My parents ran a country pub and one of my first jobs, every morning before school, was to take the two huge baskets of empty "little bottles" into the cellar and sort them into their respective crates to go back to the brewery. The baskets were lined with plastic bags and if you can imagine the smell of a mixture of the dregs from all of last night's mixers and fruit juices, that's the sensory memory that has come flooding back.
Took me years to stop hating anyone who ordered a Bloody Mary.
Brilliantly put. The nostalgia of taste bringing you back instantly to a moment in time is a beaut. Would that explain why certain cocktail geeks are after old bottles of Gordon’s and others?
Ah, "the little bottles".
My parents ran a country pub and one of my first jobs, every morning before school, was to take the two huge baskets of empty "little bottles" into the cellar and sort them into their respective crates to go back to the brewery. The baskets were lined with plastic bags and if you can imagine the smell of a mixture of the dregs from all of last night's mixers and fruit juices, that's the sensory memory that has come flooding back.
Took me years to stop hating anyone who ordered a Bloody Mary.
Brilliantly put. The nostalgia of taste bringing you back instantly to a moment in time is a beaut. Would that explain why certain cocktail geeks are after old bottles of Gordon’s and others?
Lifting the gassy lid...a pleasure like the fot of a new tube of tennis balls. I do love a ginger ale