There's a little glass bottle in the cupboard calling to me. I must resist. I don't have a problem. Honestly. I could quit, if I really wanted to.
It started innocently, at the yuppie grocery store we frequent. There was a section of maple syrups in an aisle, microbrew syrups among the Aunt Jemimas and Log Cabins. On a whim I placed a bottle of "Northern Comfort" in my cart. I was amused by the flask-shaped bottle, with a label parodying Dixieland whiskey, and it had a good color.
I've usually been dismissive of "genuine" maple syrup in favor of the usual maple -lavored varieties you find at most stores. The real stuff is usually expensive, thin, watery and without much flavor. At $11 a bottle, imported from Vermont, this bottled stuff had better be good.
And oh baby is it good. I'm a Canadian, maple syrup runs in my blood, and I haven't had any this yummy since a kindergarten field trip to the sap forest where they pulled it out of trees. "Northern Comfort" is thick like Aunt Jemima (and boy is my Aunt Jemima thick) and has a strong maple sugar flavor. It would be obscenely delicious on steel-cut oatmeal, but I've been putting it on vanilla ice-cream. It's all I can do not to take big swigs out of the bottle! It's calling to me even now.
I don't have a drinking problem. Yet.
A Burke and Wells review.
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