[footfootfoot]

twenty years ago, I repaired some guy's wooden cross country skis. he snapped one in two. it was a phenomenal rebuild job, you couldn't see the join, took hours, cost more than the skis, they had sentimantal value.

He was a bee keeper, among other things, and paid me partly in honey. Buckets of honey. Along the way I also ended up with a gallon of buckwheat honey, really black and strong tasting.

I brewed a batch of mead, flavored with fresh ginger, (fermetation accelerant) and it was pretty good as memory serves.

A couple of friends of mine still talk about it, and friends of theirs who never even tasted it will stop me on the street and ask me if I'll make it again.

twenty years later.

a) like I remember what I did
b) it couldn't possibly have been that good
c) like I have the time.

Though I am making sake from scratch right now. this is # 3. First time out it was like a wonderful unsweet syrup, that left you with a brain crushing headache the next day. I'm hoping to resolve that aspect this time.