Day 114
Location 20: Sofia, Bulgaria
Feb. 22, 2023
There are classic faux pas that signal to locals someone's a tourist. Things like wearing a beret in Paris, or telling an Irish person “ooh, I love England!”, or wearing cargo pants that unzip into shorts without feeling soul-crushing embarrassment. Today I committed a faux pas that signaled not that it was my first time in Bulgaria, but rather my first time drinking brandy.
Let’s back up a little: after binging all six seasons of Mad Men in college (university for international readers), I attempted to adopt Don Draper’s beverage of choice, whiskey, and his creativity (while leaving behind his other, less desirable characteristics like an unyielding unfaithfulness and his distaste for The Beatles).
Anyway, whiskey goes well with ice: it strikes an impossible balance between being as refreshing as ice-cold water in the desert and wrapping it's amber arms around you in a warm hug. Kind of like how a kick to the nuts (testicles for international readers) strikes an impossible balance between being wickedly painful and endlessly funny. It's the adult version of winding two differently flavored Airheads together in a colorful double helix. Anyway, like whiskey, brandy is (1) brown and (2) seems like something a retired racist businessman would drink. So it follows that like whiskey, brandy must also go well with ice.
“A glass of brandy with ice, please” I request to the waiter. He responds, but not right away. First he walks away. Then, he returns carrying a tray with his silent response: not only is there no ice in the glass of brandy, but it is rests atop the rim of a second glass filled with hot water that is meant to slowly evaporate and continuously warm the brandy. It’s a silent gesture that conveys “you idiot”. You want Ice? No. In fact, so much No that we have built a contraption specifically designed to keep brandy in a condition that's the direct opposite of how you asked for it. At least now I can be sure I’m not a racist businessman.
