periodically80s · 9 months ago
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worldwaronehat · 1 year ago
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fabelhafteweltvonfelix · 5 months ago
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"Wenn einem so viel Gutes widerfährt, das ist schon einen Asbach Uralt wert. In Asbach Uralt ist der Geist des Weines." (Werbespot um 1978)
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schneereggen · 2 years ago
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Is this meant metaphorically? Or... On what kind of ancient device is he working that he needs a driver?!?!
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gefuddel · 1 year ago
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in asbach uralt
ist der geist des weines von
rüdesheim am rhein
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lovemusicndance · 9 months ago
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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Asbach Uralt 🛍️.
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hiawathab · 3 years ago
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historyontheorientexpress · 8 years ago
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"In the cool autumn nights, field post letters with Asbach Uralt are much appreciated gifts." Once a Turco-German frontline favorite.
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queensoybean0724 · 3 years ago
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Succession Chapter 21 (Karl Heisenberg/female reader) Resident Evil Village fanfic
Title: Succession Chapter 21
Characters: Karl Heisenberg, female reader
Rating: NC-17 for sex and language (P in V, unprotected sex *wrap it up, kids*, and creampie)
Summary: you discover a long lost relative has died and made you his sole beneficiary.  While flying to collect your inheritance, you crash in a village in Romania.
Author’s Note: I do not own the characters from Resident Evil Village.  This is a work of fiction.  Anything remotely similar to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter 21
Once you locked the sliding doors and sounded the alarm, you rushed to Heisenberg’s living quarters to begin with the surprise.  You placed the poultry and meat into the refrigerator and put the bottle of Asbach Uralt on the table.  Two brandy snifters were on the upper shelf of the cabinet.  You grabbed those and placed them on either side of the bottle of liquor.  You removed  the toiletries and other things you had in the sack and put them with the rest of your belongings.  The remainder of supplies Heisenberg had on his list stayed in the sack and sat on the floor beside the table.  Heisenberg would know where he wanted them.
Rifling through your suitcases, you found the black dress you had packed for your trip to Moldova, the one you had planned to wear when signing the inheritance documents.  A momentary pang of disappointment rose in your heart.  The money you were poised to receive would have been much needed.  What would happen to the money if you didn’t claim it?  Mr. Dathermi said you were the sole heir.  The Moldovan government would surely swoop in and take it.  Perhaps you could talk with Heisenberg and the two of you could make the trip once he vanquished Mother Miranda.
You laid the dress on the bed, smoothing it out to remove the wrinkles.  You retrieved the black two-inch heels that you packed to go along with the dress.  Any other pair higher than two inches would’ve caused you to break your neck.  Heels weren’t your friend.
Grabbing two clean towels, you opened the shower door and ran the water until it came out hot.  You washed your hair, shaved, and washed with a floral scented body wash.  Hopefully after Heisenberg filled up on his favorite meal and favorite brandy, he would want to throw you on the bed and fuck your brains out.  Knowing that man and his insatiable sexual appetite, you were betting he would.
After stepping out of the shower, you picked up the piece of paper the Duke gave you with the ingredients and directions for Tochitura de Pui.  You read over everything as you dried off, remembering certain notes and tips the Duke said about the meal.  Your stomach did nervous flip flops.  You hoped that you would be able to make Heisenberg’s favorite dinner correctly.  It would be mortifying if it didn’t turn out well.
You pulled on your panties, dress, and shoes.  The dress was tight so a bra was not needed.  After styling your hair, applying your makeup, and putting on a few pieces of jewelry, you checked the time.  The clock read 4pm.  You didn’t know when Heisenberg would return, but the preparation would take a few hours.  
Jumping to your feet, you collected the pots and pans.  The Duke also gave you a small bag of rice and some asparagus to pair with the meat.  You placed both sides into small pots on the back burners of the stove.  While they slowly simmered, you cooked the chicken and meat in two pans.  You measured the rest of the ingredients and followed the directions of the recipe down to the letter.  Everything looked and smelled fantastic.  You could see why this was Heisenberg’s favorite meal.
