SITIN SAM'S SPICE

Crown Royal and the Purple Bag – Epi. 8

Podcast

Podcast Summary:

“Anyway, I’ll Drink to That” is a Boozn Sam’s production, exploring the fun, quirky, and fascinating tales of drinks (Crown Royal in this episode) that define culture, history and the world. Every drink has a story to tell, and I’m going to tell it…as true as I can. Hosted by Sam, from Boozn Sam’s. Saddle up with a good cocktail and give me a few minutes of your time for a mystery surrounding a drink that changed the world.

Episode 8 Details:

Master Pieces from a Masterpiece

It started as a gift to the King and Queen of Britain. Royalty had never visited Canada so this was a big deal, and they needed a welcome befitting a King and Queen. They also needed that drink presented in a bay that would scream royalty. Samuel had his work cut out for him, but he did not disappoint.

Transcript of Podcast:

*This is the entire podcast episode in written form. Do not read if you want the audio version to be spoiled.

Jeffrey twisted the ends of his mustache and grinned. He knew all eyes were on him. And they should be. He’d pulled off something that took four years and incalculable hours to create. There he stood, with his masterpiece wrapped around him. He flicked up the hood and listened to the oohs and ahhs fill the room. A crowd pleaser. 

Now, at this year’s Halloween party he knew that the award for best costume was his. How could it not be? None of those cheap, made in china outfits. He didn’t have the…. Ummmm… advantage of other features which could help him gain the favor of the predominantly male voting crowd, which was in attendance. 

So, he thought grander. Go the extra mile. Or, in this case, kilometer. Over the border from Canada, shipped in by box in the dark of night in a bustling, jostling truck. Many boxes, actually. Spread over many years to avert suspicion to his work. He’d raise a glass to that, a glass that also was at his side every step of the journey. 

Through all the late nights and early mornings. The times when he was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go to bed. And those instances when his fingers hurt and he couldn’t see clearly from all the intense focus. 

Hour after hour. Day after day. Year after year. At the end of it all, when the days, 1460 of them to be precise, had been stacked one on top of the other, he’d built a tower worth all the attention now gathered.

In fact, this drink was with many others too as they undertook similar, but different journeys of creativity. Expressions of their personality. DW, after an incredible ten years, produced a queen size blanket. Every step of the way was this drink. The blanket was hand stitched, made with the bits of meticulously collected, unique fabric that couldn’t be replicated.

The less creative found more economical uses, as their father’s and mother’s sipped down this drink. Some carried around little hot wheels cars or school supplies. Others dolls and outfits. 

But, even before all of this, there was a drink, on a train car, in a case – 10 cases to be precise – that rolled through the Canadian countryside surrounded by some very important people. 

It was these very important people that inspired Samuel to also spend years on his own form of creative expression, like the others. So, Samuel, when he heard news of the arrival of these very important guests, who were making history by being the first ones to set foot here, refused to settle for anything less than perfection.

Of course, in matters of taste, that’s subjective. And one gentleman’s swill is another’s champagne. But, it was this search for perfection, as Samuel defined it, that took him on a journey through 600 variations of the drink until he settled on the taste that’s still around today. 

He had to get it right. 

And, instead of starting from scratch, he sought to not reinvent the wheel. The laws around what he was trying to do was lax enough. While in America, they were confined to rigid rules and regulations. Government laws prohibiting that and standardizing that. 

Here, Samuel had no issue. The laws were clear…mostly because there were no laws. He had a blank canvas with which to paint his masterpiece.

So, Samuel worked his way through tasting after tasting until he settled on that final concoction. Which, found its way into the soft hands of some very famous people. 

Who came over without a creative plan in mind, and, more so, a plan to see part of a kingdom.

And them and their entourage put back this drink by the case load while the landscape zipped by. 

This plan was ultimately different than Dain’s plan, who put his creative muscles to work in fashioning a light bulb contraption. 

Now, the cops would recognize this immediately, well, not at first, actually. 

For this light bulb was hidden next to some other goodies. But, it would be the storage container Dain used, a very distinct container known for this purpose, next to a butane lighter that arose the suspicions of the cops present. And with this container, was the drink, a smooth drink with hints of vanilla.

