Podcast
Podcast Summary:
“Anyway, I’ll Drink to That” is a Boozn Sam’s production, exploring the fun, quirky, and fascinating tales of drinks (a special independence day episode this week) 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 30 Notes:
It was a time without a standard. A time where everything was questioned, because everything should be questioned. And a time in history, about a very tragic and important moment of firsts, that we should never forget. This episode is a special Independence Day edition.
Transcript of Podcast:
The wind whipped through the mountains on the western frontier, but that didn’t stop James from going out today. He had a deal to make and they were expecting him. He just wished he would have dressed warmer. James pulled his coat a little closer around him and waited.
They arrived a few minutes later, a group of them. More than he expected for a transaction like this. But, as long as they had what he needed, it didn’t matter.
“Do you got it?” He yelled to them. James’ eyes went to the group gathered in front of him. His hand rested on his pistol, but he didn’t think things would come to that.
They were a rough sort. Dirty, with threadbare clothes. Wearing hats and nervous faces. One of them, apparently the leader of the group, nodded and flicked his eyes to the side. Another one, this one a boy, opened a thick, burlap sack and showed James the contents. There were beets still covered in dried, fresh dirt with their leafy green heads still attached. Cucumbers too. They were all sitting on top of green beans, which was what most of the sack contained.
James let out a low whistle. It was perfect. You see, James was a grain farmer and he usually just traded for the other vegetables he needed. That was how they did things out West. They were all there because they preferred shopping local. They preferred organic. They were helping each other out as best they could, because they all lived the same ideals. Self sufficiency on their western farms. Trying to outrun the sprawling cities and get back to nature. James and his family would can up most of what was in the sack and their dream of living off the land and not having to rely on the city life could survive for another year.
“Give me a minute.” He retreated. When he returned he was carrying payment. “The amount you asked for.” He handed it over and the leader let a smile cross his face. “That’ll do perfect.”
“And thanks for making the trip here. I could have met you somewhere closer.” James offered.
The leader simply shrugged and gave a dismissive wave. “It’s no problem. We have a few other stops today.”
Then they all said their goodbyes and went on their ways. James returned to his home, which was not too far away from where he’d paid the group of men for their vegetables. His wife would be happy. It was early July and the weather was hot. The growing season wasn’t completed for many crops yet. But, having the insurance of early yields put everyone’s mind at ease. Life was hard on the western frontier, after all.
Far away from the frontier, men were arguing with each other over the fate of the country. Andrew was one of these men. He had a clear direction too. Guiding principles that he so firmly believed in he was willing to die for them. Lucky for Andrew, all he had to do was sell those ideas in the great halls of Congress. Which he did. Because, although he was proposing something that had never been done before, he was proposing something that would only affect the rich.
For many in Congress it was considered a luxury tax, and the rich could afford to pay it. The rich would barely notice. After all, wasn’t it for the good of the country that so many over the years had laid down their lives?
Wasn’t the expectation that all should do their part to ensure the success of America? And shouldn’t everyone pay their fair share?
America’s in a debt crises. The debt needed to be kept in check. The debt needed to be paid down. We must make good on our obligations. That was the argument Andrew made. And his solution was taxing products manufactured in the US.
While the bill did come under some fire it was passed readily. Many clung to the concept of a luxury tax and argued or soothed their consciouses by saying that it would hurt those who would feel it less.
It was several weeks later, in mid July when James learned of this tax. He was on the western frontier, after all, far from the bustling cities and word traveled a little slower out there. He learned of it when the tax collectors showed up with their federal agents welding rifles and demanding their money. After all, it was a federally mandated tax. All had to pay it. And James, would have to pay it or face fines and prison.
But, James didn’t want to pay it. James would pay for many things. Take his vegetables from the neighboring farm, for instance. He had no problem paying for that. But, to pay a tax like this, James would not do.
The year was 1794 and the American Revolution had ended a little over a decade ago. The wounds were still fresh. Too fresh for James, who remembered fighting along side President George Washington.
At that time, they were fighting for freedom from an oppressor. They were fighting to escape taxation. That was the dream they believed in. That was the dream they all earned with the blood they spilled and the nightmares that haunted them of soldiers screaming and dying. Limbs exploding from cannon fire. Hot led sizzling skin and sending an unruly stench into the air that he could never forget.
