Sometime ago, I made a gallon or so of Liquore di Limette (lime liquor) instead of my usual Limoncello. I gave a few bottles to friends when it was ready to drink, and I stored the rest in the frig. I like limes, but only in certain recipes or drinks. Lime liquor is not one of them, so I quietly tucked the jar in the back of the frig and then I abandoned it.
Every now and then, my husband asks when I plan to either drink it or dump it out. Still, I ignore it, and go to great lengths to do so. I place gallons of milk in front of it, or three layer cakes, or packages of butter, or stacks of yogurt. I can’t throw it out. I can’t stand the thought of wasting the money, and besides, some people like it. Just not me.
For the last few weeks, some of my friends have asked me if the new batch of Limoncello was about ready. Well—yes, and, well—no. I’m in the middle of kitchen remodeling, and it’s becoming tiresome to make anything. I finally caved under the pressure when one of my friends brought it up one day as I was on my way out the door, and in my haste I offered up the rest of Liquore di Limette. He acted like he just won 5 numbers in the lottery.
I planned to give him the Limette the week before last but I went out-of-town, then last week, then again on Monday, then for sure yesterday. Finally this morning, I decided I had to do it. I didn’t want to take the large jar into the office, so I poured an empty glass grain alcohol bottle full of the Limette and off I went. I beat him to work by 2 hours, so I set the bottle in the middle of his desk. When he came in, we talked about the Limette and its ingredients and the whole process of making it, the bottle positioned between us as the center of attention.
He then decides that he wants to smell it when suddenly the bottle explodes like Vesuvius and the Limette blew everywhere. We were both speechless as we watched shards of glass ricochet off his computer, his desk, and the walls while what seemed like a hundred gallons of sweet sticky lime scented liquor flowed like lava all over his desk, sealing in place everything on it. I told him that nothing like this has ever happened to me before, and that it probably explains why I have acid reflux. Lick the desk before anyone sees you, I tell him, so that you know what you’re missing.
It took the two of us about an hour of running back and forth to the restroom, collecting large amounts of paper towels, and spraying Windex (the only cleaner we could find) all over his desk and everything on it. (Later that evening, it took me two Margaritas to get over the trauma.) Naturally, a crowd formed, and others asked when I planned to make more.
I told my husband about the exploding bottle, and he laughed for a long time, then told me that the cold liquid probably didn’t have room in the bottle to expand.
Before leaving work for the day, my friend reminds me that I need to bring in what remains of the Limette—this time in a plastic soda bottle.
Maybe next week.