This drink was far from that town of Gimli, with deep viking roots that gave it its start. Far from that same coast, where a Russian immigrant, not viking, worked tirelessly to produce the drink. And then, in a stroke of marketing genius, added something unforgettable. 

Something that would be sewn together to form a wizard’s robe like Jeffrey’s. 

Or, laid out and stitched together to form a queen size bed cover.

Used as a carrying sack for young kid’s toys, dolls, and school supplies… a very unlikely use considering the packaging.  

And a notorious container for druggies to store their crack and light bulb meth pipes.

That started with much less utilitarian ambitions, and much more prestigious aims.

Mainly, Samuel Bronfman wanted to create a drink worthy of the King and Queen of the UK, who were visiting Canada for the first time.

And what a drink Crown Royal is. 

Blended from an amazing 50 different whiskies…

After an incredible 600 attempts.

When, the ambition looked too big, too impossible, the urgings of a Rabbi, Samuel’s Rabbi, 

Finally resulted in this drink enjoyed by nerds, parents, crackheads and royalty alike. 

Crown Royal.

And the unmistakable Crown Royal purple bag it comes in,

Which has found more uses than one could count

Elevating the bag to a level as high as the drink itself.

Which is something to be said for this Canadian blended whiskey, ehhh?

Anyway… I’ll drink to that.  

Prohibition and George Remus – Epi. 7

Podcast

Podcast Summary:

“Anyway, I’ll Drink to That” is a Boozn Sam’s production, exploring the fun, quirky, and fascinating tales of drinks (Prohibition in this episode) that define culture, history and the world. Every drink has a story to tell, and I’m going to tell it…as true as I can. Hosted by Sam, from Boozn Sam’s. Saddle up with a good cocktail and give me a few minutes of your time for a mystery surrounding a drink that changed the world.

Episode 7 Details:

The Tale of an Insane King

It was prohibition and George saw the world change forever. The ban on alcohol left an opportunity for George, who was a pharmacist. But, his pathway of legal alcohol production, would also put him in the crosshairs of greedy people who wanted to take his money and his companies.

Transcript of Podcast:

*This is the entire podcast episode in written form. Do not read if you want the audio version to be spoiled.

George watched his father with worried eyes. Although his father tried to hide the pain, George saw him wince when he bent down. George pulled his coat a little tighter around him as a strong wind blew off the lake. 

The cold likely wasn’t helping either. They thought it would be better than Milwaukee, Wisconsin but it was actually worse. Chicago was not the best city to live in with his condition. He wondered how fast things would worsen. The thought frightened him. 

The family had already been through enough. Shortly after they arrived in America his younger brother had been hit in the head with a freak accident and ended up in an insane asylum for a year until he died. That wasn’t that long ago either and the family was still reeling.    

“Kann ich Sie Helfen?” 

George grabbed the piece of wood from him. Even at the age of 14 he was a big boy. Round in many parts. Thick. An immigrant embracing all of his heritage, even if he shied away from flexing that pride as strongly as his father’s and the others.

“Ja, mein Junge.” Frank said in a gruff voice. “Ich liebe es, dass du Deutsch sprichst, aber wir müssen Englisch sprechen”

George nodded. That was fine by him. He preferred to speak English, anyway. 

Frank moved aside for George. That wasn’t a good sign. His dad was stubborn. A product of his heritage, no doubt. So, for him to just step aside meant he really wasn’t feeling well. 

And he wasn’t. 

In fact, shortly after that point, Frank would have to quit his job scoring lumber. His illness had gotten too bad. The intense pain in his joints and muscles made working impossible.

So, at the age of 14, George had no choice but to step up and support the family. For a young child surrounded by death and incurable illnesses, what could be more fitting than finding a way to help people.

He had a connection too. An uncle who ran a pharmacy. From 14 until 19 he worked under his uncle, learning the trade. At 19 he finally became a certified pharmacist. Life moved fast from there and George grabbed it by the scruff of the neck.

By age 21 he had bought his uncles pharmacy, expanded to a second location, and also got his optometrist certification. Beyond George’s ambition was a lifestyle that supported his success. 

He was a short, plump man who liked to indulge in the finer side of things. Fine food. Fine Art. Literature. And a hard pass on alcohol and tobacco. 