A few hours later, Heisenberg lifted up the elevator door and marched across the steel walkway.  Once he opened the heavy metal door, the enticing aroma hit him.  His stomach began growling almost immediately.  Tochitura de Pui...a meal he hadn’t cooked for himself in several years.
His footsteps increased in speed as he turned the corner and began marching towards his room.  You heard him and an excited surge of nerves churned in your body.  Rushing to the table, you opened the bottle of brandy and poured the alcohol into the glasses.  He walked through the doorway as you turned with the snifters in your hands.
“Surprise!” you smiled.  
Heisenberg could not believe his eyes.  His favorite meal was marinating on the stove and the woman he loved was standing before him with two glasses of brandy and looking like a goddamn knockout.  He smiled as he removed his hat, sunglasses, and necklaces.  He placed them on the counter, slowly walking towards you.
“What is all of this, pussycat?” he asked as he took his favorite drink from your hand.
“I wanted to do something special for you,” you answered, “I asked the Duke what your favorite meal was and he gave me the recipe for Tochitura de Pui as well as a bottle of Asbach Uralt…”
He sipped from the glass and slowly closed his eyes, humming as the familiar liquor warmed his throat.  You lifted your glass to your lips and took a small sip.  The alcohol was strong, stronger than anything you’ve ever had.  You squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head.  You exhaled with a loud whoosh and Heisenberg laughed heartily.
“Fuck, that is strong as hell!” you exclaimed, putting the glass down on the table, “now, please, Karl, have a seat and I’ll bring you a plate!”
Heisenberg removed his trench coat and sat down, looking at the table.  The bottle of Asbach Uralt was placed between two sets of utensils and napkins.  A smile spread along his face as he turned to you, pulling his gloves from his hands.  
He gave the back of you a thorough once over.  Your black dress fit you like a glove and hugged every curve.  His tongue slid across his lips as images of you spread across the table flew through his mind. You turned and walked to the table, placing his dinner before him.  
“Thank you, doll face,” he said.
“You’re very welcome,” you smiled as you went back to get your plate, but not before Heisenberg gave your ass a swift spank.  You yelped and giggled.
The two of you sat at the table and began eating.  The recipe looked delicious on paper, but smelling and tasting it was like heaven.  “I have not eaten this in years and it tastes even better than I remember,” Heisenberg marveled.  You couldn’t help the giddy elation in your stomach as he devoured his meal before going back for seconds.
And you had to admit that the food was wonderful.  You still drank the brandy, but you switched to a glass of water once your snifter was empty.  It was very strong and you could already feel your head spinning.  But this was all for Heisenberg and you wanted to make sure he had his fill of food and alcohol.
As you talked about how the Duke helped you figure out the best way to surprise him, Heisenberg simply listened and looked you over.  Not since his own flesh and blood had anyone ever done anything nice for him, other than the Duke and occasionally Moreau.  And the fact that you dressed up and made his favorite dinner in order to surprise him...it made him fall deeper in love with you.  You were selfless, giving, and caring.  It baffled him how someone that started off as his captor and hated him with a passion would grow to love him and want to surprise him.  
“Thank you so much, Y/N,” Heisenberg said, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips, “the food was amazing…”
You blushed as he turned your hand and pressed a kiss to your open palm, your stomach fluttering.  “You’re welcome, Karl.  I wanted to do something special for you.  You’re always cooking for me…”  You placed both sets of utensils on the dirty dishes and took them to the sink.  Every bit of food had been polished off so you put the pots and pans in the sink as well, filling them with water.
Heisenberg stood from the chair and made his way over, coming to a stop behind you.  The sound of his footsteps and his looming presence behind you made your heart flutter.  He brought his hands to your hips and pressed his groin against your ass.
