Another Irish tradition is alcohol, and though I never smelled it on Agnes, I saw him physically react when a kindhearted woman from down near the Reformed Church in Blue Mountain brought us a Thanksgiving basket that included a bottle of wine and ... surprisingly ... a bottle of bourbon whiskey.
I carried the box from our side door into the kitchen and began to rummage through the contents. When I held up the sour mash bourbon for Agnes to see, he flinched as though someone had slapped him hard on the back.
“Pour that down the sink drain immediately!” he hissed at me.
“Devil’s Brew?” I asked with light sarcasm.
“Right now!” he repeated his demand.
I was intrigued by his reaction. I placed the bottle on the sideboard of the sink and suggested he empty it down the drain, whining that I didn’t have the heart to throw away good whiskey. I should feel bad for doing this, but I wanted to see his reaction.
“Please” he now said in a pleading tone, “just dump the cursed bottle and begone with it.”
I suspected my abbot may have had a problem at one time. I wondered if it related to what Terd had almost told me when we shared donuts at the house in Red Hook.
Clancy brothers and Tommy Makem - Whiskey, you`re the devil
Here's a bit of "PogueVision." You won't understand the lyrics, probably, but the message is clear.
The Pogues - Streams of Whiskey
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