Gerry
12-27-2007, 05:43 PM
Some of my earliest memory’s was being taught that I had to respect Uncle Arthur’s black potion for fear of it getting a grip on you and dragging you into hell.
My Granny had a great way of making things nice and simple for a child to understand.
She would tell me this as she sent me down to Mailey’s for a wee nagen of brandy, for her heart you know.
I loved running down the road and into that man’s world of sawdust on the floor and men wearing their caps indoors as they sat around the fire.
The big dark brown counter was bigger than me and all I could see on top of it was a row of big thick glasses with glass handles.
Each glass had a black liquid topped by a creamy foam and each glass had a little more than its neighbour.
I’d climb up on the high stool and watch the careful way he revere each glass, a bit like the priest on the altar each Sunday.
The art of pulling a pint was only one few men could do and years of study at University were needed to be a master the bar man told me.
But how things have changed.
Now Uncle Arthur’s black potion comes in cans and any edjit can dump the contents in to a glass and sit back to watch the miracle take place.
From the molten turmoil swirling around the cream appears and rises to the crown of that ruby nectar.
A perfect pint every time.
Imagine all those years at study wasted.
My Granny had a great way of making things nice and simple for a child to understand.
She would tell me this as she sent me down to Mailey’s for a wee nagen of brandy, for her heart you know.
I loved running down the road and into that man’s world of sawdust on the floor and men wearing their caps indoors as they sat around the fire.
The big dark brown counter was bigger than me and all I could see on top of it was a row of big thick glasses with glass handles.
Each glass had a black liquid topped by a creamy foam and each glass had a little more than its neighbour.
I’d climb up on the high stool and watch the careful way he revere each glass, a bit like the priest on the altar each Sunday.
The art of pulling a pint was only one few men could do and years of study at University were needed to be a master the bar man told me.
But how things have changed.
Now Uncle Arthur’s black potion comes in cans and any edjit can dump the contents in to a glass and sit back to watch the miracle take place.
From the molten turmoil swirling around the cream appears and rises to the crown of that ruby nectar.
A perfect pint every time.
Imagine all those years at study wasted.