Hurricane

Obviously, laziness hit an all-time high at our house this holiday season.  And yes, for the record, in my mind it is still the holiday season. 

I don’t like winter.  It’s cold, it’s dreary, it’s dark, and it’s really, really cold.  REALLY cold.  I don’t like it.  It’s a challenge for me to find a reason to go on living every day, and ever since we started Weight Watchers,  the challenge has been compounded, because cheese, chocolate, and caramel have been severely limited here.  And those were my top three reasons for carrying on until spring.

Anyway, enough about that, because Friday I did find a reason to hang on for another week or so. 
Hurricanes.  The ones with rum, not the ones with Sam Champion on television in vintage Land’s End Squall Jackets.

The last time I had one was 1992, and I do believe you would have found me in the basement of the SAE house in my jorts and Greek Week t-shirt standing knee deep in water while electric fans simulated an actual hurricane.

It was a lot of effort for a fruity drink.

Then I turned 22 and officially outgrew the Hurricane.  Well, except for when we went to Jimmy Buffet pre-concert parties…and all-inclusive Caribbean resorts.  Hurricanes are a socially acceptable beverage choice in both of those situations.

And apparently they are back in vogue at a fun new restaurant in our town, 55 South.  Southern Living loves it.  So do we.  And because they do authentic NOLA food, they can serve a Hurricane with confidence.  And not being one to buck the system, especially where beverages are concerned, I partook.

And with one sip I was transported back to my college days- all 5 wrinkle-free years of them.  (There was a year of grad school in there).

I love nostalgia.  And apparently I won’t frown at rum-flavored drinks with cherries and umbrellas.

See y’all!

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