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Barrett's Mixology

By J. Stethers White | Tuesday, April 10, 2007

Hot Toddy
A generous serving of scotch.
1 tsp honey.
Boiled water.
1 slice fresh lemon.
Pinch nutmeg.

Pour water into a mug and dissolve in the honey. Add the scotch. Add the lemon and nutmeg. Stir well.

I awoke with swollen jowls. The condition, you might imagine, surprised me. Indeed, before that morning I had never been conscious of possessing a pair of jowls. But, there they were, painfully bulging and completely indifferent to my ignorance of their existence; the gall! A proper pair of jowls, I think, should at least have the courtesy of introducing themselves before they start misbehaving. The trouble, I suppose, started a few days earlier, when I sought refuge in the College infirmary. I was feverish and neurastheniac. The eminent physicians treated me with the usual pills and powders, and sent me on my way. Within a day and half, the pills started doing the trick: I was on the upswing, full of vim and vinegar. Then I awoke with the inflamed jowls—a not altogether pleasant way to begin one’s morning. Fearing the worst, I was about to return to the infirmary. But on the way over, I reconsidered and thought it best not to trust my precious life to those charlatans for a second time. I instead detoured to the medical library, where the accumulated knowledge of ages assured me I suffered neither from elephantitis nor any other serious maladies. Folk medicine, then, was clearly the order of the day. Without hesitation I made my way to my favorite Main St. watering hole and ordered a Hot Toddy. Then another. And another. And so on. You understand. I left the place after dark, feeling like a man reborn. I merrily drifted off to sleep, confident in the imminent return of my health. The next morning my jowls were as big as ever and I had a headache to boot. I spent five days in bed and the swelling disappeared as mysteriously as it emerged. The damned toddies were useless. At least they were medicine for the soul, if not the body.