In the interest of public safety, I feel the need to issue this public service warning:
Grappa is crappa
After a few sprightly blinis to recover the mood necessary to rekindle my memory banks yesterday, I mistakenly segued into some Skinny Girl Peach Margarita cocktails before dinner (as I am careful never to mix my drinks, the fruit must remain the same) as the weather was delightfully warm, together with a bit of red wine taken over dinner (an Uppercut cabernet that went straight to the kisser), culminating with a touch, barely a touch of grappa in a small round crystal vessel (designed to hold closely, intimately to your chest as you sink into oblivion, and you won't spill it even if you pass out on the leather couch) as a nightcap (and grappa is from a grape, so it's still in the fruit food group the FDA recommends for daily consumption, I can drink with health in mind), all I know as true and can discuss with certainty is that Grappa is Crappa.
The insidious influence of that final distilled concoction carried over into the very early hours of this morning, when I knocked over an egg cup with my elbow, very nearly breaking it on the marble cutting board, and dropped my soft boiled egg on the tile floor, which the dog and cats are currently tending to. Though while simmering the egg, I was careful, very careful, not to further melt the lively plastic utensil holder which resides inconveniently on the glass stove top, as I have melted that not once, but twice in previous recent days.