For Christmas a few weeks ago, I gave my wife a collection of home brew equipment. (That's right, she's awesome.) It was too big to slip under the tree, so I stuck it in the garage under an old drop cloth and then snuck it in while she was fiddling with the stockings. Over the weekend, we cooked our first batch (more on that soon), but
I remember when I got my first splinter. We were camping, and I picked it up from an old, weather-worn picnic table. I ran to my mom, who immediately began to ask around for a needle. "A needle?" I thought. "For what?"
Sometimes a pint glass'll do...and sometimes, your beer (or grog...or mead) needs to be sipped from a genuine, rough hewn wooden mug, made with nothing but a hatchet and a knife.
This weekend is shaping up to be another cold and blustery, snow-filled couple of days. The kinda weekend where you never manage to actually put on shoes, cause there's no way you're going outside. The kind of weekend where you take on an indoor project with all kinds of immediate rewards...like perfecting the ultimate chocolate chip cookie.