Sipsmith sloe and damson

At the Ladies Ale Night fellow lady food blogger Eats the World introduced me to the term “gincident”, which describes an event caused by gin. Or, more specifically, excess gin. Viewed through the prism of the gincident, my life suddenly makes much more sense.

The Night Of The Ruined Suitcase (which no matter how much it was washed, never quite smelled the same again); The Curious Case Of The Books All Over The Staircase; The Tragic Drowning Of The Pot Plant In The Toilet; That Time I Woke Up Halfway Across The Entrance To My Own Bedroom – none of these were my fault. They were gincidents and all the blame lies squarely on a bottle of juniper-scented grain spirit.

The last gincident I was responsible for took place at a friend’s wedding. They held it in the garden of the groom’s family house and like all weddings it was a beautiful day heaving with emotion, not least because the reception drinks were strongly mixed gin and tonics.

An afternoon and evening of drinking, eating, dancing, drinking, dancing, drinking and dancing followed. Before you could say: “You’re great, you are. You’re my besht friend”, it was 2am and The Best Man and I were propping up the bar, downing shots of gin.

Damson competition entries

We finished the last half bottle just as the taxis pulled up to take us back to our hotels. A hurried round of hugs, kisses and ‘loves yous’ saw me stagger into my cab and slide into the night. The Best Man, however, did not follow my example. Like a gin-sodden doormouse, he was sleepy and the house’s soft lights beckoned him in.

The place was wall-to-wall with relatives and every room contained a slumbering aunt or cousin, except one. With the unerring instinct of the catastrophically drunk, The Best Man made his way to this empty room, stripped off and climbed into the bride and groom’s marital bed.

The happy couple found him about half an hour later. It turns out that a naked, gin-wrecked, six foot tall man is impossible to shift once he’s comatose, so they had to leave him snoring amidst their pillows and sheets while they searched out a spare bookshelf or bit of sideboard to spend their wedding night on.

How I wish I could’ve been eating marmalade and toast at that breakfast table the morning after. When your walk of shame begins as soon as you step out of the bedroom, then you know you’ve been a victim of the gincident.

Goodnight Sipsmith's

The journey home from the launch party for Sipsmith’s Sloe Gin and Damson Vodka could also be described as a gincident, albeit of a smaller, less naked nature. The Sipsmith boys – Sam, Jared and Fairfax – had decked the distillery with fairy lights and set up a bar dispensing cocktails made with their new batches of sloe gin and damson vodka.

They shook them up with sherry, spritzed them with champagne, muddled them with whisky and in general created a series of tremendously sippable drinks. Although, if I’m honest, I prefer both liqueurs as they are.

The magic thing about Sipsmith Sloe Gin and Damson Vodka is that they genuinely taste of the fruit. Like Willy Wonka’s 3-Course Meal Gum, the flavours are almost solid. Each mouthful is so convincing that I half-expect to pull a stray stick of hedgerow from between my teeth.

However, I did dedicate myself to trying all the cocktails to make sure. Eventually, having thoroughly tested my opinion, I left and, pausing for just one more drink at a convenient pub, made my way home.

The 21/2-hour journey took in most of the major staging points between Hammersmith and South London, and a few stops that suggest I was blown slightly off track. I woke up the next day with a strong desire for bacon and Coke. That’s a ginicident for you.

Both the Sloe Gin and Damson Vodka are £23.50 from the Sipsmith website. For a more detailed review of the night, go to Billy’s Booze Blog. And thank you very much to Sipsmith for hosting a fun, gincident-filled night.

Tagged with: GinVodka

10 Responses to Sipsmith Sloe Gin and Damson Vodka launch

  1. When we got married, my mum found my sister’s other half sleeping snuggled up against the aga the next morning… She rolled him over, but he was scarred (not to mention In Trouble) for at least a week or two.
    More of a champagncident, I think, but a very similar principle.
    I’ll tell him about your wedding bed story – that should make him feel better 🙂

  2. Sally says:

    I heard about Sipsmith on R4 food and farming awards and have wanted to taste some of their ‘beverages’ ever since. Would be worth a ‘gincident’. Great account of some cracking nights out.

  3. Ailbhe says:

    Great little gincident tale there : ) Indeed as I waved goodbye to all you at Hammersmith tube platform after Sipsmith my gincident journey home saw me pacing up and down Earls Court Road before finally bagging a taxi home to the safety of South London. Glad to know it wasn’t me it was the sloe gin (damson vodka, cocktails, ale… ahem). Was a good night though!

  4. roswensian says:

    My latest Gincident involved a simple 40 minute walk home from Stratford that turned into 2 and a half hours – where a key turning point on a small diverson got missed. This isn’t the end of the story.

    During this was a blazing row with my boyfriend (who had not been on the Gin) It was all his fault. A call to my bestfriend (who was asleep) I can only assume I wanted to stay at her house, but considering I couldn’t find my way home (a mile away) how was I going to find her on the otherside of the great big river! Then came my moment of pure GINIUS – I was disgusted that I was walking alone (my boyfriend didn’t count, I had fallen out with him) I was a girl ALL alone being diverted to a scary part of East London and I wanted to complain.

    Who do we complain to when we live in London? Well Boris of course! I phoned 118 118, got the number for City Hall and then listened to a recorded message – thankfully I wasn’t able to leave a message.

    I soon made up with my boyfriend, as it wasn’t really his fault at all – it was GIN.

    That call to 118 118 cost me £5.30!

    • ginandcrumpets says:

      Brilliant, you are a ginius. Who else is a girl to turn to when she is forced to walk through London at night with only her boyfriend-who-doesn’t-count for company but Boris? If you’d been really thinking about, you’d have tweeted @MayorOfLondon your outrage. Remember that for next time.

      I’ve also done a similar walk, this time along a country lane after a friend’s wedding. I had a massive row with my then boyfriend because he offered to carry my shoes (I’d taken them off because high heels and walks home never go together) and I DIDN’T NEED HIS HELP. I AM AN INDEPENDENT WOMAN. WHY DO YOU ALWAYS TRY TO OPPRESS ME?

      ‘Fine’, he said, ‘I won’t even walk with you’, and marched on ahead. 5 minutes later I ran up to him and asked why he’s walking so fast, I can’t keep up. ‘We’ve had an argument,’ he said. ‘Have we?’ I said.

  5. roswensian says:

    Sounds like every argument we ever have!

  6. Haha I love the idea of a ‘gincident’…am sure I’ve had a few of those in my time 🙂

  7. oxfordfood says:

    I’ve definitely also had a few gin-related arguments. And yet I will vehemently defend gin against other people’s claims that it makes you tearful and moody. Anyway, pretty jealous you got to go to this. I’ve only just made this year’s batch of sloe gin and now I’ll have to wait til January to drink it…

  8. A gincident. I love it! Am totally adopting that one. And by the way Sloe gin and damson vodka both sound absolutely delicious. Hmmm I think you have made me crave a gin n tonic!

  9. Sasa says:

    Oh my god, my life now makes sense, gincidents happen regularly and I didn’t even know. I love a good neologism.

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