The Hot Walter

I come from a family with a history of alcoholism. Three out of four grandparents were alcoholics. One almost died as a direct result of it (passed out one night and almost couldn't be revived...luckily he had a very good friend who made it to the house just in time to save his life). The second one died from liver and colon cancer many years later. The third died from completely unrelated causes but spent her life battling the bottle nonetheless. The fourth grandparent never touched the stuff, as far as I am aware, and she's the only one still living. Although, she's slowly fading away to the evil that is Alzheimer's....maybe a drink would do us all a little good right now.

Nanny had been sober for many years by the time I was born, but never touched alcohol and we all knew why. One of my treasured possessions is one of her Al-Anon coins. The only alcoholic drink Nan ever served me was one afternoon about 10 years ago. At the time, I lived in the same town she did, and I was a newlywed. A newlywed living 350 miles from her mama with a husband who had a job requiring 90% travel (no, he didn't drive a rig...his job in sports technology sounded far more glamorous than that, although, really, it wasn't...not then). So, I spent a lot of time at Nan's house. A few nights a week after work I'd go over and have dinner with her, and sometimes I'd even stay the night. When I was sick, she was the first person I called and she always invited me over.

That afternoon, I had the beginnings of a cold. I was puny and drippy and had that dragged-out, greasy, cloudy feeling. Nothing was helping. I went to her house. She offered me something to drink, then looked a little closer. She leaned in, and with a slight twinkle in her eye, she said "I've got a drink that'll make you feel better, if you promise not to tell your daddy I gave it to you." I wondered what on earth it could be. I was of age...was she brewing moonshine in her garage, by chance?!? That would explain why she never opened the door.

That afternoon, she, my 25+ years sober grandmother, made me a Hot Toddy. She told me she liked to call them Hot Walters (after my grandfather, because he was so cute, and also because with her thick Southern accent, it sounded a little like Hot Waters, lest she alarm anyone who would think she'd fallen off the wagon). The drink was warm, and I could feel it working its magic all the way down. Was I instantly cured? No, of course not. But did I feel at least a little better? Of course. With the burn of the whiskey and the warmth of the love that she poured into that steaming mug, how could anyone not appreciate a Hot Walter?

Hot Toddy

In a large mug, place one teabag (any kind will do...I usually use either green or black tea). Fill about 3/4 full with almost (not quite) boiling water. Add a teaspoon or so of honey, depending on how sweet you want it. Let it steep for 3-4 minutes and remove the teabag (don't squeeze it). Add a slice of lemon or orange, 3-4 whole cloves, and a shot of whiskey. Stir, sip, and feel better soon.

(c) 2010
*Originally published as part of the Salon Kitchen Challenge on Open.Salon.com, March 2010.