Now, I know it’s usually this point in the story where I’ve hinted at a drink. Dropped a nugget to wet your appetite about a tasty beverage tied to the story I’m telling.

But…the truth is…it’s tough to tie a drink to a man like George. He was too polished. Too motivated and focused. Which is why he wanted more out of life than just owning a bunch of pharmacies. He knew he could help people in other ways too. He wasn’t wrong either.   

His work in his uncle’s pharmacy had been out of necessity to support the family. He had refused to enter the trades and didn’t want to work with his hands. But, he was bored. So, he went to law school and completed a 3 year law degree program in 18 months.  

From there he opened up a law office in Chicago and, in his first year alone, defended 18 people who were accused of murder. Many of them were convicted and executed. This horrified George. Not that he’d lost the cases but that the guilty parties were summarily hung for their crimes. So much so that he even joined the anti-capital punishment society.  

14 long years later George made history. With a case that started like many of the prior ones. A client on trial for murder. A wealthy merchant from out of state charged with murdering his wife in a jealous rage. He had stabbed his wife over, and over, and over again. Then simply went to sleep. The crime was vicious, to say the least.

George was well read at this point and, in the depths of his mind, remembered an Austrian psychologist who wrote a book about a particular condition, a condition that George used as a defense for his client. Although his client was not let off the hook entirely, the wealthy merchant was found guilty and sentenced to 15 years, a win considering the brutality of the crime and how conflicted the jury had been on the verdict.

But, the aftermath would be even more important. For this claimed condition was the first time ever that a lawyer had used it. Yet, it would not be the last. Far from it. And before all was done with George, he would need to use a similar approach to save himself.

Eventually work took him away from family and into the lovely arms of a very young secretary. After a divorce from his first wife, he married Imogene and adopted her child Ruth. 

But, the ever bored George…grew bored again. And decided one final career change was in order. In this new venture he knew he could “clean up” and also help a lot of very desperate people along the way.

He combined all of his learned skills at this point and went around buying up facilities in the Midwest. At this time in America there were a lot of nefarious figures, and George was no such person. 

He was going to do good, with an eye toward justice. 

Still the road of good intentions was paved with struggles. Many of them. So many that he left behind Chicago’s overbearing regulations and laws and found a safe haven in Cincinnati. It was here that he put down roots and set up Drobbatz Chemical Company, a nod at his German heritage.

He purchased two additional drug wholesale companies and established the network he would rely on for the rest of his career. His medicine company exploded and within years George controlled the sale of all product in 9 states. 

Suffering people all over the midwest and east found respite with George’s help. He employed over 3,000 people in his Cincinnati office. And made, in today’s numbers, over $644 million per year in revenue.

This isn’t a story about a greedy capitalist. George enjoyed the opportunity to share his wealth with others. He threw extravagant parties where he gave party favors in true Great Gatsby style. All the attending women would receive cars or diamond earrings. The men, diamond sticks.

He donated to charities too. Many of them. 

But, the government, as is sometimes the way of the government, didn’t like George. Maybe he made too much money. Perhaps it was his medicine they disapproved of. Either way, they came after him. And hard. 

When they finally caught up with him, they sucker punched him hard. Maybe they just didn’t like the look of his round, pudgy face. 

When George stood up again, after two years of battling in courts, which took him all the way to the supreme court, he ended up in prison. But, in a wise move he gave power of attorney over to his wife Imogen before heading to prison. 

His assets at the time from his medicine operation were extensive. To name a few, and all in today’s prices:

• A home worth $12.8 million
• A factory worth $3.65 million
• And effective control of his $638 million dollar a year business
• Throw in a few blank checks for his expenses, defenses, etc, pre signed and totaling $2.75 million

Now, that’s what I call true love.

Except it wasn’t. 

For he revealed all of these details to his inmate when in prison…

Who turned out to be a planted federal agent put there to collect more dirt on George.

They wanted his money and knew he had a lot of it. So, they sent Franklin, a star in his own right, but a man seeking a very different end result than George. 

And he got it. 

When he took the information related to George’s hidden wealth and, instead of reporting it to the government so they could steal it, slept with George’s wife.

This torrid affair gave Franklin the leverage he needed to take George’s wealth, which was controlled by Imogen at the time. 

To further his own survival, Franklin began working lead on another case tied to George, one he hoped would put George away for a long time. 

