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<blockquote data-quote="tuxgeo" data-source="post: 6234829" data-attributes="member: 61026">Ermphf. I was raised in the ways of booze from an early age. There was always beer and wine and whiskey (with an &quot;e&quot; before the &quot;y&quot; because it was American --&nbsp; usually &quot;Old Crow&quot;) in the house; but we children were not supposed to touch it. Mostly. One time, when visiting relatives in Eastern Oregon, my father's uncle Harley took us (Dad, Mom, brothers, me) for a hike in the woods, in order to show us the site of the family's still. He told my father, &quot;You're the first white man to see this.&quot; (Uncle Harley had more redskin in him than much of anything else, so Harley couldn't count himself as white.) My first taste of alcohol was pink champagne on New Year's Eve in a cold motel room in San Francisco. Wisely, Dad had only purchased one bottle. We kids couldn't go too far with that. (He was working for Southern Pacific railroad at that time, and he wanted us to get a ride on the rail ferry over the Bay before the ferry got shut down, which closure had been announced.)Did I mention the home-brew root beer in the 1950's? I did, didn't I? (Yeah, &quot;Hires&quot; root beer extract, baker's yeast, cane sugar, and water. None of your authentic, snooty &quot;malted barley&quot; complications. . . .)</blockquote>

[QUOTE="tuxgeo, post: 6234829, member: 61026"] Ermphf. I was raised in the ways of booze from an early age. There was always beer and wine and whiskey (with an "e" before the "y" because it was American -- usually "Old Crow") in the house; but we children were not supposed to touch it. Mostly. One time, when visiting relatives in Eastern Oregon, my father's uncle Harley took us (Dad, Mom, brothers, me) for a hike in the woods, in order to show us the site of the family's still. He told my father, "You're the first white man to see this." (Uncle Harley had more redskin in him than much of anything else, so Harley couldn't count himself as white.) My first taste of alcohol was pink champagne on New Year's Eve in a cold motel room in San Francisco. Wisely, Dad had only purchased one bottle. We kids couldn't go too far with that. (He was working for Southern Pacific railroad at that time, and he wanted us to get a ride on the rail ferry over the Bay before the ferry got shut down, which closure had been announced.) Did I mention the home-brew root beer in the 1950's? I did, didn't I? (Yeah, "Hires" root beer extract, baker's yeast, cane sugar, and water. None of your authentic, snooty "malted barley" complications. . . .) [/QUOTE]

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