Sure, a cup of Earl Grey is great for cozying up on your divan, covered in afghans and cats and crosswords as you ponder the fog-shrouded winter countryside. But add some ice cubes and booze, and [transportive timewarp harp glissando] voilà, you’re chilling poolside with smoldering cabana boys.
You had me at pork belly. You had me at slow-cooked, walnut-infused, pesto-topped pork belly. Perfectly rolled, grilled, uncoiled and served in a humble paper tray, ably sidekicked by carrots or potatoes.
Crunchy, then creamy, then pickley — and helloooo, paprika! The chorus line of tastes presented by these deep-fried lovelies got a whoop-whoop from every one of the 10,000 taste buds science says I have on my tongue.
Perhaps it was because I’d just tromped into the bosom of Crush after being sheared by what felt like witchy sheets of frigid flying steel weather at 40 mph, but I said it, and I said it with great relief: “NOW THAT’S JUST LIKE CHRISTMAS IN A GLASS!”