A long time ago he made a personal rule not to have a toddy unless there was an inch of snow on the ground. He, of course, made exceptions for a sore throat regardless of the forecast. A few more minutes of accumulation and he would be in the clear.
He placed a kettle on the stove and turned the fire on. While that got all steamed up he went and changed into a pair of sweatpants and a well-worn flannel shirt. A hot toddy tastes much better in a pair of sweatpants and that is why he never ordered one out at a bar.
The kettle shouted from the kitchen and he hustled over to quiet it. He found his favorite mug and filled it with hot water. While the ceramic cup acclimated to its near boiling contents he assembled the more exciting ingredients. He grabbed a lemon, a bottle of Angostura bitters, a bowl of sugar, and a bottle of peated Scotch whisky-- the high proof stuff.
He dumped out the water from the now warmed cup and added the same amount of sugar that he put in his coffee on weekends. To that, he dashed some bitters and a good squeeze of lemon. He eyeballed a heavy pour of whisky and topped it all off with hot water. He could smell the smokey peat and bitters rising in the steam.
A quick stir combined everything easily. He glanced out the window to check on the snow and took his first sip. It coated his throat all the way down. The whisky burned his nostrils in that perfect way. Such an easy drink to drink. He was glad it snowed so often in Chicago.
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Bar To Home
A simple translation from bar to home.