Over the weekend, several of the Usual Suspect gathered on The Deck to engage in meaningful discussion shoot the shit and have tea adult beverages and scones take-out Italian food. Usual Suspect Jeff, of assembling-my-new-grill fame, showed up and presented me with a gift.

“I brought this for Jimbo,” he said as he placed a bottle in front of me that looked exactly like the one shown to the left.

I was momentarily puzzled. Why would my pal give me a bottle of Poland Spring water? It’s very good water, but surely he knows that I have a couple cases of the stuff at home. I’m pretty sure that he does too.

I believe I said, “Thanks, but I don’t get it.”

He suggested that I open the bottle and give it whiff.

I did.

Holy Mason-Dixon Line! I’d know that bouquet anywhere!

As sure as you’re born, it was genuine, crystal-clear, corn squeezin’s “homemade wine”. Jeff explained that it came, via a friend, directly from North Carolina, where it was probably aged a full day.

Never having sampled this magic Dixie Elixir, the Usual Suspects at the table (all Jersey born and bred) each wanted a taste. (They get an A+ for having a spirit of adventure). I poured a small bit into a glass and passed it around.

The good news for me is that, to a one, they hated it. “Jesus Christ!!” “Holy shit!!” and “How can you drink this stuff?” were but a few of the comments, I heard, which were all interspersed with fits of coughing and choking.

Consequently, I brought damned near the entire bottle home and placed it in Mr. Freezer and, from which, I have enjoyed a post-work taste or two every night since. I tell you, my fellow Yankees, it is about the best post-hard day “calmer downer” there is.

And that’s just one of the many things I like about the South.