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dragonlady7I'm drinking sherry. Potable sherry, not cooking sherry. OK, it's Taylor sherry, from NY state, but I'm not such a snob: at least it's intended for drinking. The other shit we have is intended for cooking. (Although it's not the undrinkable shit with salt added. We are not so bad as all that.)
My parents drink sherry sometimes. My dad, the house bartender, pours it into decorative cut brown crystal cordial glasses, and Mom mostly just sits and smells it. It can take her hours to drink her glass. She always said she likes to smell it more than to taste it. When I was a child I'd sit beside her and smell it too. It's a homey smell.
Z once drank enough sherry that it made him throw up. He was only drinking it to decide whether he liked it or not.
"I still haven't decided," he says, sitting beside me on the couch and taking another sip.
My parents drink sherry sometimes. My dad, the house bartender, pours it into decorative cut brown crystal cordial glasses, and Mom mostly just sits and smells it. It can take her hours to drink her glass. She always said she likes to smell it more than to taste it. When I was a child I'd sit beside her and smell it too. It's a homey smell.
Z once drank enough sherry that it made him throw up. He was only drinking it to decide whether he liked it or not.
"I still haven't decided," he says, sitting beside me on the couch and taking another sip.
