Saturday, June 17, 2006

The Mark Of Cane

So it’s breakfast-time, and I’m prepping a recipe of Boston baked beans for the crockpot. And while I’ve got the molasses out, I decide to make myself a café Creole. I stir in a tablespoon of molasses, but we’re out of milk—D’s out at the store, picking up a gallon—so I leave the coffee on the sideboard and go off to do something else.

When D gets back, she brings me my coffee. She’s looking at the cup oddly. “I poured some milk in,” she sez, “but it didn’t get any lighter.”

Nor would it, though you poured milk ‘til the crack of doom. Such is the power of blackstrap.

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