By Spencer Ackerman
See this bottle? This is the face of pure Southeastern European pain.
Mandy had some people over to grill yesterday. One of her co-workers, a gregarious fellow of Serbian origins, brought along a traditional tipple. Shots were poured and offered to your grillmaster. Ah, I figured. It’s brandy. Brandy’s more wine than liquor, yeah? What’s to be afraid of?
Hours later, the shot glasses were abandoned and the bottle was instead passed around. I’ve never tasted a brandy before, but I’d be surprised if all brandies are as cloying or as rubbing-alcohol powerful as this. Every glug caused pain. Not since I was a juvenile delinquent drinking King Cobra with members of my band can I recall being this affected by a drink. This morning I saw that under the influence of Slivovitz I blogged something that I cannot recall writing.