My homemade baileys is foolproof: kids love it.
No kidding. And I mean real kids here. No-older-than-kindergartener kids. Not childlike or childish adults. Kids. Real kids.
The recipe, if followed accurately, guarantees a fine, smooth mix, with almost no odor of the infernal gin bilog ingredient. Real chocolatey you’ll want more and more and more, until you just find yourself just wanting to sit down, or lie down and nap, not knowing what struck you.
I remember, five or four years ago, one Christmas morning, while I faced the onslaught of nephews, nieces, godchildren and grandchildren (yes, I don’t mind, call me impo), I had all the kiddies drink the concoction, and voila! Everyone behaved like the good boys and good girls that they should. No more pressing all the buttons of my CD player while it sang carols. No more chasing me all the way to the kitchen then playing with the knobs of the stove. No more going down and up and down the stairs and running to the street. No more jumping up and down the rickety floor and annoying the neighbors below. No more entering the bathroom and soaking their hands wet in God-knows-what.
It’s not like I lined them all down and forced them to drink, no, I would never do that. What happened was in the middle of all the kiddie holiday mayhem, I thought about drinking some of the baileys which I made during Christmas eve, then stored in the ref. One whole pitcher all for myself, of course I did not consume it in one sitting during the night, had to save some for the big day.
As I was taking out the pitcher from the ref, one of the kids approached me and asked the magical question each kid will never pass through childhood without asking: ano yan?
I could not remember my answer anymore, but I’m guessing I must’ve said masarap, and probably with a big wide grin, because I remember that the next thing I heard was pahingi. Kids love saying that, too. It’s the adventurer in each one of them, I guess, wanting to have a taste of things always. Just think about how kids, especially the really young ones, love putting things in their mouth, taste-testing everything. I think Freud calls that the oral stage, actually.
Anyhoo, how could I turn down a curious kid? He just wanted a taste, not the whole pitcher, had he asked for the whole pitcher the big bad girl who made the juice would have given him the glare.
I got the kid a little glass, put in it some ice, and poured him some – maybe what was equal to three shots. It was a quite a big little glass.
Then, carrying the glass with the liquor, he went back to his fellow kiddies, who, after seeing him carry the thing, also had to ask ano yan?
So I had to face everyone of them telling me pahingi. My mistake was giving in to the first kid. After him, how could I say no to the others? It wouldn’t be fair, right? Besides, it came to a point when I was already surrounded and could not even return the pitcher to the ref which they have also been previously playing close-open with. I had to be holding it up high while they gathered around my waist, asking, pleading, ano yan? masarap? pahingi! It can’t be helped anymore, they really really wanted it.
It’s basically just chocolate, afterall. Chocolate that they can drink. Don’t kids love chocolate?
Besides, sometimes, one just has to let kids be so they could figure out stuff on their own. Like how to handle being tipsy.
I counted the kids and gave each one a glass, put ice cubes in each, then poured away.
Next thing I know, I could hear my CD player caroling again.
And the kids were all seated, holding either emptied or half-drank glasses, looking at each other, or on the floor, or simply spaced out, zen as hell.
I guess that marks the time when I first realized that sometimes, it’s more fun watching kids get drunk than partake in the drinking. There’s a different pleasure when you’re simply watching them have fun.
And there’s also fun in watching over them, making sure that everything’s alright.
I guess those nephews and nieces and godchildren and grandchildren of mine had fun at the time. And they could always claim they had their first taste of alcohol even before they got into high school, eh?
I had fun.
And so, here’s the recipe:
Ingredients: one Ginebra gin bilog, one liter Magnolia Chocolait, five pieces of Storck menthol candy, four to six tablespoonfuls of Nestle Coffeemate, three tablespoonfuls of Nestle Classic instant coffee, half cup or mug of hot water, lots of ice cubes.
Materials: a pitcher with a cover, a ladle, short cocktail glasses, coffee cup or mug, spoon, mortar and pestle
Reminders: 1. use only the ingredients as stated above, especially the Chocolait thingy, because all the other choco tetra drinks are either too sweet or too milky. 2. don’t use fruit flavored menthol candies. 3. follow the directions in sequence, to avoid a lumpy mix. 4. never put ice in the pitcher. 5. don’t exceed the measurements on the non-alcoholic ingredients – the allowances are enough already, believe me, and if you still find the mix too strong for your taste, forget about the recipe and just drink you coffee and coco instead. 😛
Directions: 1. dissolve the coffee and coffee creamer in very hot water in a mug or cup, stirring it very well until it is free of lumps, then set aside to cool. 2. crush the menthol candies, but no need to pound until they are powdery, though it would be nice to crush them fine, then set aside too. 3. in a pitcher, mix the dissolved coffee-creamer and the crushed menthol candies together and stir, then pour in the Chocolait, then the gin, and stir well again, then cover the pitcher and set aside. 4. put some ice cubes in each of the cocktail glasses, then pour the mix in the glasses. 5. drink up! bottoms up!