Sake Bombs and Boozy Afternoons

Evan questioning the legitimacy of my sake. Hey, I originally bought it for cooking!

I read The Great Gatsby when I was a sixteen year old in boarding school. I didn’t really understand the eggs, or the American dream, and all the other literary sneak-ins we were supposed to grasp, but I was intrigued by this idea of day drinking. And I mean casual day drinking. Not like Saint Patrick’s Day drinking where someone is inevitably booting their brains out by noon. I wanted to be one of those mostly classy, but sometimes loose, women in fun dresses drinking casually, but sometimes wildly, in those awesome pent house apartments in broad day light. Day drinking is opportunistic. You have more energy. You have hours to drink instead of a few short ones where you pound back Trashcans, Vodka Redbulls, and Kamikazee’s hoping to get drunk, have fun, and be back in bed in three to four hours. How unappealing, yet we all force ourselves to do it. Le Sigh.

Romanticizing aside, I’m usually the one trying to wrangle my friends into afternoon drinks while the bars are still quiet and you can hold a conversation without yelling and expelling little bits of spit. Or I’m trying to convince them that, yes, a glass of wine on the porch while watching people drive by would be a glorious idea. Alas, these plans usually never take off. Expect for yesterday, when in return for someday using my friends huge claw foot bath tub (the type that you can take a bath in and your boobs will actually make it fully underwater!) I said he could do laundry at my place. Laundry is a mundane task, but when you add in some Sake Bombs and a sunny day on the porch, followed by a trip to the bar during the dry cycle, life could not be any better.

The Sake bomb is simple. Fill a glass with beer, precariously balance of shot of sake on chop sticks (or bamboo skewers, which I think keeps in line with the Asian theme), and bang your fists on the table yelling out “ichi..ni..san!” (one, two, three in Japanese) until it falls in, and then you chug, chug, chug while silently praying your gag reflex doesn’t kick in. Or you can just drop it in, which I did because the mason jar mouth wasn’t extremely wide, but it felt so lack luster, so Jagermeister. Bring out a wide class for this feat.

So maybe this day would be better classified as mildly wild (I don’t think Sake Bombs constitute classy drinking), but there is always time for Sunday brunch with accompanying mimosas– fresh squeezed OJ, of course.
Peel Away ❤

Jocellyn

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