You moaned softly, your eyes closing.  He lowered his lips to the side of your neck, laying a deep kiss to your skin.  “Don’t worry about the dishes,” he murmured, “I’ll do them later...right now I want you...I want you so fucking badly…”
“Karl…” you moaned.  You rested your head back on his shoulder as his hand moved up the front of your body, taking hold of the front of your neck.  He kissed along your shoulder before moving his mouth to your ear, his tongue licking along your earlobe.  Another whimper escaped your lips as you felt wetness pooling between your legs.  You pushed your ass against the erection in his pants.
“I want to devour you,” he growled in your ear.  Releasing your neck, he pulled up your dress and pressed his hand against your panties over your pussy.  You moaned and squeezed your eyes shut as his other hand reached under the neckline of your dress and groped your breast.  His fingers pinched your nipple as he ground his hips against you, trapping you between his body and his massaging hand on your cunt.
“Karl...I want you to fuck me...oh my god...uh...uh fuck, Karl…” you pleaded.  His hot breath tickled your ear as he chuckled.  You wriggled and arched against him, pressing your palms to the countertop.
“This pretty pussy of yours is going to kill me, doll face,” he whispered, “you’re soaking your panties already...I need you to drench my cock…”
Unable to stop himself, he released your breast, pushed his other hand up your dress, and pulled your panties down your legs.  You stepped out of them without being told.  Heisenberg pulled your dress up your body and over your head.  “Stay right there,” he growled, pulling his buttoned up shirt and undershirt from his body.  He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants.
You let out a surprised gasp feeling him lift one of your legs and placing your knee on the edge of the counter.  “Keep your leg right here...I want to get deep inside of you…” he demanded, pulling his cock from his pants.  Your chest rose and fell as you looked back at him over your shoulder, waiting impatiently.  
Heisenberg let the tip of his cock slide back and forth through your pussy lips.  You whimpered and pushed back against him, to which he chuckled.  “Are you desperate for my cock, pussycat?” he asked teasingly.  All you could do was nod your head and bite your lower lip.  “Tell me,” he said, “tell me how much you want me.  I want to hear that beautiful voice beg for my cock…”
“Karl, please,” you moaned, pushing against him.  You were spread wide and Heisenberg was the only one able to control how much or how little of his cock you received.  He gripped the base of his length, moving gently, waiting for you to beg.  “Please...I want you to fuck me...right here...against the kitchen counter...I need you, I fucking need you!!”
“That’s more like it,” he moaned as he pushed deep inside of your cunt.  The both of you moaned loudly.  One of his arms looped around your waist, holding you close to his body, as the other hand went back to the front of your neck.  His lips were at your ear as he started his punishing thrusts.  “Moan for me, Y/N...I want to hear you...you sound so fucking sexy when you scream for me…”
His hips hammered against your ass.  You felt him rubbing back and forth across your G-spot and every sensation made you shiver.  He knew every sweet spot in your body...where to kiss, where to lick, where to suck...and it felt beyond amazing.
“Fuck me, Karl...just like that...oh fuck yes...just like that!!!” you moaned, tossing your head back.  His fingers gripped your neck as he panted in your ear.
“You’re mine, pussycat,” he growled, “all mine...I’m never letting you go...oh fuck, your cunt is so fucking tight!”
His hand moved from your waist to your pussy, his fingers rubbing your clit in time to his thrusts.  You began to scream.  The double punch of his cock stretching you out and his fingers rubbing your sensitive clit were about to drive you insane.  You were going to cum soon...so close...almost there...more...more…
“I love you, Y/N…” Heisenberg moaned, “...so much...cum for me...cum for me like a good girl…”
“I love you, too,” you whimpered, “...I’m almost there...Karl...almost there...oh fuck!”
His teeth sunk into the flesh of your neck as he felt your pussy grip his cock tightly.  His moans and grunts were stifled as he heard you scream.  Your body trembled and your hand went over his on your clit.  Your hips bucked wildly, humping his hand and riding his dick.  Your orgasm broke the surface and your moans were strangled as you trembled uncontrollably.  His teeth released your skin as he came inside of you, his deep moan echoing through the room.
