Priorities

Well, Toads and Toadettes,

‘Tis the first of June and, to the concern of many un-gored oxen and sacred cows, the Toad is back by popular demand.  Or, at least some demand.  Ok.  There was a pusillanimous posting on social media (you know who you are, bunky) that has sufficiently inflated the Toad’s already immense ego and sparked a long-overdue return.  Rawk!

The Toad’s absence for more than a year has been a matter of questioning and establishing priorities.  For the Toad, this has been an agonizing process requiring deep thought and research.  Single-malt or blended, Bombay or Tanqueray, shaken or stirred, infused or pure. And then there are botanicals.  So many botanicals in the gin, in the vodka and even in the rye.  This is doesn’t even get to the horrific sighting of bacon-flavoured vodka. Priorities, boys and girls.  These things are deep matters of priorities, aesthetical, maybe even moral and ethical.  Rawk. 

One recent afternoon, the Toad was pondering the cosmic question of whether corn liquor sold in a proper liquor emporium with tax stamps on the mason jar could even be called “moonshine”. There was a cheerful “oogah” from the front door of Toad Manor, and Scales the retainer was nowhere to be found.  Rousing from profound thought, the Toad did the unthinkable-he answered his own door. 

Only two things were in sight.  First, the back of a odd sort of chap clad all in purple with a pointy hat fleeing away as fast as he could leap from lily pad to lily pad. Second, there was a plain, brown envelope addressed to “His Beatitude, the Most Reverend Doctor Roy Toad” with all of the correct post-nomials carefully scrawled out.  Taking this as a favorable sign and being no stranger to plain, brown envelopes (Rawk! Rawk!), we scooped it up and repaired to the study to peruse whatever might have caused a surreptitious hand-delivery by a fleeing prelate.  Perhaps he was a primate.  Ecclesiastical offices can be so confusing, boys and girls.

No matter how hard the envelope was shaken, there was but a single sheet of paper inside.  Disappointment notwithstanding, the Toad gave the letter a once over.  Once was enough, pally.  The document involved a weighty matter of ecclesiastical and theological priorities.

It seems that there was a diocesan convention scheduled somewhere. No surprise there.  There are more of these in the summer than grains of sand on Pismo Beach.  However, tragedy and foreboding hovered over this particular convention.  The letter sadly advised clergy that, without notice, the venue for the convention had decided close the on-site restaurant.  No loss there, boys and girls.  The Toad regards hotel food as an abomination worthy of at least the fifth circle of hell. 

No, the truly devastating decision, nay cataclysmic event, was the simultaneous closure of the hotel bar.  There would be no on-site bar available to thirsty clergy or delegates alike.  Rawwwwwwwwwk!  Unthinkable!  Preposterous!  No bar at a church event!

The correspondent quickly offered a palliative.  The hotel would provide an “hospitality suite” in which one might procure “self-serve” drinks.  Just what are “self-serve” drinks, we pondered whilst cursing Scales who had not yet tipped up with our afternoon drinks cart.

Apparently, “self-serve” works out to everyone (clergy and lay toads alike) being encouraged to bring their own bottle to the clambake.  Worse yet, they were exhorted to “share” this liquor with fellow convention goers. Share? SHARE liquor!?!  Grade shades of Nicholas Maduro and Venezuelan-style, Bolivarista socialism!  Priorities, toads and toadettes, priorities.

The correspondent goes on to say that, in this new scheme, the hotel, if it might be called that, would provide setups-glassware and ice for the drinks. The venue would also open the closed bar, with the stern proviso that all drinks must be “poured” in the hospitality suite and subsequently transported to the temporarily re-opened bar area.  The possibility of loss through sloshing is on a par with parish closings and could even spark denominational change among certain attendees.  Priorities, damn it, priorities!

After Scales finally arrived and mixed up a pitcher of Bishops, the Toad was able at last to consider the enormity of the situation.  For at least one and a half days, attendees at a church gathering would be forced not only to bring their own liquor, but to have to pass it about to others.  Just imagine the spectacle. An endless line going to and from between a closed bar and the cloister where drinks might be surreptitiously “poured”.  Perhaps there might even be a wait to obtain the clandestine hooch!

What next?  Eliot Ness and the treasury boys or at least the state Liquor Board busting the joint?  That would inconvenience the august churchman. It might even force him to chapel or even to prayer.  No!  The Toad’s mind shudders at that prospect.  Yours should too, pally.

After a few Bishops, we came to decisions on priorities.  When selecting a venue for a church event of any sort, one must insure the uninterrupted availability of hooch no matter the duration.  Toad isn’t talking about bar brands, either.  Only bottled and bond, top shelf stuff for a religious gathering.  And mouthpieces.  Better have a good shyster or two handy in case that venue tries to change the rules.  A smile, a song and the threat of a lawsuit will have the hotel buying out the local liquor emporium to keep those religious folks making a joyful noise, or my name isn’t Roy Toad!

Now, whether you are at some gathering of the faithful suddenly gone lowbrow, or just hanging out in your own oratory, here’s a little something to make glad the heart and get your own priorities straight. 

The Bishop Cocktail.

Ingredients:

• 1 ounce lemon juice
• 1 ounce orange juice
• 1/2 ounce simple syrup
• 3 1/2 ounces chilled red wine-Avoid fruity varieties as you are mixing the flavour
• Orange wheel, to garnish

Directions:

1.     Shake the lemon juice, orange juice and “Cocktail Artist” or other brand simple syrup in a cocktail shaker with ice.

2.     Strain the contents of the cocktail shaker into an ice-filled wine glass.

3.     Slowly add the chilled red wine, and stir.

4.     Garnish with the orange wheel, and serve.

Eight or nine of these, pally, and you will be making paper miters and starting your own ecclesiastical jurisdiction. Rawk, rawk, rawk!

Yr. Obed. Serv.

Roy Toad, DD, DMon., D.Phil. (Oxen), LSMFT