Friday Terry called from work, “There’s a crisis and it looks like we won’t be able to go to Atlanta like we’d planned.”
“That’s ok,” I replied. I understand a crisis at work. He’s been dealing with 8 years of them, and it’s not the first time a trip has been cancelled. I shrugged internally and planned what I’d do on Saturday instead of trying to buy one of everything at The Dekalb Farmer’s Market, also known as My Happy Place. No big deal, really. It was fine. Really. No really. It was. Really.
So a little later that day, he called and said “can I take you to dinner?” as I was getting a can of tomato soup out of the pantry and trying to figure out how to make grilled cheese sandwiches without any bread…because we didn’t have any and I REALLY didn’t feel like going to the store and it would take 3 hours to make a loaf and it was nearly 5:30. Now, my Good Wife instinct was to say “Oh I know you’re tired, you’ve had a really rough day and probably just want to come home and kick back with a bourbon and unwind.” And it really was just that. However, I also knew he felt terrible about having to cancel the trip, and wanted to make it up the best he could given the circumstances, so I said “sure, take me to dinner, I’ll give it some thought.”
So we did…dinner at The Millhouse, a local steak place because he really wanted a big fat burger and that’s the best place for them, since Statesboro doesn’t have a CheeburgerCheeburger, and I am highly fond of their sirloin with gorgonzola sauce and chunky mashed potatoes, and they don’t skimp with the gin in the drinks, either.
THEN…Saturday morning he said “By the way, Robert’s still in town and I need to go by and check on things, but it looks like we can go to Atlanta after all!”
And so we did…
A bunch of time and a buggy full of baking supplies (hazelnuts! dried cherries! spices! some more spices!), and seeing someone who surely must have been a supermodel in an earlier time later, (“What?” Terry said, “No, I didn’t not notice that gorgeous woman with the 36″ inseam and perfect round butt…why do you ask?” I am not concerned that he noticed her. I noticed her too and was amazed that a body like that existed outside of photoshopped magazine pictures.) we had a satisfactory pile of stuff. Dekalb Farmer’s Market is not only a great place for foodstuffs you’d never find at Kroger (Kamut flour! Nar! ) but it’s fantastic for people-watching, too. From the sincere young couple arguing over which brand of organic juice is cage-free and Fair-Trade to the grey-bearded Rastafarian singing quietly as he prices rice and the 2 kids bopping each other over the head with whole taro roots…crowded, but fun. Terry found a quiet spot by the bottles of Sherry to hang out while I braved the crowds in search of coconut flour and star anise. He had to check on work, anyway, and the Sherry aisle was the only one that was empty and quiet.
When we were finished there, we trekked down Ponce de Leon Street to Green’s Liquor Store, first getting caught in a traffic jam (THAT’S never happened on Ponce!) that turned out to be caused by some kind of run involving people in assorted costumes. While at Green’s, we bought a ginormous bottle of Irish Whiskey, due to a recently acquired recipe for Irish Cream…the homemade kind and it’s not just cream with whiskey in it. I’ll let you know how that turns out. I also purchased a bottle of Absolut Vanilla vodka, with the intention of making up something warm for Winter evenings. And so I did. On the way home we discussed possibilities. You see, I am fond of a hot buttered rum, but wanted something that wasn’t that, but still warm and dessert-ish. Here’s what we came up with. You’re welcome.
4 oz peach nectar
1/2 tablespoon butter (the real kind. Not margarine)
2-1/2 oz vanilla vodka
pinch of cinnamon
Put the peach nectar and butter in a mug, and heat it in the microwave for a minute or so, until it’s hot and the butter is melted. Add the vodka, stir, and top with a sprinkle of cinnamon.
I will, in the future, top with a dollop of whipped cream, but didn’t have any.
Like I said…you’re welcome.