Cross Training

The word homemade takes on new meaning once you step through Norma’s door.  Norma is the lady with whom I often live when I am here.  She is like an aunt to me and has taught me many things over the years, mainly that you should always eat homemade jams and you should never ask how your liqueur was made.

The second lesson was learned two nights ago.

We were drinking a post dinner digestif Limóncello.  It came in a beautiful glass bottle with an old cliché cork, the kind you would find in a vintage turn of the century French poster.  It packed a punch and seeing as how it is my profession to know how booze is made, I asked.

This was unfortunate.

The recipe goes something like this: you take rubbing alcohol from the drug store, put it in an ancient plastic jug, throw some strings, peels, sugar and water in there and wait.  Then you pour your concoction into the prettiest little bottles you’ve ever seen.

The nice thing about this recipe is that it is versatile.  Almonds, lemons, oranges, probably any kind of fruit that you like, can be substituted.

And there you are.  Second lesson learned.


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