No, James would pay for many things, but he would not pay for this. He could not afford to. He was a survivor on the western fringe of the United States of America. He was not one of those rich that congress said they were taxing. He, was not part of the luxury. This, was his livelihood and so the tax hit him harder.
He wasn’t the only one either, and reports of the tarring and feathering of tax collectors began to surface. The farmers were angry. They had spoken. The poor, who were tilling up the land and trying to make a living as best they could, would not pay this tax because they had not been consulted about paying this tax…. And they could not afford it.
Alexander Hamilton thought different though, and he said so to President George Washington when he asked. There was no way they could continue to pay off their debts without more income. They needed more money and this was, what seemed like, the easiest way to balance the scales.
The fight for freedom had cost more than just lives. They’d paid in coin as well as blood. And they’d borrowed from allies around the world that wanted to see if this new nation, dedicated to the idea that all men are created equal, could survive it’s experiment and become what it set out to be.
But, it was encountering its first hurdle. They broke free to escape taxation and now they were bringing taxation back. Wasn’t this just another tyrant under a different name?
What made these men, who now endeavored to levy taxes upon their fellow man any better or more righteous of such a levy than the King of England? President George Washington wrested with this and he relied on his secretary of state Alexander Hamilton to help him work through these things.
Because, you see, this problem was one that encompassed the moral character of the country. Who did the country want to become if it would stand for freedom and independence for all? What shape, form and size would a government like that need to take?
The thing about decisions is that once you make the first one a natural progression down a certain path begins to happen. It’s much more difficult to pull yourself out of that pathway too and start over. It requires twice as much energy. So, while making the decision may be as easy as saying yes, living with the consequences of that decision is lasting.
This was the situation that the first wards of our country found themselves in. They had no road map and no direction, beyond their confidence and trust in each other and their own moral character. They had to believe that their intentions were true, that their actions were right.
So, when word of the uprisings on the western frontier was received by President George Washington he began to question his decision to support the tax. Had he made the right decision? Were their unintended consequences and people he never meant to suffer, now suffering because he was making decisions from thousands of miles away with a disregard for those struggling to survive.
If only we could have such noble leaders today. Leaders that are guided by their moral character and not the game of politics. Leaders who desire to do good and right and not make a career out of getting fat on the teat of the taxpayer. If only, we, in our time, would be so lucky to be guided to people of passion, not people of greed, despite whether we agree with them on principles or not.
The soul of America was fought for in the American Revolution. While there were many civil wars and many wars that fought for freedom, none before, or since have done so with such focus on the hope alone. For, America was nothing more than an idea, an undeveloped land of opportunity that could be shaped into anything.
It was people like James who were shaping it, which is why James felt the need to once more take up his gun and defend against tyranny, this time an internal one.
It was July 17, 1794 and James had his militia surrounding the home of General Neville. He saw the white flag fluttering and believed that the general wanted to discuss terms. After all, there was no way he alone was going to survive against the farmer raised militia that the people of the western frontier had raised in rebellion against the luxury tax.
Only, his eyes deceived him. There was no white flag. And instead Major James McFarlane was shot and killed by someone from inside the house. His dream of homesteading on the western frontier would die with him. He’d survived the revolution, only to be taken by his own countrymen, men that he fought so hard to free.
Months later President George Washington would try to negotiate with the disgruntled, poor farmers, who were expanding Westward and laying the groundwork for what is to become modern day America. The talks failed and, the president raised a militia of 13,000 troops and marched on the rebellion.
By the time they arrived the 5,000 rebels had disbanded and only 150 were arrested. Two were convicted of treason, but over the next few years they would both be pardoned.
The new taxation act, signed by Congress, and assumed to be a minor tax that would only inconvenience the rich would be forced down onto the farmers and their lives would change.
It was the first time that the United States of America had raised an army and marched on its own people to enforce a law. But, we all know it wasn’t, nor will it, be the last.
The old powers of the world no doubt snickered behind their closed doors, glad to see those 13 colonies struggling and failing to control their people without force of death. And I’m sure for some there were even “I told you so’s.”
