robmhill: My wife would call me at work once in a while to ask about something left in the kitchen, (which she had gone into to get a drink, not cook; heaven forbid). "There is something that looks like a milkshake on the counter?" "uh..yeh... don't touch that... "
And there was the time the still sprayed the ceiling with stillage, a molasses sediment, sugar, and yeast mixture with the overtone of aldehyde's, and fusal oil. Hey does setting myself on fire distilling aether at 3:00am count?
And of course childhood memories, from before I was old enough to cook for myself, of the fireworks between my much older sisters "deciding" who was going to cook dinner for me, cheeseburger, mashed potatoes, and spinach, ah the memories (I still get nervous when women try to feed me).

comment left Jul 04