That’s not to say that I don’t enjoy a good drink, because I do. But I think I have a reputation as a hard drinking writer that isn’t truly earned. I haven’t poisoned my liver that much. And there’s no drink that future literary scholars and biographers will ever associate with me. No one will say, “Gibson drank himself into a stupor night after night as he slaved over his keyboard, writing the manuscript that would make his career. No drink was consumed more often than the…” fill-in-the-blank.
There’s nothing I really drink that often. Maybe if I could find a good porter on a regular basis in Maryland, but I can’t. The Sam Adams Honey Porter seems to have dried up, and the Yeungling Porter is merely adequate. And yes, Guinness is a bread-and-butter drink for me; it passes the all-essential “hand behind the glass” test for a beer’s darkness.
But I’ll be honest. If there’s a drink that would ever bear my name, it would be this…
The Allyn Gibson
Two tablespoons instant hot chocolate mix
Two tablespoons sugar
One shot Irish Cream
One shot Irish Whiskey
One shot Crème de menthe (or less to taste)
That would do. Yes, that would do nicely…
Happy St. Patrick’s Day, people. Drink responsibly and drive safely out there. And whatever you do, don’t do this.