He slumped against you as both of your bodies quaked from aftershocks.  Drops of sweat slid down your neck.  His arms held you tight as he pressed his forehead to your shoulder.  “You’re gonna kill me one of these days…” he whispered.  You chuckled softly.
You lowered your leg from the countertop as Heisenberg pulled out of your pussy.  Your legs felt numb and you had to hold yourself up as you kicked your heels off your feet.  Heisenberg could see that you were weak.  Without a word, he swept you off your feet and took you to the bed, laying you down amongst the soft covers.
You pulled the sheets and blankets down as Heisenberg removed his boots, socks, and pants.  He slid under the covers with you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you close.  You laid your head on his chest, inhaling the sweet smell of Tochitura de Pui still in the air.
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doubtspirit · 2 years ago
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"Der kluge Rabe", 1914
Cognac Asbach "Uralt". The clever raven. Published in Jugend magazine, 1914. | src Heidelberg University Library
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itchyofficial · 2 years ago
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07.10.2022 Dresden - Beatpol
Tourstart. Schreib ich das gerade wirklich? Fahren wir wirklich nach 2,5 Jahren Warten ENDLICH wieder auf fucking Tour? Sieht so aus, weil es gerade Donnerstag abend 23 Uhr ist, und wir uns im Proberaum treffen, wo just in diesem Moment ein großer schwarzer Tourbus einparkt. Trifft sich gut.
Da wir gar nicht mehr wissen, was man auf Tour so alles mitnehmen muss, packen wir einfach alles ein, was irgendwo herumliegt. Zu viel mit dabei zu haben ist auf jeden Fall um einiges besser, als zu wenig. Wie damals 2006, als wir in Dortmund beim Aufbauen im Club merkten, dass die Hälfte (!) unseres Equipments noch 500km entfernt in unserem Proberaum-Aufzug steht.
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Nach der Abfahrt zockt der Großteil der Bande direkt FIFA auf der Playstation und ich freue mich, dass mir Matze einen echten Hosentaschen-Chantré mitgebracht hat. Wir reden in letzter Zeit sehr oft über Chantré. Oder über Mariakron. Oder über Underberg. Oder über Asbach Uralt. Einfach über alles, was sehr oft von Personen vor oder nach mir, zu jeder Tageszeit, auf das Kassenband im Supermarkt gelegt wird. Zum Chantré ist zu sagen, dass er z.b. tatsächlich um einiges besser schmeckt, als der Jägermeister, den wir seit 21 Jahren vor jeder Show saufen. Ob wir jetzt beim Pre-Show-Ritual allerdings auf Chantré umsteigen, muss erst noch vollends ausdiskutiert werden.
Irgendwann leg ich mich in meine Koje und lese noch etwas aus Zlatan Ibrahimoviczs neuem Buch, welches mit den Worten beginnt: „I’m a god. But a god that’s 40 years old.“ Genau so würde meine Autobiografie auch beginnen. Bis auf den ersten Satz, und die erste Hälfte des zweiten Satzes.
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Wie immer in nem Nightliner schlafe ich komplett beschissen, freue mich aber am nächsten Morgen, dass wir bereits vor dem Club in Dresden stehen. Kurzes Frühstück, kurze Gesichtshygiene und dann los in die Stadt. Ich muss ja sagen, dass Dresden echt eine der allerschönsten Städte überhaupt ist. Nach der Besichtigung einiger alten Gebäude, trinke ich erst einen ekelhaften überteuerten Espresso und esse dann DIE Dresdner Spezialität schlechthin: Currywurst. Danach esse ich noch einen Block Schokolade am Stil, der sich in meinem Magen wie ein Latexhandschuh um die Currywurst legt, was ein sehr warmes und wohliges Gefühl verursacht.
