(prompt: 'hard' 30/10/2020)

It all started innocently enough (have you ever noticed how many decidedly nefarious activities start out that way? Funny that!), with one of us ꟷ who shall remained unnamed ꟷ not so innocently suggesting, "Aww c'mon! How hard can it be to make our own?"

This followed close on the heels of — "I don't know love... these prices for liqueurs are getting more than a bit over the top, don't you think?" For years, Kanute's been stuck in a groove of all good things of last century; his price rise whingeing a constant. Sometimes, I swear, I'd get rid of him, if not for our 55 year marriage — plus the daunting thought of training someone new. And so our liqueur-making saga began.

Trusty Google was our Bible, preventing a deep furrow from farm to local library. No advice was forthcoming from family or friends (who were anyway nowhere near as dedicated to the demon drink as we two dairy farmers). We magnaminously forgave these 'civilians' whilst assuring ourselves it was purely medicinal, the amount of Port we consumed daily. To face the rounding up and milking of our cows, we said; to thaw out AFTER milking and squirting down their concrete holding yard; and just a wee nightcap or three to ensure we slept well before the next, inevitable, early-morning wakeup and yet another milking, we said. Actually, I do believe we were slurring words ever so slightly by that time (but shhh... we won't go there, OK?)

We had fun with tiny bottles of Italian essence, boiling up water with sugar and adding these concentrated alcohol flavours. (Admit it Christine... those were the days!) All Internet recipes provided most interesting experiments. Sampling was a pleasure... mostly! But without doubt, the jewel in our spiritual crown was our 'Larsen's Aussie Cream'. I mentioned earlier how it all started innocently enough... with a bottle of the real McCoy — the original 'Bailey's Irish Cream' — essential for enabling comparison with our Pretender to the Throne.

Following a fastidious gathering of ingredients for THE recipe, seriously scientific experimentation began at the distillery (alias my Kitchen). Into the blender went ALL ingredients - whisky, eggs, condensed milk, cream, coconut essence and chocolate essence. We found no official suggestion of tasting in the recipe, but absolved ourselves of any possible guilt by agreeing it would be a travesty to bottle an inferior product (and then wait to find out some long, thirsty time later). NOT an option. Nor could allowing maturation for months be countenanced by we two boot-leggers who desperately needed to know how close 'Larsen's grog' mimicked the real stuff!

The first recipe edit came almost immediately when compared with the real 'stuff'. The one cup of Whisky became 1-1/2, chocolate essence doubled, then more tasting of each - to be sure, to be sure. And none of this trendy sniffing and one-thimbleful-mouth-swilling —and then SPIT it out?!? Deep respect for our product demanded a liqueur glass each, OF each (Larsen's and Bailey's) after every recipe alteration.

It still wasn't as 'spirited' as we desired, so back to more crossing out, rewriting (and naturally, tasting!) until we found ourselves finally satisfied with double the original amount of Whisky, etcetera. THAT was finally more like it. A dead ringer, we would have sworn that night.

Even better news — next night we still enjoyed the same affection and appreciation for our brew. I wish I could say we discovered how beautifully it improved with age. (No you don't. Tell the truth, Christine!)

Author's Note: I tell anyone who'll listen, I'm a wordsmith, NOT a mathematician and that's why I don't word-count too well. Shh! Don't tell Paul.