(no subject)

Tonight we bade adieu to the cassoulet. Well, au revoir actually, seeing as we froze up several servings for later consumption. In the process, we discovered a container of split pea soup, two containers of chili, and something that I haven't successfully identified yet. I figure thaw it some night and eat it if it's edible or order in if it ain't.

Both of us were feeling sluggish today, but whereas monshu had the luxury of turning in early, I had a commitment to keep. The cold whittled down my list of invitees to an intimate gathering of the Scoutmaster, the Coleman, and the Coleman's Potential Boyfriend from Akron (henceforth "Dave"). Dave was a curious mix of deferential Southern-style politeness and confrontational opinions, but with the Coleman subdued almost to the point of irrelevance, it made for an easy evening.

Around ten, we headed over to Touché and found it packed despite the weather. Even though there was plenty of tasty out-of-town meat on the hoof, I just couldn't into it and left after scarcely and hour. When you're paying more attention to what's being broadcast on TNT than on the passing pageant, then you know there's no point in being out. Moreover, there are effects associated with eating a huge plate of beans which, while not readily apparent in the company of others eating the same, become acutely noticeable in the close quarters of a crowded bar.

So here I am, harnessing the power of TUMS once more to neutralise the lingering presence of the New Glarus Belgian Red, a "cherry ale" which is reminiscent of a kriek but without as much sourness. (It was a gift from one of monshu's coworkers that I promised to taste before he heads back to work overmorrow.) We also tapped into the Fetească Neagră as an accompaniment to the New Year's Eve coques. Verdict: Surprising drinkable for a $10 wine from the Balkans. (Certainly a class or two away from the horrid Georgian swill one of our houseguests once insisted we try.)