That wasn’t the only first though. Up until this point, in the relatively brief history of the United States of America, a tax had never been brought forth against its people. While they did tax goods entering the United States, no goods or sales were taxed in the United States.
It took less than 15 years for this new country to break its word and start taxing its people once again.
But, that wasn’t the only other first, either.
You see, the reason James was so upset that he was willing to die for his principles versus pay the tax, was that the tax was on Whiskey.
Yes, the first internal tax in the United States of America was on Whiskey. And while it was a luxury item for many of the wealthy in the cities, out on the Western Frontier,
Which at this time was Western Pennsylvania,
Whiskey was a currency.
Grain farmers could store their product for longer by converting it to Whiskey form.
They could also transport it easier.
So, frontier farmers, because they were poor, often traded whiskey as a form of currency, instead of gold and silver coins.
The tax wasn’t just a tax on a vice, a drink, it was a tax on their currency, which meant it was a tax on their very livelihood. And for someone already risking their life on the frontier of America, this was an insult.
Independence Day
As we near July 4th, I think this story was an especially important one to tell.
We tend to get so caught up in the drinking and sunshine and fireworks of the holiday that we forget the tough decisions that our country once wrestled with. We forget that our country was once noble and filled with people who wanted to serve with morality and a sense of pride in what they do, even if they got it wrong from time to time.
And this story is an important reminder that a government can turn against its people, and will, when the will of the government is different from the will of the people. So, with that, I’ll leave you with the inscription written on Major James McFarlane’s gravestone:
Here lies the body of Captain James McFarlane of Washington, PA. He departed this life July 17, 1794 aged 43. He served through the war with undaunted courage in defense of American independence against the lawless and despotic encroachments of Great Britain. He fell at last by the hands of an unprincipled villain in support of what he supposed to be the rights of his country, much lamented by a numerous and respectable circle of acquaintances.
May you, especially now, remember what the rights of your country are. Happy Independence Day and a thank you to all those that live with principle and honor. We remember you always.
Anyway… I’ll drink to that.
Podcast, Sangria
Podcast Summary:
“Anyway, I’ll Drink to That” is a Boozn Sam’s production, exploring the fun, quirky, and fascinating tales of drinks (homemade sangria 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 29 Notes:
The traveling Hank went around the world, only to find a secret summer treasure, in a remote place, an old man, and an island that had many secrets to share, including homemade sangria.
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 water is blue today. A Hardware store $20 tarp blue color. And the only difference between the tarp and what moves before Hank is the diamonds shimmering across the surface as the wind ripples the water, which reflects the sun. Below his feet the sand is hot and he had to turn his feet on their edges to protect the soles from scalding. The sand is a fine silt and feels soft. Behind him, there is the tink, tink, tink of the cooling four wheeler engine.
He’s dusty from zipping down dry roads on the island and speeding past hand built, stone stacked walls with reckless joy. The land was partitioned off by these simple stone walls, which were formed by men who had stacked blocks of stone on top of each other. They weren’t high, maybe knee height in some places to waist-high in others, but they served their purpose whether that was to keep animals in or mark off territory.
Hank zipped by them all. He liked to punch the throttle and hear the engine whine. See the trail of dust leap into the air and form a thin line like crop-dusters dusting fields of corn. This reckless abandon led Hank many places. It took him to a marble quarry where precious, famous marble is mined. It’s the same type of marble that was used in the statues throughout Athens. Or, in the temples and ancient ruins of that city.
There are other wonders on the islands too. The butterfly house with native flowers and butterflies that smells like lavender and crisp, tree fruit. Hank was moving slow and quiet through the house, letting the butterflies circle around him and brush against his skin. Then dash away to the safety of flower petals and leaves.
Beyond the butterfly house and the marble quarry, there is a winery with a handwritten “Wine and Liquor” sign in black paint. At first Hank couldn’t find the man. He turned to leave when we heard someone call him back. And there he was. An older Greek man, emerging from a nearby garage. Following him into his small barn he cleared off two seats and took a seat himself.
He was in his mid fifties and had spent his whole life in this house. His mother before him and her mother before her had owned the property. When he was younger he had ventured off the Island and traveled around Europe. He went to school for engineering. He worked as a sailor. He worked in Spain. He traveled extensively.
