Galliano with a Twist of Lime

My dad and I had a ritual.  After little August was painfully put to bed and the the day was nearing it's end, I would creep out of his room and head down into my dad's cave, known to most others as the basement.  There behind the bar she waited.  

In truth, she would be seducing me long before I reached that basement.  As I read the bedtime stories and sang the lullabyes she would call to me.  I would like to say I was completely invested in my son's bedtime routine, but it would be a lie.  I couldn't wait until the milk bottle was emptied and the storybooks had been retired.  Her long, slender neck flirted with my lack of inhibitions as did her sensual perfume, a unique mixture of anise, cinnamon and vanilla.  I was tired, sad and weak and she took advantage.

Sometimes my dad would already be behind the bar when I arrived.  He would have two smart looking glasses laid out before her.  They too sat there eagerly waiting.  The ice-cubes would drop in one by one as the glasses clinked with approval.  And then he would open the bottle.  Her intoxicating scent would hit me first, a stunning combination of anise and vanilla.  Then he would pour. The beautiful, golden liquor would cascade over the ice, crackling the cubes as it filled the glass.  Next, the lime was cut and squeezed generously before stirring.  When the lime was exhausted, its carcass was tossed in for extra flavor.  Bits of its flesh would float off the rind, giving her more texture and body. She looked divine in the bottle, but even more so dressed in the glass.

And so the first sip commenced.  It was smooth, sweet and complex.  She had so many layers of spices and herbs, all balanced with the comforting flavor of vanilla.  And if your sip happened to include some bits of the lime, the burst of citrus would elevate all the flavors to another level.  I was in love.

 We sat together with new love and lost love and we commiserated in both.  This was the time of day when my mom and dad would curl up in front of the big screen and unwind  together.  Now I was there.....I was both a comforter and an intruder.  It was nice to have those glasses when we felt lonely together or confused or angry or frustrated or........

I liked the sound of the ice jingling against the glass as we sloshed her around for the next swig.  It was a good sound. Comforting.  Then I would sip again and as I swallowed warmth would radiate out from my middle to all my extremities.  At the same time, I could feel her enemy retreating.  Tension would release with every jingle and every sip.

And so we jingled and sipped and fed our brains t.v. candy and as we did we would talk about Her. Mom.  Dad would interject here and there with a memory, a feeling, a fear.  I would respond or elaborate or just listen.  Sometimes he would call me mom or Mich or hon and then apologize for the mistake.  He didn't need to.  It made me feel more like the comforter than the intruder.

So don't let anyone tell you that Galliano is an old man's drink.  It isn't.  It is a drink for fathers and daughters to heal and for couples who have weathered 40 years of marriage to celebrate.  When I looked up more about how the liquor is made, Wikipedia had this to say, "Galliano is marketed as an "ideal marrying ingredient", which adds no intrusive flavor, but serves to deepen and give character to other ingredients, both ordinary and exotic."

Perhaps this was the secret to my parent's successful union.  Maybe this was the "ideal marrying ingredient".  I don't know, but I am raising a glass of Galliano with a twist of lime to my parents tonight.

Cheers.