Thursday, October 23, 2008


Posted By on Thu, Oct 23, 2008 at 5:01 PM

A few weeks ago, I had lunch with my friend John Kessler, a food writer for the AJC. As we pulled up to the restaurant, I could see him getting more and more excited, although I knew it wasn't about the meal we were about to eat. Once we were settled at the table, he brandished the subject of his elation - a whipped cream canister. "Bring us a plate!" he instructed the waitress. He proceeded to squirt a pile of garish, orange whipped stuff onto the plate in the middle of the table, giggling manically all the while. "Try it," he demanded.

I took a bite - it was sweet, creamy and...wait...full of booze! It was both the most disgusting and most perversely awesome thing ever – flavored, alcoholic whipped cream. Not just alcoholic, but like, 36 proof, grain alcohol-based orange flavored nastiness. My mind reeled. My eyes watered.

The possibilities were endless.

John gave me a couple of cans, but swore me to secrecy until his story about the whipahol came out, which it did today. Read it and weep tears of joy and disgust. I carried the whipahol around in my purse for a few days, forcing it on any innocent bystander who was close enough. I was the life of the party. I think I also scared some people. I haven’t really been using it at home for whipped cocktails or the like, but it sure is a funny thing to randomly pull out of your purse.

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