Regardless of cause, truly memorable hangovers are surprisingly hard to come by. Yet the one incurred by sampling in quick succession all the finest shoot-able whiskys/whiskeys wicker park has to offer will stand out for years to come. Showing itself to the world, or at least two hapless individuals and a cat with a crooked tail, as a sudden knock of unwelcome sobriety at around 1pm on Sunday, October 14, this particular hangover successfully covered all the bases that the greatest of veisalgias surely must.
Thanksgiving in Chicago brought a smattering of snow, and a heap of butter-filled food. As it always does, the confluence of these factors mysteriously produced a widely-expressed consumerist surge, and, at least in my case, also triggered a deeply-felt desire for *coziness*. The result?