Someone tried to sell me some parsnip juice today. He was out of the bar before the stout settled for the customer in front.
Parsnip juice is the cheapest booze of the cheapest booze. It’s fifty percent proof, and a litre bottle never goes above a single digit price. Some of them are pretty smooth. But parsnip juice is not made of parsnips. Therein lies the problem.
Every time a farmer finds his silo full of the rotting dead, they must throw everything away. It’s a disappointment, and a financial burden, but there are schemes in place that can help with this. Disposing of biohazard waste is a standard business expense.
You can find someone who will take poisoned load off your hands. Arrive in the middle of the night, complete the hard work of removing the grain and writing up the paperwork, even sort the clean up. You will only get a month’s pay a year’s graft, but your hassle is sorted.
The core ingredient is the scabby, chewed up bits found after a parsniphead attack .There’s going to be blood on that grain. Saliva mashed up with broken kernels, mixed together with tooth and bone. They boil it up in copper stills on hidden moons. Some put a little joke on the label. A rotting hand reaching for a glass. A skull and crossbones on the stem of a flower.
The salesman will tell you there’s nothing to worry about. That the distillation process leaves nothing but the product behind. Some of the more persistent ones will insist they are doing a good thing. That they are the ones who are not letting crops vanish into biohazard incinerators. That they allow the universe to keep on drinking with change in their pockets.
Try a few bottles they say. Serve it with tonic or cola. No one will notice the difference.
As I said. They are out before the stout settles.
Imagine if we had a customer who stopped for a drink, and within days joined the ranks of the walking dead. Who knows what parsnip juice does to your body ten years down the line.
I found two empty bottles of parsnip juice in the field today. Right now there will be another farmer selling another the contents of another broken silo.
You may have to pay more here on Buber. But we will only ever serve the highest quality.
