Sipping

I have no idea what started the conversation.  It was one of many chats I had with my Dad, where he felt comfortable enough with his children to talk about whatever was on his mind—and, even though I was probably 15 at the time, the topic that day was Scotch.

“It’s the darndest thing.  I’ve been looking for a good-tasting Scotch, and there just don’t seem to be any around.  I’ve been going to different bars and restaurants, and order a Scotch that’s higher up on the pricelist, and the same thing happens every time—it tastes like nothing.  I don’t get it.”

It wasn’t too much later that part two of this conversation occurred. “You know what somebody finally told me?  Good Scotch is supposed to be smooth, and not really offer that much of a taste.  That’s why people pay so much for smooth Scotch—but why spend so much money on something that has no taste?  I’m going back to the cheap stuff.”

I haven’t had an alcohol- based drink since college, but I had a similar revelation.  For the longest time, I gulped whatever I drank, thinking the more I took in, the better it tasted.  I wasn’t as talented as the famous construction workers in the Coke ad, but they were my mentors—the faster, the better.

That changed about three years ago, when, for a number of reasons, taking in less liquid seemed like a good idea.  As is the case with change, my head agreed way before my heart did.  I was thirsty all the time, and tried to justify why just a little more liquid in any given day was a good idea. I even drove through a McDonald’s and ordered a- gasp!- medium Sprite.  McDonald’s Sprite is known throughout the world as the bubbliest Sprite In. The. Cosmos, so I was really looking forward to this.

It was gone in two sips, and I was still waiting for the famous McDonald’s Sprite bubble rush.   

Things got better.  I started chewing ice, knowing the volume of water once it melted would be less than a glass of juice (and let me tell you, if you’re looking for cold, a mouthful of crunched ice is really something).  That led to Popsicles, which is the same story—more volume, less liquid.  Of course, eating a box a day puts a dent in the long-term goal, but it was still progress.

The real epiphany came with cider season.  Michigan is really an agricultural state, and, if it weren’t for Henry Ford, we’d all be farmers, or somewhere else.  This has led to a number of seasonal gastronomical experiences in Michigan, including a plethora of cider mills that open around Labor Day and close by Thanksgiving.

The one near us has, in my obviously unbiased opinion, the best cider around.  It’s outrageously priced, but once a sip of that cider goes down, you wait for the hang time to pass, and the sweetest taste in the world is yours to enjoy.

But that’s the thing—you only taste the sweetness with the last sip.  If you’re too busy guzzling it, you may get your throat cold and your thirst quenched.  But the real secret—the true gold of the experience—is sipping the cider.  It’s a sweeter experience.

My Dad and I learned the same lesson—ignore conventional wisdom, and look for your own sweet spot.  It may not be where you first look, but take your time–once you find it, you have a sense of right that just can’t be beat.

For Lily

The beauty begins anew
With a simple toss
And memories of how
The snow has fallen before.
There is so much
To a globe
With defined parts.

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