Franklin and Imogene worked anyway and liquidated all of his assets. They sent him mere pennies, a slap in the face, for all of his hard work and effort, and kept the rest. The factory worth $3.65 million was liquidated in a fire sale for $1 million. They gave George $4,000 and split up the rest.

When he was finally released from prison he went home, only to find his house stripped bare. A blank slate. Everything sold.

His wife was gone too. With Franklin. 

Distraught. Penniless. His entire empire, years of toil and hard work invested, all gone, when one woman, incapable of ever creating her own fortune, took her good fortune and sacked up with a corrupt federal agent.

Of course for George, a now broken and empty man, with love and fortune, or the daughter he had adopted and now called his own, he tracked down his wife Imogen. They met at a park, where George, for the second time only in his life, fire a gun, that shot hot lead into Imogen’s abdomen. 

He left her there and walked away, calmly. 

Imogen died in the hospital hours later.

And George, once more, ended up inside of a courtroom.

Except this time he relied on a a defense that he had invented years ago when a wealthy merchant had killed his own wife. 

A plea still used today with great effect. Transitory Insanity. 

A plea of temporary insanity. 

And in his closing remarks, which lasted for over an hour and a half he laid out the life of a young boy who started out in life supporting his family making $5 a month and embraced the American Dream by building an empire selling medicine. 

He spoke out, as he had many times, against the unlawfulness of the actions of the United States and the illegality of the 18th amendment, and not the illegality of his actions.

He talked about Franklin, the product of a corrupt government.

And himself. Just a poor immigrant who became “King of the Bootleggers,” when he, very publicly and, through all the proper legal channels, challenged the 18th amendment’s right to prohibit the production and sale of alcohol by buying up distilleries throughout the midwest –

Including the famous Fleischmann’s Distillery that was fire sold by Franklin and his deceased wife

Part of the Jack Daniel’s Distillery

And many more

Where he would, with legal state approval, ship the already existing product on hand across the midwest and east for

Medicinal reasons

Which was sold to patients

Who had been prescribed alcohol by legitimate doctors 

And also illegally through an extensive bootlegging channel in the midwest.

He stood before the jury and proclaimed:

“I don’t think there is one scruple of liquor ever prescribed by physicians that is used absolutely for medicinal purposes. 

It is the greatest comedy, the greatest perversion of justice that I have ever known of in any civilized country in the world.” 

And, although the trial took over 5 weeks

His full acquittal and innocent verdict took only 19 minutes to make

And the boy who became a pharmacist,

Then turned into a lawyer,

Before finally seeing how the criminals he defended were making money hand over fist selling booze 

Went into the game himself, as legally as he could

And became a king

Before his wife’s betrayal and a government enforcing by greed, not virtue,

took it all away.

The most curious part of it all. George never drank. Not a drop in his entire life. 

Anyway, I’ll drink to that. 

Frank Sinatra and Jack Daniels – Epi. 6

Podcast

Podcast Summary:

“Anyway, I’ll Drink to That” is a Boozn Sam’s production, exploring the fun, quirky, and fascinating tales of drinks (Jack Daniels and Frank Sinatra in this episode) that define culture, history and the world. Every drink has a story to tell, and I’m going to tell it…as true as I can. Hosted by Sam, from Boozn Sam’s. Saddle up with a good cocktail and give me a few minutes of your time for a mystery surrounding a drink that changed the world.

Episode 6 Details:

One Chairman, Two Broken Countries, and Four Famous Words

The Chairman of the Board was drinking his nectar from the Gods and presenting, while the creator of the sweet nectar he sipped was long past dead. This nectar was a special nectar from a dry country in Tennessee. And the creator was a famous man. A distiller who learned his craft from a slave at the house of a rabbi.

Transcript of Podcast:

*This is the entire podcast episode in written form. Do not read if you want the audio version to be spoiled.

The Chairman of the Board looked at those around him and hefted the drink in his hand – three ice cubes, a two finger pour, and one splash of water. He met their gaze and they met his, waiting for his words.

“Ladies and Gentleman,” He said. “This is the nectar of the Gods.”

There was laughter. He’d broken the ice and set the tone for the night. While they were expecting a relaxed meeting, the nerves always strain a little before the first words are said. It was always that way. 

