left: original artwork, right: the tea towel itself (creased, stained and used)
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Baking with booze
Is there a greater thing?
I'm not sure there is
Than watching glugs of golden whiskey slowly swallowed whole by ruby red cherries
Leave em be for a few days
See what strikes up
With the sultanas and the raisins and all the other things people don't really know the difference between
Soak and soak and bloat and bloat
Chubby full tipsy
I imagine them soporific
chatting shit
Can't get enough of the other
Hammered before they enter the tin

I rise, like flour at one twenty, to the yearly challenge of not too much but definitely plenty
Bake it, check it, spear it, paper wrap it
low-key worried it'll go mouldy
So make it last forever with one more hit of whisky

Imagine if everything were that easy
The right quantity of nutmeg will get you high, apparently
Imagine bathing in rum every few days -or at all.

Wooden kebab skewers (because they're blasphemy in a house like ours) spend eleven months shunned but come alive at christmas time. secrets of saturation balance on their pokey lines.
Cocktail sticks,
which all the books wrongly advise
don't cut it at all: barely touch the sides
No you want the flour speared by its liquid sister.
You ever think about how all these things are just grains under different pressure?

Hard liquor reminds me of a few soft souls
Earthy, barley, wooden tongued, bourbon and brown sugar stirring as they say
"I could drink you under the table" and of course they may,
but bet they can't box off an entire Christmas cake?