Andy’s October of Suckage: Day 4

My last two stupid recipes were delicacies that could be turned quickly and effortlessly into poo. Witness, dearest readers, a concoction that you can convert instead directly into shame. Consumed in sufficient quantity, you might even augment the shame by pooing on yourself, especially if you are lactose-intolerant.

I am merely lactose-prejudiced, so I encounter only the regular levels of aftershame.

White Russian Shakes

(In Non-Shake Form)

1. Procure some good vodka, coffee liqueur, and vanilla ice cream. Without breaking the bank, you might want to try Stolichnaya, Copa De Oro, and whatever full-fat premium ice cream brand you have available. You can go up- or down-market as you please. Kahlúa is good, too, but probably overrated and overpriced.
2. Chill the coffee liqueur in the fridge while the vodka gets as cold as possible in the freezer. Thanks to the miracle of science, the vodka should get close to 0° F (about ~18° C) without freezing, though it will thicken nicely.
3. The International Bartenders Association sets the standard White Russian as 5 parts vodka, 2 parts coffee liqueur, and 3 parts fresh cream, poured over ice. Since the ice cream will stand in for both ice and cream (punny!), I combine 2 parts vodka, one part coffee liqueur, and 4-6 parts ice cream, depending on the desired thickness vs. potency. This makes one cup of shake about equal to a standard cocktail.
4. Combine ingredients in sufficient quantity in a blender. I usually make 2 16 oz. shakes at a time, which would be 2.5 cups ice cream, 1 cup vodka, and half a cup of coffee liqueur.
5. Blend carefully until smooth. You don’t want a single lump of goo, but you also shouldn’t blend until the mixture becomes truly liquid. You may need to add ice cream to stiffen or coffee liqueur to loosen the mix.
6. Pour and enjoy.

One shake never seems to be enough, but enough shakes will cause the shakes. This is a drink that sneaks up on you. It whispers “Oh, have another. I’m so lightly tan and sweet. I’m just like that 13 year-old Thai boy you met on that business trip.”, but the next thing you know your pants are around your ankles and you’re crying about that secret crush on your high-school counselor or how you stole all your furniture from a retirement home.

Seriously, take it slow, and for <deity>’s sake, don’t make it any STRONGER!