“I’ll take one.” Said the gentleman across from him, to a passing server.

“Me too.” Echoed another, between puffs of a cigarette.

With formalities out of the way the chairman of the board settled in, content with the start. He’d done this many times before. There was nothing to worry about. And the drink helped too. Lightened the mood. 

Jackie would be happy to hear it. After all, it was on that recommendation, when at a smokey bar in New York City Jackie said, “That’s a good place to start.”

It was. 

And also a neat place to end. 

But, tonight, many years later, things were just getting started. He had a full night planned for the people that had dragged themselves out of their homes after dark, dressed clean and professional, and showed up because he had asked them to. 

He had to make it worth their time. 

Years ago that might have worried him, but he’d been The Chairman of the Board for a long time now. He had this. 

And he did. 

For the next hour and half. With them gathered around him in an intimate setting, he shared his words with them. He sipped his two finger pour until nothing remained but melting ice. Then he ordered another round and started over again. 

Sweat gathered on this brow and glistened in the lights. He tugged at his collar. Adjusted his sport coat. And continued on. With a brief stop now and again for those gathered to collect themselves. After all, no one wanted to hear him drone on and on and on for hours.

He could do that, if he wanted to. That was not the question. He considered it, as he took a moment to pause and look into the bottom of another empty round of his famous drink. 

A drink created almost a hundred years ago, right after a period of great upheaval. The country was bleeding. Literally. Brothers lined up and filled each other with hot lead, only to have a man, at one of the deadliest battle sites in history, with the bodies still warm and decomposing beneath his feet, remark on the four score and seven year ago when they had started on this path.

Back then the world was a different place for Nathan. But, also for Jasper. It wasn’t until circumstance brought the two men together at the home of a third man, Dan, that the healing could begin. 

You see, the Unities States was nearing the end of a blood civil war that pitted deep idealogical ideas against each other. Resentments and emotion were deeply harbored by both sides, and would be long after the war. 

But, none of that mattered to the men gathered. Jasper, well it was easier for him, up until a certain point. But, Nathan, all of it was hard. And he was the one with the secret. A gift that could help Jasper. 

Which, day after day he shared with Jasper, trusting the man, and wanting the story, the history and culture to continue. 

Nathan had come a long way. Not as far as his ancestors. But, he’d been born at a time where iron and brutality and force were the law of the land, and, regardless of race and color, those laws are good for no one.

That’s why North battled South, idea against idea, translated into action, into death, bullets and cannons, death and loss, so that one nation could truly dedicate themselves to the proposition that all men are created equal and become one nation, indivisible by God. 

With the ground already consecrated, all the survivors could do was resolve that those dead did not die in vain. 

Here was a first step. A modest undertaking by many standards. That, a hundred years later would mark a monumental leap forward in people of different communities working together. 

But, at the time, it was simply Nathan and Jasper working together for a common goal, a goal that could bring two people together with a bottle between them, laughing and enjoying the company of one another, focused on the things that made the alike. Not the ways they were different. 

It was a risk for both. One fought convention and the other 89 years of slavery. That’s enough time to span generations. To embed patterns and habits, which are nothing more than thoughts, which may seem like nothing. 

But, represent everything when put into action.

When pulled from the satchel, in cold little balls, and jammed into the lonnnggg muzzles of rifles, 

aimed at the faces, 

which carried the eyes close enough to look back at you

While it was an idea that divided the country, it was also an idea that brought parts of it back together. 

Like it had here. When two people who should not have had a friendship, relied on each other to change the world, and show everyone that a new dawn was arising and together individuals could solidify the idea that a government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

They did so through an unlikely mechanism too. A drink. That brought people together. The same drink that made The Chairman of the Board’s job easier many years later. 

He knew all of these things already. He was a smart guy. The visits to the birthplace of the drink didn’t hurt either. 

There he’d learned the stories. 

Discovered the unique process and water that made gave this drink it’s special appeal.

It was that special taste the Chairman of the Board liked.

So, he kept on with his words. 

And those gathered kept on listening with rapt attention, hoping it would never end. For, they appreciated the escape from the mundane. The realization of the exceptional they all hoped the world would always contain, which did contain it right, here in this moment, with this chairman, and his drink. 

As he raised a glass to them, he continued.