Eventually, he returned home to his simple life of working the land with his hands and turning the products of nature into products for consumption. He chain smoked and spoke in a combination of spanish, english and greek calling a church, iglesia and a beach, playa. He set out his honey liquor and kept talking. He had sunshine in his heart and he was determined to share it.
His son left him. Moved to the mainland. He needed the city life, the vintner said. He needed the excitement. There was nothing he wanted here.
Hank looked around. The idea struck him as odd. This place to hold everything worth having and none of the things that were worth avoiding. There was no traffic. No fear of getting robbed or beaten. Derelict buildings were replaced with sunshine and fresh air instead of car exhaust.
Hank liked the man. Hank also liked the honey liquor. So, Hank bought a bottle of white wine from the man and felt the sunshine in his heart. Then he stuffed the wine into his four wheeler and continued on. He road through the dusty switchbacks from one side of the island to the other and found an empty beach. This, was as good a place as any to enjoy a nice bottle of wine. A good bottle of wine is also made better by the people and place. That goes for a mediocre bottle of wine too. Come to think of it. The people and the moment, are just as important as the experience itself.
So, that’s what drove Hank off of his four wheeler in the middle of the day and on to the beach. The beaches in Greece are different. Ungroomed. Sharp and pointy on the feet. You have to swing your arms for balance as stones jab at you. Hank looked like an ape in that moment. Picking his way through the hot, golden sand on the edges of his feet. Trying to avoid the sharp, jabbing pangs from the rocky beach. Swinging his arms for balance. The only thing missing was an “oooo”, “oooo”, “oooo!”
Whooshhhh!
Another wave crashes against the shore of the empty beach. Hank took a sip of the wine and reflected on his life. Most didn’t believe he lived this life. They thought he was lying. They couldn’t related to it so it couldn’t be true.
But, a month ago it was St. Petersburg, Russia and then shooting big guns in Estonia. Two weeks ago it was Budapest seeing the travesties of socialism in a former soviet bloc country. Today it’s the Greek islands for Hank, an area often described with clichés such as “sun-soaked” and “white-washed.”
Days ago Hank left behind the busy city of Athens, its crowded streets, noisy cars and constant bustle for this little plot of sand he now sits on. Life on the islands is different, simpler. It’s made better by wine.
And this wine tastes light like the carefree attitude of island life. It’s airy, like the wind blowing through you on a cliff overlooking the ocean. Soft and friendly, like the vintner’s smile. But, the wine also has hints of something more. It’s a perfect wine. A perfect summer sipper.
And it reminded Hank of the plants near the top of the island. They were green and very much alive but struggling against the heat and dry ground to grow big. They had that special quality of surviving, despite harsh conditions.
They put down roots into the ground and latched on to the dry, hard ground with all their strength. They were not going anywhere. They would fulfill their purpose, even if these vines wouldn’t grow as tall or hardy as some of their other European siblings. They would adapt to the difficult conditions. They would grow in different ways, with their trunks winding in a circle around themselves as a way to protect the buds inside. They would share their grapes. They would bring joy, like they were bringing joy now to Hank.
And in their taste they would also give hope. Because a good glass of wine can be the only thing that matters, at times. In truth, the rest of the things don’t matter. Nothing matters, in fact, but being in that moment. In that place, wherever that place is. With whoever you want to share that moment with.
For Hank, right now this was the island of Paros, a place not claiming to have the best sunset in the world, or the lost city of Atlantis, but a place holding a silent confidence in its beaches, which line either side of the island, like a sandwich, with a great mountain in the middle.
A place where you can smell tropical flowers in the air, have butterflies brush your skin, and speak to a retired engineer who is staying young by keeping the sunshine in his heart, and sharing that sunshine with whoever stops by.
It would actually be that sunshine which would inspire Hank over a decade later in a different way. A way that would create a product that could also give people that same sense of connection to the present moment and the joy of being there.
It’s why Hank added lavender to his homemade sangria, as a reminder of those strong, tropical smells that inspired him all those years ago. As a way to transport other people to that same state of mind. To experience the best within them, by experiencing the best around them. Because, the fact is, that life is meant to be lived and the best way to live life is through experiences.
