Not all of my recently adopted habits are as healthy as eating blueberries and exercising, no, some are much more detrimental. Call it karma, if you will. Case in point: I’ve taken to a Nightcap before bed.
As a concept, the Nightcap came to me last year, from a combination of reading Sherlock Holmes and Ernest Hemingway. Before this, alcohol was a means to an end, and at no point a moderate relationship.
There’s something particularly enchanting about the Nightcap, a romantic conceit hard to describe. Part reward, part contemplation, and at least in the beginning, part experimentation. I started off with my old favourite, the Gin & Tonic, which hardly seemed appropriate. There are particular liquors that seem particularly related to the task, so I chose the first one that came to mind: Whisky.
Whisky.
I picture myself drinking Whisky and I laugh. Out loud. But do you think I let that stop me?
I’ve tried it straight up and warm, on ice and cold, mixed with honey, and recently, with an assortment of Crush pop (Rootbeer, Grape, Cream Soda). Trusting in my friend Charles’ taste, I went with Crown Royal, and have yet to be disappointed.
How’s that for deliberate alcoholism?
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