“I’ve got you, deep in the heart of me 

So deep in my heart that you’re really a part of me.”

And he took a drink from stage as the room stared unblinking his direction.

They had a lot in common, Ol’ Blue Eyes, Nathan, and Jasper. They’d all come from nothing. And a drink brought them together. 

Perfect on the rocks.

Or as a shot, letting the liquid linger for a moment in your mouth to enjoy all the unique flavors, before swallowing it down.

It wasn’t for the faint of heart, of course. But, progress never is. Which is why it took Nathan, a slave, to take a chance and teach a white boy, Jasper, better known by a different name, at a reverend’s house a craft from the West Indies. A home tradition that would become an international legend.

A distillation process that involved removing impurities from a spirit through the use of charcoal. That left behind a mellow, brown whiskey known after the name of the man who started the distillery down south, in Tennessee. 

Jasper Daniels

Better know as Jack Daniels.

Cassis Orange and Parasite Children – Epi. 5

Podcast

Podcast Summary:

“Anyway, I’ll Drink to That” is a Boozn Sam’s production, exploring the fun, quirky, and fascinating tales of drinks (Cassis Orange in this episode) that define culture, history and the world. Every drink has a story to tell, and I’m going to tell it…as true as I can. Hosted by Sam, from Boozn Sam’s. Saddle up with a good cocktail and give me a few minutes of your time for a mystery surrounding a drink that changed the world.

Episode 5 Details:

An Easy, Squeezy Night Out

Parasite children are unmarried, employed, adult children that live with their parents to save on expenses. In Japan they put a huge stress on many parents who have not planned to cover the living expenses of their adult kids and often need to go back to work just to make ends meet. This is their story and the story of the popular drink, The Cassis Orange, that embodies everything parasite children stand for.

Transcript of Podcast:

*This is the entire podcast episode in written form. Do not read if you want the audio version to be spoiled.

The bartender looked at her and pointed at the empty glass. Ema giggled, turned to her girlfriends, and raised an eyebrow. It was time to decide. Should we stay or go? The girls looked at each other and shrugged. What else did they have to do tomorrow? And this place was as good as any. 

The lights were dimmed and created an atmosphere that enhanced their faces. Music, the popular plays of the month, thrummed on in the background loud enough to hear but not so loud that they couldn’t hear each other talk. And the bartender was cute. Ema looked back at the bartender, nodded and giggled once more.

The rest of the girls followed suit too. One more round. Why not? Just like the last. They go down fast after all.

Which, was a recipe that matched most of their lives. Life in the fast line filled with the latest fashionables from the luxury brands that had popped up in surprising numbers over the last decade. A decade ago she wouldn’t have been able to afford the Gucci bags either. But, her career had blossomed and, like so many others her age, late 30s, she’d succeed in offsetting one of the biggest expenses most people face – a housing expense.

No mortgage. No silly repairs and maintenance. Appliance costs were zero. Yet, she wasn’t renting either! She’d found a savvy solution. The money saved she pumped back into the economy via fancy bars and restaurants like this and portable arm candy in fashionable designs like the bag she carried tonight. I mean…why not? She was young. Live a little!

The stressors of homeownership were for the birds…or, more precisely her parents, who she coincidentally lived with in order to avoid those big life expenses. Who could blame her really? The economy was in shambles, bankrupt by prior generations. Owning a house was expensive, not to mention limiting, and so much work.

Ema was not alone. Of the five friends, including her, that were at the cocktail bar tonight, two of them lived at home and four of the five of them were single and didn’t want to ever have kids. She wasn’t sure, but she felt that, that number was pretty accurate.

Come to think of it, it had to be. She knew wayyyy more people who were without kids at her age than with them. She shrugged as another round of the colorful, tasty drink arrived. Oh well, she thought, it doesn’t matter.

Of course, her father Ken would likely disagree. Although Ema didn’t know it, he’d even referred to her as a Parasite Single. He hadn’t come up with it. It was something he read in the newspaper, an interview with some writer who remarked on the incredible trend of young men and women moving back in with their parents and draining them of their welfare checks and hard earned savings. 

It wasn’t that they couldn’t afford to live on their own either. They could. They were college educated and had great paying jobs. Affording rent or a house was not an issue. Well, not an issue if you didn’t want to buy a sports car or designer clothes. It was a shrewd move, of course. Save on household expenses to spend more on entertainment and luxury.

