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I’ve been encouraged on more than one occasion to run for public office.

It’s true that I’m fairly engaged in the public square. And I suppose that if I did seek to run, I’d probably have enough folks in my community who know me that they’d at least be willing to send me up the chain to occupy some irrelevant position.

The biggest problem with the idea is that I’m perfectly happy not being an elected official. No matter the station, every official is beholden to someone. That’s the way our system of government works. It’s held together by strings. I suppose the first time I fail to cast a vote as my biggest donors would expect, I’d find my re-election campaign in jeopardy.

The second biggest problem is that I’m a teacher at heart. Too often I’m looking through the lens of teaching others a lesson.

Yes, that is exactly as it sounds, which means if you’re up to anything criminal, you wouldn’t want me serving as the judge in your court case.

Abusing your children? I’m a creative guy. I have some ideas on how to rehabilitate you, one of which involves a wiffle ball bat. Did someone die as a result of your driving drunk? I’ve sometimes wondered what it looks like to be water boarded with Scoresby. Are you a child sex trafficker? I’d be okay with letting you soak for a few hours each day in a tub full of Drano. Are you behind Daylight Savings Time? Well, I’ve already decreed your fate in my review of The Balvenie Single Barrel First Fill Cask in The Angels’ Portion, Volume III.

Are you a charlatan dealing in counterfeit goods? Do you own and operate a store in an Orlando shopping mall entitled “French Furniture,” which is a seemingly high class establishment brimming with gaudily designed and extravagantly priced furnishings, a place that makes every visitor feel as though he or she has just stepped into the world of “Beauty and the Beast”? Do you sell these items and the experience they suggest knowing that everything in the store is actually made in and imported from Italy?

Liar. My best, most imaginative notions for punishment were born from the prospect of penalizing liars.

Stephen King said it best: “The trust of the innocent is the liar’s most useful tool.” When innocence is lassoed by lies, people end up spending $4,000 on a curvy nook table and chairs reminiscent of Audrey Hepburn in Paris.

Okay, so maybe it’s no big deal. Products are made in various countries and sold as authentic to others all the time. Still, I remain a purist, and false impressions fall beyond purism’s borderlands. I say if you want something that’s truly French, get it from France. If you want something that’s truly Italian, try the Bottega Limoncino.

Limoncino—also referred to by many Americans as Limoncello—is a sipping liqueur original to Italy. It’s typically made from lemon zest and grappa, and most often is served cold. And for the record, you’ll know the authenticity of the one serving the drink if they deliver it to you in an equally chilled ceramic cup.

I received this bottle as a gift from a friend who visited Italy. I’ll admit it was a kindly gesture, however, in order to maintain the integrity of my efforts here—and to stay in Stephen King’s good graces—I won’t pretend to like it.

“But you just told all of us to try it!”

Yes, I did. I said if you want something that’s truly Italian, try this particular edition of Limoncino. I said that because it’s actually from Italy. There are plenty of booze hagglers out there making stuff they call Limoncino, but Bottega Liqueurs does their work in Veneto, which is a town situated in northern Italy. A winery dealing in grappa, they’ve been making and selling this stuff for almost half a century—long before anyone anywhere else decided to set aside a vat in order to try their hand at emulating this regional spirit

Still, I maintain I’m not one to enjoy the drink. It’s too sweet for me. Also, I should note that while I consumed the dram chilled, I nosed it at room temperature. I did this because the scents from chilled drinks have a tendency to fall rather than rise, and when that happens, you miss the wider array of the gifts they bring.

That being said, the nose of this specialty elixir is butter, and as one would suspect, lemons. There’s a fraction of allspice and a hint of plums that come along to the palate. I’m guessing the plums are due to the grappa. I don’t know what would stir the spice. I imagined the lemon pomace.

The finish is long and oily. It coats the mouth with a stratum of lemony sugar that goes far beyond what most whisky drinkers would consider polite or enjoyable. And don’t think you can sip some water to cleanse the palate after drinking this stuff. It doesn’t work. My only success was found in eating a ham sandwich stacked with tomatoes, cheese, mayonnaise, and mustard. And then I washed it down with The Balvenie I mentioned before.

And then I brushed my teeth and took a shower.

But again, if you’re seeking an authentic Italian experience, I recommend this as opposed to what they’re selling in that little room just off of the kitchen of your favorite Italian restaurant.

You know the one.