cheated, a little

wouldn't you take a warming, intoxicating, melt-you-all-over sip (or two) of balvenie single-barrel 15 year-old single malt scotch, especially if it was graciously passed in the luxuriously modern salon at l'espalier for a dear friend's 28th birthday celebration?

well, wouldn't you?

so, such is my lapse. but oh! mercy on this forgivable trifle. truthfully, i am glad that i did stick to my abstinent guns, for the summer refreshers that english bill prepared were blissfully boozefree, yet absolutely exquisite.

the first, paired with an island creek oyster topped dramatically with a pouf of cucumber foam and smidge of fruit and glistening roe, stood head to head with any cocktail worth its mettle: an ethereal elixir of watermelon granita muddled with lemon verbena "plucked this morning from frank's own farm."

heck yes.

the second beverage that materialized also burst forth in all sorts of sun-kissed pleasure. passion fruit juice, steeped with a cinnamon stick for a day or so, is shaken with honey syrup and then taken over ice; sipped daintily from a straw, if you would do so kindly. really perfect, presiding somewhere in that nebulous middle ground between simple fresh juice and meticulous mixology. it drinks like a dream.

there was plenty of emotional flux throughout the day. a sweet yet sentimental goodbye over breakfast, the stupefying stifle of what became the sauna-city, some stolen moments with a bohemian who has nothing to lose and all to gain.

up next: sugarbomber ice cream showdown. may the best delights reward a patient, passionate following of frozen dessert. in other words: the most righteous guerilla dessert feast in a somerville parking lot! sounds like trouble. sweet, sweet trouble.