His wife isn’t in the room so He cuts a small square out of a pan of salted caramel bars. He dose’s it liberally with table salt, then drops it in his glass of scotch.
He says you want one.
I say, yes, then after one sip of it I say I want a bunch of them.
I’m sipping, then drinking it far too quickly, I’m addicted to its warmth, its sweet stickiness, that salty brine whiskey infused deliciousness that’s slowly easing its way down my throat.
His wife walks in, she looks in the pan, she aint happy, she says that was supposed to be for dessert, she lifts it up taking it away from us as she points to him, then me, then she tells us both to behave, and wants us to go start the grill.
He lifts the lid on the grill; I’m half done with my new favorite drink so I set it down so I won’t gulp it. I dump in a bunch of lump charcoal.
He lights the grill, the heat feels good on my face. He says how do you want your steak, I tell him medium well would be just fine and then I ask him if there’s any chance we can get another bar or two out of that pan tonight.
He says I doubt it, but at least she hasn’t taken the scotch away, yet. The trout whisperer
flyrod58 