Dear Mannaz,
I love you and I’m sorry about what I said. Worse than knowing that I’ve lied, really, I’m sorry about what I’m going to keep saying.
You are not “Valkyrie’s Choice’s little brother.” I know that. The boss knows that. You know that… but you’re just too complex and interesting to sum up for abecedarian mead drinkers. It’s also your fault in a way, since you’re always growing and changing.
See, there I go again, trying to pass the blame. It’s not your fault that you’re so marvelous and subtle and complex; I made you that way. It just takes a real connoisseur to see everything you are.
I tell people that you “wait until summer to shine.” That’s only partially true. You really do shine in the summer with your crisp honey notes and your subtle Belgian fruitiness, but we both know that you’re glorious all year ’round. Sometimes, your subtle complexity is too much for me and I have to turn to the clean and stalwart Valkyrie’s Choice or the dangerously refreshing Chaos. It’s not your fault, though, it’s mine.
I think it goes back to your childhood. Every other mead from Groennfell is meticulously controlled through its whole fermentation and aging. Not you. We let you run free to pick up cool, strange esters and phenols; it’s your wild but cultured upbringing that puts you in a class of your own.
I love you and I’m sorry about what I said. Worse than knowing that I’ve lied, really, I’m sorry about what I’m going to keep saying.
You are not “Valkyrie’s Choice’s little brother.” I know that. The boss knows that. You know that… but you’re just too complex and interesting to sum up for abecedarian mead drinkers. It’s also your fault in a way, since you’re always growing and changing.
See, there I go again, trying to pass the blame. It’s not your fault that you’re so marvelous and subtle and complex; I made you that way. It just takes a real connoisseur to see everything you are.
I tell people that you “wait until summer to shine.” That’s only partially true. You really do shine in the summer with your crisp honey notes and your subtle Belgian fruitiness, but we both know that you’re glorious all year ’round. Sometimes, your subtle complexity is too much for me and I have to turn to the clean and stalwart Valkyrie’s Choice or the dangerously refreshing Chaos. It’s not your fault, though, it’s mine.
I think it goes back to your childhood. Every other mead from Groennfell is meticulously controlled through its whole fermentation and aging. Not you. We let you run free to pick up cool, strange esters and phenols; it’s your wild but cultured upbringing that puts you in a class of your own.
I know this has gotten a bit rambly. I guess I’m just trying to say what I’ve said from the beginning: I love you. I really love you. I know you’re something special and unique. I know that you’re going to change and sometimes you’ll seem sweet and sometimes you’ll have a bite, sometimes you’ll be Champaign-y and sometimes lager-like, but that’s what makes you you. Never change. Or, by that, I mean always change.
Love,
Ricky the Meadmaker
