Tonight I had an unexpected encounter with really good honey, and tasted it in a way that was completely new to me. Melanie and I meet at the same place every week for “book club”, an indulgence that consists of the two of us, a few drinks, and no conversation about books. Caring for young children full time is a weighty responsibility. Work hard, play hard.
One of the benefits of this regularity is getting to know the bartender. Tonight MFH discovered my obsession with honey and made me a special drink. He crafted it with care and precision, smelling and tasting until it was just right. And it was right. A subtly sweet aroma similar to what you experience when a hive is cracked open, with an aftertaste of honey that lingers in your mouth like it does off the spoon.
When I pressed him about specifics, he said “honey is honey, right?” and I felt the knife twist in my chest. How could someone who so artfully created this masterpiece be so dismissive about the magic ingredient? I insisted those flavors did not belong to mere supermarket honey, and begged him to search in back for the jar. Thank you, sir, but I was right. It was Ethan’s honey. I knew it was special. MFH, you created a drink that makes me weak in the knees, but you have a lot to learn about really good honey.