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