Brick by blood orange brick they built it, carefully mixing cinnamon sand in powdered Madagascar vanilla bean charcoal to create their cranberry mimosa mortar, like macerated strawberry yeast in sea salt caramel softly kneaded dough. As sweat dripped from their nutmeg tanned brows and brown sugar bare arms, they daydreamed of sipping on sweet sasparilla, chilled to perfection with generous rhombohedrons of clean clear ice, cool and wet as fishing for walleye in the bottomless Great Lakes. With the best time of day approaching, a break for lunch ensued; beef kabobs were flung from their skewers and slapped down upon freshly ground blue corn masa tortillas, with sweet red bell peppers and salsa macha; made with dried ancho, guajillo and arbol chiles, garlic, peanuts, seasame seeds, salt and oregano of course. Following, Mr. Umeboshi meandered neatly down a path replete with purple fig, cedar, leather and sassafras, where hibiscus flowers hung from garden windows perched precariously along cobbled Havana streets, and the door to the local cigar shop remained propped open by a small cedar box seat. At the corner, a calamitous cacophony called out, he quickly caught a lark, ran roughshod past ruby coral, vaulted vigorously off a rosewood chair, and came crashing down like Campari in a Timur pepper tumbler. The end.

notes by: clay selkirk winemaker & all around cowboy