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[personal profile] desperance
Hogswatch falls on Sunday this year. I have a seven-pound pork shoulder in the fridge, and no real idea what to do with it. Or what else to do. We have a dozen guests, and no intentions. And no time.

But! The recent weather has brought down oranges from the tree, ripe and ready. I have incised away their rinds and am preparing those a la Bear, candied with spicings; once dried off, they shall be dunked in chocolate and deemed to be Hogsgifts for our friends.

Meanwhile, the interiors of the oranges existed. They're navels, and really not so good for eating, because they peel very poorly and I weary of picking pith from my teeth. But they juice excellently well, and after a brief and unsuccessful flirtation with Jeannie's lime-squeezer I have discovered the perfect peeled-orange-juicer, which is a ricer.

So I have half a jug of orange juice, and almost a bottle of rum. The internet instructs me that a proportionate admixture of one to the other is properly called a Scurvy Medic. I am okay with this. Tho' I may need to start an emergency reread of Patrick O'Brian. Yo ho, Sebastian.

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