because there's no way it was supposed to taste like it did. And if I did make it right, then I hope everyone from 1588 responsible for creating this monstrosity is still licking a chamber pot in Hell.
Holiday Spirit: Krampus