Like the tortoiseshell gene, the recipe rides shotgun on the X-chromosome ever since my great-great-great grandmother got hold of it back in the day. We're talking eggnog here. And not that sticky-sweet tasting eggnog that most people think of because most people are buying it in stores where the mixture has had to be heated to cook the eggs. No, ma'am. We're talking silky fine texture, nutmeg-scented, liquid Christmas. Have you ever had Gingerbread latte from Starbucks? This tastes like how that smells, only with a Clydesdale kick. Because you can drive a car on this stuff. It contains whiskey, brandy, and rum. I don't know how much of each, nor in what proportions, but I have seen my mother standing over the preparation vat with upturned fifths of liquor. This eggnog doesn't need to be heated then oversweetened to hide the cooked taste. The alcohol cooks the eggs. So, a few thimblefuls of this spicy silky elixir will put you on your ass. This is our family's sacred secret. Family values? I think you're with me on this.
No men are allowed in the kitchen while the eggnog is under way. My mom even does the shopping herself, even though my dad usually is the one to go to the store for food. I'm allowed in the kitchen, but I have not been given the recipe nor shown the ropes. Because I'm not married. For five generations, the ladies have learned this recipe and have been shown how to prepare it the Christmas directly followwing their marriages. The logic being "who but a woman married to a man needs drink this strong?" However, times being what they are, I may have to talk Mom into bending the rules a tad.