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Zurück im Club wird schon aufgebaut. Ich baue auch auf, und zwar meinen Laptop. Mein Laptop braucht aktuell in etwa den selben Platz, wie der erste Computer der Welt, Mitte des vorigen Jahrhunderts. Zuerst ging vor einigen Wochen mein Touchpad kaputt, dann direkt darauf meine Tastatur und gestern dann auch noch meine drahtlose Ersatztastatur. Das hat zur Folge, dass ich jetzt meinen Laptop, einen USB-Adapter, eine kabelgebundene Maus, einen Funkempfänger, sowie die größte kabellose Tastatur der Menschheitsgeschichte vor mir aufbauen muss. Dass die Tastatur, die mir unser Tontechniker Thimo im Jahre 2004 gebraucht verkauft hat, beim Anschlagen klingt, als würde man mit einem Spaten einen Porzellan-Laden umdekorieren, erwähne ich hier nur der Vollständigkeit halber.
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Wir machen dann den einzigen langen Soundcheck dieser Tour. Heute wird ausprobiert, wirklich der Sound gecheckt, noch ein, zwei Songs geprobt, es werden Übergänge gecheckt und besondere Stellen in der Setlist besprochen. Ab morgen wird es dann wieder so ablaufen:
Sibbi zu Tontechniker Jonas: „Müssen wir nochmal was anspielen“
Jonas: „Wegen mir nicht unbedingt, ich kann auch die Einstellungen von gestern nehmen.“
Panzer (aus einem anderen Raum): „Könnt ihr bitte mal leise sein, ich schaue Fußball und verstehe kein Wort.“
Heute und morgen mit am Start: Lobsterbomb aus Berlin. Tolle Band und sehr nette Menschen. Außerdem sind die uns Frisuren- und Klamottentechnisch so überlegen, wie man nur überlegen sein kann.
Als wir schließlich auf die Bühne gehen, haben wir etwas Schiss, weil man gerade von riesigen "No-Show-Quoten" hört, sprich Menschen, die trotz einer Eintrittskarte aus verschiedenen Gründen nicht aufs Konzert kommen. Beim ersten Blick von der Bühne wissen wir aber: Unser Publikum besteht nicht aus diesen Menschen. Der Club ist richtig voll und wir dürfen heute die größte eigene Dresden Show unserer Karriere spielen. Und wie genial dieser Abend ist:
Wir hatten es schon fast vergessen, aber eine Tour-Show ist einfach nur krass. Von der ersten bis zur letzten Sekunde drehen alle inklusive uns komplett durch und am Ende haben wir Muskelkater vom Dauergrinsen. Ein Traum.
Heute kein Traum: Ab Lied zwei ist die Luftfeuchtigkeit so dermaßen hoch, dass sich die Bühne in eine Eislaufbahn verwandelt. Dass sich heute keiner von uns das Genick bricht, grenzt an ein Wunder. Außerdem ist es so heiss und anstrengend, dass wir uns fühlen wie Leute, die halt eben so alt sind, wie wir sind.
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Dresden, das war einfach nur groß. Wir können nicht beschreiben, wie glücklich wir sind, endlich wieder auf Tour zu sein.
Bis zum nächsten Mal,
Dein ITCH
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periodically80s · 10 months ago
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ghafahey · 7 years ago
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blushyalec replied to your post: How do you pronounce your name? ����
beste beschreibung :D
jedes mal wenn irgendwo ein lied von dem kommt und er am anfang seinen namen sagt, lachen meine freunde sich tot….. i hate it 😫
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menubot · 6 years ago
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Why not enjoy some Brandy: Asbach Uralt (German) at Brentwood Inn? http://menus.nypl.org/menus/27885
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mercurygray · 4 years ago
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Thirsty Thursday
A little something different for this week’s Thirsty Thursday. Featuring some familiar officers who are about to be very, very drunk.
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“Nix," Dick said, eyeing the table of bottles and the waiting punch bowl, and feeling he was somehow going to regret this. "What is this?"
"Army Punch!" Nixon said proudly.  "We're going to have a Toast."
"Punch is usually lemons, brandy, and tea, Lew," Harry supplied. "Mostly brandy. My aunt makes it at Christmas-time  -- stuff will knock you on your ass. This is - " he surveyed the table, "-none of those things."
