- Food & Drink
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.
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.
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.