It’s why Hank, which was the pen name for me, Sam,
Decided to create Sam’s Sangria, a Greek inspired homemade sangria
It was a selfish reason really.
An inability to find a drink that could taste like the Greek Islands tasted.
An inability to find someone who had the experience, the years of travel, the work ethic, and the desire to actually create a drink that had some thought behind it.
It’s a selfish reason really.
The desire to bring the sunshine to your heart, the way the retired engineer, turned vintner brought the sunshine to my heart.
It’s why I created Summer Sipper
A sugar free, lavender, orange and raspberry sangria kit that can make homemade quality sangria in 10 minutes and turn $10 wine into $100 dollar wine.
And bring you some sunshine… nay… some SAMshine.
Anyway, I’ll drink to that.
Podcast
Podcast Summary:
“Anyway, I’ll Drink to That” is a Boozn Sam’s production, exploring the fun, quirky, and fascinating tales of drinks 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 28 Notes:
The horrific stories of two tidal waves that destroyed cities and caused the gruesome deaths of many. Two different countries. Two different ways to handle the tidal waves. Two different outcomes. One very big lesson.
Transcript of Podcast:
*This is the entire podcast episode in written form. Do not read if you want the audio version to be spoiled.
It was October 17th. 4:13 in the afternoon. Mary and her four year old daughter Hannah were drinking tea when the Tsunami hit and washed them away, killing Hannah instantly. The fifteen foot tall tidal wave crashed through the city and pulled with it all the ground clutter it could find.
It had been building since morning. The wooden wall that was banded with long strips of steel had given way under the pressure. It all started when one strip gave way. While it was reported it was not fixed. It was not fixed because one strip gave way three to four times a year without an issue.
The engineers intended to fix it. They would get around to it. But, when such a thing had happened in the past, it had never impacted the integrity of the wall. This time was different. The wall was compromised. With a mechanical groaning the wall gave way. The remaining strips of steel snapped. The flood came and poured into the land around it.
This was the slums and there was a lot to sweep away. Cheap houses. Apartments jam packed with the poor, the destitute, criminals and prostitutes. The land was flat and there was no natural runout for the tidal wave. So, it went into the low points, flooding the basements of houses and forcing people to climb into their furniture to avoid drowning.
It was a fast moving wave. Unexpected.
The tidal wave washed through the house Mary and her daughter were in, bringing with it all of the debris. It arrived with such force that it took out the foundation of the building. The building groaned. The building bucked. The building collapsed. Crushing and killing Hannah. Mary was swept into the street and miraculously survived.
The house next to that one suffered a similar fate, but the people inside were not as lucky. There were five people gathered for the wake of a two year old boy who had died. When the basement was flooded and the foundation collapsed on their heads, they were all killed.
The death toll stood at six. Including three children under the age of five.
The tidal wave didn’t stop. It was too strong. Moving too fast. It plowed into the side of a restaurant and brought the wall down on the head of a fourteen year old girl washing dishes inside. She was crushed and killed.
The 8th death, another child, would be found when the tidal wave finally subsided. She was washed out of her house, drowned and found in a neighboring house.
Eight dead in a matter of minutes. Five under the age of 18 and four of those five under the age of 5. Hundred more left without houses. Millions of dollars in damages.
This reminds me of another similar disaster. This one took place years later and involved another tidal wave. The engineers had long warned of increased protection measures. But, they were routinely turned away. No issues had happened prior so why should they happen now?
The steel wall would hold, even if it did leak a little. The leaking was not a serious problem with the wall. Neither were the rumbles and the creaks of the wall fighting the pressure it held back. The people in town had gotten so used to the sounds of the struggle that they didn’t pay them any attention anymore. But, then with a loud bang the tearing and creaking of steel filled the air. The wall gave way. The wall couldn’t hold anymore. The wall, let loose its wave.
And this wave rolled through the city on January 15 at 12:30 pm. It brought 40 foot tall waves. It moved at 35 mph and flowed with such force that it bent steal train tracks. It set chunks of metal flying through the air like missiles and impaled them into surrounding brick buildings.
It picked up train cars and used them as weapons to kill people.
