[Other]
Title: prayers to the god of wine
’Verse/characters: n/a
Prompt: 75B "science"
Word Count: 214
Rating: all ages
Notes: I don't speak in third person. Really.
There are theories--she's read them on the internet somewhere, and can't remember if the theory is country specific or not anymore--that honey was the first fermented drink, the first wine. The idea is very, very old, in any event, old like the Sumerian and Egyptian beers (rationing out sips like change, or safer to drink than the water), older than the Arab distillers.
You can measure out a year in apples, pomegranates, oranges, asparagus, peas, and peaches, and sometimes it's a little wrong to be able to walk into a grocery store and pick up a bottle that might once have been summer snatched from the teeth of a long dark winter, now nailed down to a taste profile by scientific reason and experimentation. This much yeast for this much time, to get a drink that reminds the unexperienced of sweet pickle juice, that much for that time, to taste of watered-down honey with a hint of bite, like the memories of bee stings. There's no element of chance, no echos of whispered prayers to the wind to bring wild yeasts in the syrupy text on the label.
Mostly, though, she's a child of her age, and she buys commercial honey-wine because she knows what she'll get in each printed bottle.
’Verse/characters: n/a
Prompt: 75B "science"
Word Count: 214
Rating: all ages
Notes: I don't speak in third person. Really.
There are theories--she's read them on the internet somewhere, and can't remember if the theory is country specific or not anymore--that honey was the first fermented drink, the first wine. The idea is very, very old, in any event, old like the Sumerian and Egyptian beers (rationing out sips like change, or safer to drink than the water), older than the Arab distillers.
You can measure out a year in apples, pomegranates, oranges, asparagus, peas, and peaches, and sometimes it's a little wrong to be able to walk into a grocery store and pick up a bottle that might once have been summer snatched from the teeth of a long dark winter, now nailed down to a taste profile by scientific reason and experimentation. This much yeast for this much time, to get a drink that reminds the unexperienced of sweet pickle juice, that much for that time, to taste of watered-down honey with a hint of bite, like the memories of bee stings. There's no element of chance, no echos of whispered prayers to the wind to bring wild yeasts in the syrupy text on the label.
Mostly, though, she's a child of her age, and she buys commercial honey-wine because she knows what she'll get in each printed bottle.