"Ahh, but that is your garden variety punch, and this is an Army Punch - specific to the unit for which it is made, and specifically for the purpose of making the unit toast! Now, gather round, you heathens, there’s an art to this."
He waited until they were all listening, and, with all the panache of a practiced showman, began. "This unit was first fielded in 1942, in Georgia, and it was there that several hundred men transformed themselves into paratroopers. In honor of the Peach State, we begin our punch with peach schnapps." He selected a bottle - one of the many on the table - and passed it to Harry. "Light Horse, please."
Harry shrugged and tipped it into the bowl, letting the entire bottle slowly chug out.
"Tested and tried by field exercises and under-strength commanders, we were sent to England to wait for orders, and gather our courage. To commemorate the good times had at the Blue Boar, and the strength of our English allies, a London Gin. Ron, if you would." In went a bottle of Gordon's, the mixture bubbling up promisingly.
"On June the sixth, we jumped into France, and the war. For the hedges, fields and orchards of Normandy,  in which so many of our brothers and sisters fought and died - calvados, a strong drink for strong soldiers." Lewis poured this one, an unmarked bottle that had probably been smuggled out of France in a pack that wasn't his.
"Trusted and ready, we undertook our second jump as liberators and friends of the Dutch, ready to free them from the Nazi yoke. For the dikes and bridges of Holland, Genever, the national liquor, distilled from junipers. Lip? " Lipton took the bottle, a tall strange thing with an antique looking label that smelled strongly of forests, and in it went.
"We then went to the Ardennes, remaining on the line in conditions that would have terrified lesser men. For the Bois Jacques, and the bitter cold, we add ice. Frosty, if you could do the honors? " Dick put a few heaping shovelfuls from the ice bucket into the bowl, which Lew stirred experimentally with the ladle before continuing.
"Our accomplishments are long, but our final objective is here at hand - and so, finally, for Germany, and to complete our Punch, we add Asbach Uralt, the famous brandywine of Unterberg. And with that - "
"It's not done," Joan interrupted, shaking her head. Heads turned as she went to the sideboard, and came back with another bottle, unwiring the top of the champagne and easing the cork off the bottle with surprising flair, the bottle only foaming a little.  "Before we serve it and raise our glasses in toast, we here add champagne, for the sweetness of victory - and to the health of the unit's officers and men." She raised the bottle, looked around the room and emptied it, meeting Lewis' eye with a smile. "This is not my first Punch. If you're going to do it, do it right."
Lewis, surprised, gestured to the bowl indicating that she was free to take over if she so desired, which she did, taking the ladle and stirring carefully.  "As we mix this," she said, with all the solemnity of an ancient priestess, "we remember the actions and battles that have made us who we are, and as we drink it, we remember the names of the men who are no longer with us to partake. We say their names now, in silence, and drink in their memory."
She paused, and bowed her head as if at prayer, and around the table the others did the same, going over the silent litany of the dead. 
Prayers and invocations complete, Joan ladled out a cup, the liquid now dark and vicious-looking, and offered it, not to Lewis, but to Dick. "Senior-most officer drinks first -- no exceptions."
Dick eyed the punch glass dubiously, and raised it to his lips, watching Joan over the rim of the glass as he took one long sip  - and almost immediately sputtered. "God, that's strong."
"As it should be," Joan said with a smile. "Gentleman, your glasses, please." They lined up and let her fill each one, each one looking at the mixture with a mix of excitement and fear.
"This is going to make your Aunt's punch look like a cakewalk," Buck murmured with a grin, but Harry only raised his eyebrows and indicated that Joan could fill his glass up just a little more.
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The tradition here is actually more in line with a Cavalry Punch, although it’s also sometimes called Grog instead. I have drunk something similar to the mixture described here - and yes, it will knock you on your butt.
The names given here are from the officer’s Drinking Club, whose sign is still prominenently displayed in the Blue Boar pub to this day.
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lovemusicndance · 1 year ago
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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Asbach Uralt.
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