Romeo & Julieta Belicosos – Foursquare Rum 2004
One of those days. Never rains… One thing after another.
I'm woken up by, of all things, a whopping great haemorrhoid. Yes, I said it. Not like I chose to inflict that particular joy on myself and I am sure I am not the first among us to be blessed in that manner. First one I have had for about a decade, so I really shouldn’t complain, but when it feels like someone parked the Queen Mary between the cheeks, I must say I am not feeling very charitable to the world.
Hobble, bow-legged, to the computer for the morning emails. Two of my very best, longest (known them both for more than forty years) mates and I have all shared very similar political views (no, I am not going to break the rules) for decades. I believe I have not changed, just that the world has shifted, and not for the better (but I suppose people have been saying that for centuries). The events of the last few years have caused me to reflect and perhaps adjust in certain ways that I would not have anticipated. It has caused my two mates to become ever more rigid and unflinching in theirs (and before anyone makes assumptions, this could be read about any country or government and movements in any direction).
Anyway, both have sent emails to me extolling the imbecility of their positions (they are not on the forum so I can say that – I have said it to them many times), though they might characterise their early morning emails as shedding light, not idiocy, and of the alleged wisdom of certain individuals whom they think do or may make the world a better place. Fat chance! They got the responses they deserved. So we had the usual sort of email exchange, which benefits no one and changes no opinions. But we are mates, so at least we can get away with it.
Yoghurt. I have been making my own. The first three or four batches were brilliant. Seriously, the nicest yoghurt I have ever enjoyed. But I am out of the original starter thingee I used and I have not been able to find anything that I can get to work near as well. And I have spent a stupid amount of money on “sure things”. I’d have been better ripping up the notes in the shower. So, I have a big saucepan of wonky warm milk in the oven. Not happy. It will be turned into ricotta (if I can get that to work), if it does not behave – if I may intrude with a later note. It did not behave. At all.
With the Queen Mary showing no signs of moving on to distant ports, I was in no mood for any further issues or problems for the day.
The gods had other plans. Next thing, I get calls – the silent alarms at my 88-year-old mother’s place have gone off. She lives with my sister but they are both as batty as each other, so I race over. Seems they are at the shops and the dog, locked inside, has set something off. My sister insists that the precious dog – it is a great dog, a springer spaniel, but is a bouncing, never-ending car wreck which should be named Mr Magoo – was not to blame and that it must have been a breeze which moved curtains that set off the alarm, despite there being no breeze. Seriously? Occam’s Razor? A mad dog locked inside the house or a curtain? Which is more likely to set off an alarm?
The car trip across has made the bundle of joy burrowing deeper and deeper into my bum feel like borer worms dipped in acid.
Get back and click onto the forum and find a post that didn’t excite me so I teed off on the poor member, who I am sure meant no harm (if I had posted my first intended response, I'd have been suspended again, this time for a decade, but fortunately I at least had the sense not to do that). Our friend magnanimously apologised (I suspect it should have been me doing the apologising). It was just bad timing and all good now. But finding the post was the cherry on the top of a particularly fetid sundae.
Then I find out that I am having a bloke from a delivery service investigated for stolen wine when there now seems to be an ever-so-small possibility that he may not have committed this particular crime.
A well-known winery kept chasing me to see what I thought of their samples. I had to confess that I could not find them. They may have been virus-delayed or more likely just lost in the giant morass of garage-crap. But this particular delivery bloke had taken a much greater interest in other samples which had arrived than was healthy and kept asking if I ever gave any away (seriously? You are a complete stranger and I get sent this stuff for work, not to give to dodgy looking blokes who are about a week overdue for their next bath). I spoke to a mate who works at the same place and he knew him immediately. Extremely dodgy, I was assured. Has had to be moved on several times for theft (but not sacked because his wife is a manager there – how encouraging). My mate assures me that this guy would steal the milk from your coffee and promptly puts in a report to the head of the company about this (thankfully, my name was not mentioned).
So, just to prove the divinities have a sense of humour, and exquisite timing, an email of apology arrives from the winery today. Seems that there was some form of clerical error and the samples never left their premises. Special!
If you don’t need a cigar after all that, when do you? Meanwhile, the Queen Mary seems to have caught on fire.
Oh, who the hell did I hurt? I must have dropped the mirror I was carrying when I tripped over the black cat while under the ladder. Tapping away at this when I smell something and sure enough, the big saucepan of wonky milk/failed yoghurt/would be ricotta has boiled up and all over the kitchen. It is not my day.
I'm writing this before I even decide on a cigar for tonight and for this Kenfessions. When I do, what are the odds it is seriously plugged?
I plan on having it while watching the last couple of episodes of ‘Game of Thrones’, which is appropriate as it feels like I am sitting on the Iron Throne. That, or Tyrian Lannister is testing setting off casks of wildfire deep within. At the moment, this is a song of fire with precious little ice.
But wait, as they say in the classics, there’s more. Been trying to at least not waste half a cow of milk so trying this ricotta lark. Didn’t expect wonders but I thought I would at least get something. Bupkis. Nada. Eventually, I worked out I was using salt instead of citric acid – well, they look identical. So now I have boiled it all up again and used citric acid and it is sort of working. But to be fair, this might be the most appallingly treated lump of dairy since the Kraft people invented cheez whiz.
Did I mention the odds of the cigar being plugged? I chose the Romeo & Julieta Belicosos, which I believe to have been young, but do not have the code. And to match it, a rum I know is a superstar, the Foursquare Rum 2004.
After a few puffs, I was wishing the cigar was plugged. It was pale in colour and with a good draw. There were a few hints of nuts and toast but they were gone in the proverbial, or perhaps more accurately, literal puff of smoke. It very quickly became bitter and metallic. Thoroughly unpleasant. But today, as the worms burrowed ever deeper, par for the course.
Fortunately, things began to turn after an inch or so. Some almond notes crept in, and after a further inch or so (I did persist, though I was wondering why), a lovely creamy note emerged. Spices. The cigar settled down to a mid-strength level, which it largely maintained. Reasonable balance. A pleasant enough cigar, the cream very much the highlight. Sadly, the cream did dissipate a little quicker than one might have wished. The last third became much more muted and a little muddled and it became quite hot towards the finish (a function of youth).
It was disappointing because one felt, for most of it, that this cigar verged on the very good to even better but always kept falling just short. Never reached the heights to which it aspired. I have to wonder whether others from the same box (I only had a single so I can’t answer this) might make the step up? For me, a very generous 88. If not for that short period of gorgeous cream, would not have cracked 80.
The GOT series, whether or not one hated the finale, deserved far better. The Watch is Over. Mind you, for all those who were unhappy with Cersei dying in the cascade of rocks, may I suggest that I know how she felt. She died from a pile. I am feeling that is my fate. If it came down to facing an angry giant fire-breathing dragon or this haemorrhoid, the choice is easy. Bring on the overgrown lizard.
The rum, however, was a star. Peaches, mango, tropical notes. Finely balanced. Very complex and with great length. A brilliant spirit. Elegance here. For me, this really is first class. Loved it. And for that short period when the cigar exhibited that lovely cream, the peaches and tropical notes worked magically with it. Sadly, for the rest of the time, even this great rum could not save the cigar.
But I can imagine Ned Stark raising a glass of this and toasting to a severe case of piles for Joffrey.
KBG
