What the angels leave behind...

An essential aspect of the manufacture of whisky and similar libations is letting it age in wood barrels. And while such barrels are tight enough to keep the contents from pouring out between the staves, the wood of the staves is nevertheless ever-so-slightly porous—enough not only to allow components in the wood to enter the liquor, but also to allow something like 2% of a barrel's content to evaporate through the wood and be lost forever.

Distillers apparently call this lost portion of product "the angel's share," which happened to be the title of a movie Galina and I saw last night on Netflix. Not surprisingly, whisky played a central role in the story.

Perhaps the most notable thing about the movie—which was shot in Scotland—was having Netflix start streaming it with English subtitles displayed and being unable to uncheck the appropriate box to make them go away. Resigned to this fate, we watched the movie with the subtitles, and I have to admit, they were quite helpful to me more than once.

The movie passed my "will-it-hold-my-attention-through-to-the-end" test, although between this story—that of a loser striving mightily not to be one (and maybe succeeding)—and the other night's The Last Stand, with Schwartzenegger, I have to wonder just what the folks who classify movies as "comedies" are smoking over there at Netflix.

The movie reminded me of something that happened during my visit (just about a year ago) to Natalie in California, when I had to opportunity to sample a lovely product of the disteller's art, to wit:


What truly amazed me about the taste of this 39-year-old product was how it was so unlike any Scotch I've ever tasted. It was almost a supernatural experience, as if the molecules of the liquid were disappearing into the surrounding tissues, spreading warmth with not a hint of harshness or bitterness, leaving behind only a sort of glow.

The film also reminded me that tonight is the birthday of Robert Burns, and although it would have been nice to at least have some cock-a-leekie soup today, to mark the occasion, that turned out to not be possible, and so the thought will have to do. Next year, maybe, we'll do a proper Burns' supper.

In the meantime, three jobs went out the pipe, one more came in (on Saturday!), and I finally managed to run a Raspberry Pi as a computer (as opposed to a headless server). There is a hazard with this, of course, as I only have one "standing" work station, and I recall from my experience in Pagosa how easy it is to be slowly seduced by the siren song of a Seat.

I'll just have to keep monitoring the situation, I guess.

Cheers...