A Taste of Sora

For the past three years the Italian's father has been returning from Italy with a beautiful clear liquid packaged in glass and straw from Sora.

The bottle remains unopened until the very last aching moment. It's worth its weight in gold. It's no ordinary grappa. Open it and its days become numbered. I'm convinced that just thinking about it has siphoning power. 

Thank goodness for its straw bodice. Without it, its icy retreat from the freezer would result in a slippery misjudged moment...no doubt on my part.

Good company usually inspires a withdrawal from its icy abode. Discussions ensue often requiring liberal pours that are half heartedly met with modest sips. And there goes half the bottle, and then some.

We can only greet it with the best of intentions. It's digestive powers, it's virtue. Caretaking for as long as we can before surrendering, which we absolutely must, without question. Else it evaporate into the abyss.

Holidays are approaching. The table will be set. The red wine will cushion the blow. The grappa will flow.