For Ken, he hoped that Ema would figure it out. While he appreciated having her around in her twenties he always thought she’d find a man and get married. Instead she spent most of her time with her girlfriends, drinking at the bar…what was that drink they liked so much again? 

He could never remember. All he knew was that it was ironic. It tasted like anything but alcohol, an easy sipping drink, as casual as the lives they lived.

The drink was rooted in a sweet, dark red liqueur. A very specific fruit was crushed and soaked in alcohol. The irony is that this liqueur came from a country with high standards for drink. It was a lowbrow drink, the poor person’s swill used to aromatize and soften cheaper wine. 

This modern version came about in the 1840s, but an altered version of the drink existed before that. It just didn’t exist to sweeten sub par wine. 

And if someone had told you that a hundred and fifty years later it would be used to create a simple 2 ingredient craft cocktail that sold for double digits to young kids with enough disposable income to spend their nights, most nights, eating out at fancy restaurants and paying for meals and drinks from plastic cards stuffed into designer handbags, they would have laughed at that too.

But, here we are. Ema in a bar, sipping on the cold, tasty drink that entirely masked the taste of alcohol. A parasite single, as defined by her country, but feeling more duped than anything. Go to college, they said. Get a job, they said. Be strong, independent, and female, they said. 

You don’t need marriage.

Or a man. 

Cheers to that. 

With an orange drink that softened the cloying burn of hundreds of years of history with an easy escape. After all, this is the easy age. The buy what you want age. 

Who could be bothered to pay for such things as houses and furnaces.

Just the thought of it seemed repulsive. Especially when, Ken would foot the bill. 

But, Ken didn’t like to foot the bill. In fact, he wanted nothing more than his little girl to get out of the house and find a good man. So, he did what any concerned parent would do. 

He went to dating conventions. Put on by matchmakers, and packed into hotel convention centers, Ken talked to other parents…who had a similar problem as his….a parasite single that wouldn’t find a new host to suck on. 

After all, for generations and generations there had always been a pattern. Grow up. Find a significant other. Get married. Settle down. And move on with your life.

But, for men and women alike, this wasn’t the case anymore. So concerned, and annoyed, parents like Ken went to dating conventions to find out how they could set their single kids up with each other and get them out of the house once and for all.

Was it so bad to want their kids to experience the joys of loving and committing to another human instead of a sports car? 

Where was the harm in that?

Ken didn’t know. But, he didn’t know he was part of that 20% category that wanted to enjoy his golden years but instead found himself financially support a grown ass child that had become so disillusioned and disconnected with reality that she was incapable of being a fully functioning adult.

Was society at fault? Driven by media and culture, did the quest for pelf create an entire generation, or two, of maladjusted kids who didn’t know how to function in society?

Had the government bankrupt their futures in exchange for their own through policies that hindered, handicapped, and didn’t give a fair shake?

Or, was this just another generation that had its own problems, like every other generation. But, instead of dealing with the problems of the day, this generation turned to a tall cocktail glass filled with squirt of orange juice and a French liqueur, an easy going drink that didn’t even taste like alcohol.

You could put them back, one after the other, and barely taste a thing. Then stumble home and key open the door to mommy and daddy’s house, where you could drop into bed and wake up the next day to do it all over again.

Parasite Singles.

A problem that has led to this country earning a spot at number 212 in a list of 227 for country birth rates.

A birth rate of 1.37.

Far below the 2.1 number needed for a country to maintain its population. 

Below even the point of no return. 1.6.

Get below that number and a civilization will continue declining until it goes the way of the woolly mammoth, or the caveman….

A well dressed caveman with a Prada purse and Nissan supra, to be more precise.

And that’s why people are worried about Parasite Singles in Japan and the generation that would rather spend it’s money on the 

Cassis Orange Cocktail

Instead of a house.

One, is a sign of stability and a future. 

The other, is 5 ounces of orange juice mixed with 2 ounces of that blackcurrant liqueur Creme De Cassis from Burgundy, France and the future.

For parents like Ken it’s a reality he faces daily.

For kids like Ema, it’s reality unfaced daily.

Anyway…I’ll Drink To That.