Wednesday, June 15, 2011

my hummingbird nectar (and subsequent hummingbird heartbeat)

Thanks to my friend Debbie (the same friend who owns the NBA, has Kobe's cell phone number, and sends me taunting pics of Justin BIeber and Kobe court side at Knicks games and whatever else Natalie and I can possibly fabricate about Debbie to impress the mens at the bar), my fave cocktail is champagne and St. Germain. St. Germain, in case you didn't know, is an elderflower from Europe (I did say I was fancy in 2011). The story is actually quite romantical:

"In the foothills of the Alps, for but a few fleeting spring weeks, a man will gather wild blossoms for your cocktail. After gently ushering the wild blossoms into sacks and descending the hillside, the man who gathers blossoms for your cocktail will then mount a bicycle and carefully ride the umbels of starry white flowers to market. Vraiment. St-Germain is exceedingly special and rare. Consequently, we are able to hand make only very limited quantities. And what of the taste of St-Germain? It has been said that Paris is a mélange curieux, a curious mixture of flavors, styles and influences. So it is with St-Germain. Neither passionfruit nor pear, grapefruit nor lemon, the sublime taste of St-Germain hints at each of these and yet none of them exactly. It is a flavor as subtle and delicate as it is captivating. A little like asking a hummingbird to describe the flavor of its favorite nectar. Très curieux indeed, n'est-ce pas?"

Now, while I'm not crazy about Frenchmen in general (though I do know how to say a few special things in French. and, not gonna lie, you can't beat a french kiss. or french fries. and I do love hummingbirds!), the thought of a man mounting anything after gathering blossoms for me is magnificent. So you can understand my excitement when Debbie presented to me last weekend in New York a mini bottle of St. Germain. After screaming "oh Debbie! oui oui! voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?" and asking her where she possibly found a mini of this, I put the bottle in my black purse of death and let it be. There it remained for five days. Until last night. When I got my bag searched as the Katy Perry concert and they told me I couldn't bring it in. I told them I had completely forgotten it was in there. They didn't buy it (though they should have. Since it as the TRUTH!) and told me I had three options: either throw it away, drink it, or take it back to my car. Now, since I recognize the greatness of a man gathering and mounting anything that involves me, I was not about to drink it in one drink. Nor was I going to toss it. So, off I went, back to my car to salvage my St. Germain.

I feel it is important to note that they also questioned my mini bottle of Texas Pete but I told them I was not drinking that, tossing it or taking it back to my car. The hot sauce would stay.

il est si difficile d'être moi.

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