It took out buildings at their foundations and washed them away whole. Like it did to Engine 31 Firehouse. Just picked the two story building up. Flipped it. Crushed it. Trapped the firefighters inside. Most survived, but it took hours for rescuers to cut out the floor boards and pick through the rubble to find the buried firefighters. All survived but one.
The wave didn’t stop there though. The house next to the fire station was swept away and shoved violently into an elevated train platform, where it exploded into pieces. The wave was a dirty mess. It covered everyone it washed over. You couldn’t tell human from animal. It suffocated people. It cut a several block wide path of destruction through the city. Rescuers spent four days scouring the wreckage looking for survivors. Some were so badly mutilated that they couldn’t be recognized. When all was said and done, 150 people were injured. Another 21 were killed. Two of the dead were children. Age 10. All the rest adults.
What came next in both of these instances was the same. Outrage. Anger driven by sorrow. Anger driven by loss. Anger driven by destruction. Anger, that needed an outlet.
Surely this had been someone’s fault. Surely someone had failed to prepare. Surely, someone had failed to keep them safe. Had they?
Had those responsible for keeping the tidal waves back failed to do their jobs?
What’s most interesting about this story is how the aftermath highlights the cultural difference between two places.
One of these tidal waves happened in the UK.
The other in the United States.
In the UK the judges were sent out to assess the situation. They looked at the walls that had failed to hold back the wave. They listened to engineers who were entrusted with securing those walls. They saw the bodies of the dead. They walked the streets of destruction that had destroyed and damaged all those slum houses and apartments.
Then they decided that the engineers were not guilty. They found no fault. This was an act of God, they said. Normal and expected human precautions had been taken. No money was paid to the families of the dead.
Funeral expenses had already been paid for. The dead had been laid out and donations were raised for burial costs. The people came together over the tragedy in their slums and helped out their neighbors.
In the United States this tidal wave in Boston was very different. The case for neglect piled in, just like they had in the UK. 119 lawsuits were filed. Over a thousand witnesses testified. Over 1,500 exhibits were produced. The case took almost 5 years to resolve. It was a formal legal matter.
Very orderly. There were no site visits. No visitations of the dead. There was a judge. In a court room. And page after page of detailed documents drafted by high priced lawyers. There were expert witnesses on both sides saying this and saying that. The closing arguments took 11 weeks.
And in the end the engineers were found guilty. They paid $8 million in damages to the families of the dead.
But, these floods both had larger consequences. They created immediate change.
They learned from the mistakes. They adapted. They created new laws. New regulations. They made things safer so that any future walls would be constructed stronger. In the UK they put forth a requirement of using concrete to further solidify any future walls.
In the US they required architects and civil engineers be part of the work moving forward. They tightened requirements for what the walls had to include in order to be structurally sound. Required tests. Made an inspection checklist.
Change was made. Change that would become the basis for modern walls of this sort today.
What I find most interesting is the response by both countries to these disasters. In the UK mostly kids were killed. The walls construction was shoddy. But, no one was held accountable. In fact, the judges determined that the engineers should actually be paid to help rebuild the wall.
Was this because the slums were affected? Were people more desensitized to death back then, especially the death of children? And the decision on guilt and next steps was made fast, after a brief walk through the disaster zone.
In the United States, they brought out lawyers and spent money fighting for this and fighting for that. They spent five years defending the rights of both parties and ensuring a fair, just trial. Justice is an inefficient process in the hands of those with money. They got clinical about everything. Drafting words of paper. Witnesses. Courtrooms. They took the death out of the streets. Away from the twisted steel. They lessened it instead of living in it.
Then there are the people that died. In both instances I can think of worse ways to die. And, actually the death from the flood in the UK, in London, might be one of my preferred ways to die.
You see, the tidal wave that was unleashed was about 300,000 gallons of liquid.
Of beer.
Which busted out of the wooden vat walls that were wrapped in long, steel bands. When it exploded it took out another two vats of beer with it. Then it sent this 15 foot tall tidal wave of beer through the town. A tidal wave of porter beer. And, as they say, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
And I would have been stronger, and drunker, from wallowing in the flood of porter beer that lingered in town for the days to follow.
As for the tidal wave in the United States, in Boston, Massachusetts… well, now that would be horrific.
Perhaps it was this difference in tidal waves that also determined the different outcomes in the trial proceedings.
You see, in Boston the tidal wave was molasses. Molasses that was used for the production of rum.
A metal vat built three years prior had been creaking and groaning from day one until an explosion, likely carbon dioxide build up, destroyed the vat and brought 2.3 million gallons of hot, sticky molasses flooding through the streets in the North End of Boston.
Molasses has 40% great mass than water.
That means it moves faster. Hits harder. Does more damage. It can twist metal. Pick up houses and buildings whole and wash them away.
And it sticks to you, like it stuck to the horses and humans that it covered. Suffocating them. Or killing them through sticky exhaustion.
It took 300 people weeks to clean up the mess, using salt water guns and sand to push all the molasses into the Boston Harbor.
It lingered there for months.
The sweet smell for much longer. And, even after it looked like it had all been cleaned up. On hot days. The sweet smell of molasses would fill the air.
These were two of the early industrialized alcohol production mistakes.
Death by a flood of Porter beer.
Death by rum molasses.
The London Beer Food of 1814
And
The Great Molasses Flood of 1919
Two very terrible, but also very influential floods on the pathway of modern alcohol production.
Anyway, I’ll drink to that.
Drink Recipes, Sangria
The Perfect White Sangria Cocktail Recipe:
You’re here for a white sangria cocktail recipe, so let’s get it. This recipe is modeled after our popular Santeria Sangria, which is a blend between traditional, Spanish sangria and a refreshing, unique Boozn Sam’s take in the form of floral notes that balance out the sweet fruit flavors.
Ingredients:
- A bottle of Pinot Grigio
- 1/4 cup Elderflower liqueur
- 1/2 cup Grand Marnier
- 1 medium sized orange, sliced
- 1/2 pint of fresh raspberries
- 1/2 pint of strawberries, sliced
- 1 lemon, sliced thin
- Fresh Mint
- Ice cubes
Assembly
- Slice your fruit. All of it. Large chunks will do. Put in a large pitcher.
- Add your bottle of wine
- Add your liquor. Note, the liquor adds tastes and fortifies. You can make this without extra liquor. Add another orange and a full pint of strawberries.
- Let sit for an hour (overnight is better.)
- Grab the glass of your choosing. Fill the glass half full with ice. Add your sangria.
- Garnish with your fresh mint.
- Enjoy.
The Extended Version for making a White Sangria Cocktail Recipe
n this blog post, we’ll be sharing a sensational Orange White Sangria Cocktail recipe that will elevate your summer gatherings to new heights. Bursting with citrusy flavors and infused with the essence of the season, this cocktail is guaranteed to be a hit at any soirée. So, let’s embark on a journey to cocktail perfection and delight in the flavors of summer.
Sangria is best served chilled, allowing the flavors to meld together and develop over time. Many recipes recommend refrigerating the sangria for several hours or even overnight before serving to achieve the optimal flavor profile.
One of the great things about sangria is its versatility. You can customize it to suit your taste preferences and the ingredients you have on hand. Experiment with different fruits, wines, spirits, and sweeteners to create your own signature sangria masterpiece.
Ingredients:
- A bottle of Pinot Grigio
- 1/4 cup Elderflower liqueur
- 1/2 cup Grand Marnier
- 1 medium sized orange, sliced
- 1/2 pint of fresh raspberries
- 1/2 pint of strawberries, sliced
- 1 lemon, sliced thin
- Fresh Mint
- Ice cubes
Assembly
- Slice your fruit. All of it. Large chunks will do. Put in a large pitcher.
- Add your bottle of wine
- Add your liquor. Note, the liquor adds tastes and fortifies. You can make this without extra liquor. Add another orange and a full pint of strawberries.
- Let sit for an hour (overnight is better.)
- Grab the glass of your choosing. Fill the glass half full with ice. Add your sangria.
- Garnish with your fresh mint.
- Enjoy.
Final Notes:
The longer you let your white sangria cocktail recipe sit the stronger the flavors will infuse and the more intense your sangria will be. I like to let my drinks meld overnight. If you’re short on time, and want to skip the hassle of buying all the ingredients, buy the kit. Many of the ingredients are organic, and, since they are dried ingredients, they are more potent. You can get a great sangria in 10 minutes!