AFTER EIGHT

 

 

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I am a great one for natural remedies. I have been for decades. The strange thing is, I often intuit something first, check it afterwards, and then find my instincts about my imagined effects of certain botanicals to be corroborated by other sources. And lo and behold, today, after I had bought a big jar of extra virgin coconut oil and suffused it with a whole bottle of peppermint essential to be used as a pain reliever/massage oil/ muscle stimulant/general tonic, it turns out that this is supposedly one of the best home made therapies that exist for people with aching limbs such as mine (kind of obvious in this case, I know). The mixture tingles. It soothes. But most hilariously, when lathered all over my legs, and combined with Palmer’s Cocoa Butter, which I had forgotten that I had put on in other places, I smell just like a gigantic, chocolate laden box of After Eight Mints. A whole warehouse full of them.

 

THE AIR IS LUDICROUSLY EDIBLE.

38 Comments

Filed under Mint

38 responses to “AFTER EIGHT

  1. MrsDalloway

    Handling Max? Behaving like some ludicrous little underage femme fatale? You’re… you’re about as fatale as an after dinner mint!

  2. MrsDalloway

    Ha, sorry, it’s a quote from the film Cabaret.

  3. Does anyone else think that the mint + chocolate combination is one of the most delicious things on this earth?

  4. Katy

    You smell divine! My favorite is Dr. Bronners Arnica-Menthol Organic Magic Balm, which also contains Cannabis oil. Works like a charm for painful joints.

    • Wow. They would never have anything cannabis related in ultra marijuana phobic Japan, but I am obsessed with, and currently using, Dr Bronner’s Peppermint liquid soap. Just leaving some of that on my knees after a shower with the stuff is what led me to make the coconut mint salve. I will look into the salve – thanks for the suggestion.

  5. emmawoolf

    I would like to comment on your next blog, but currently lack the brain power to do so. All I can say is: mint chocolate (and orange chocolate, come to think of it) has really never “done it” for me as a flavour combination, I’m afraid, but I adore a mixture of raspberry and chocolate, and coffee and chocolate. Nigella Lawson’s chocolate raspberry pudding cake is a decadently rich combination of all three and I have made it many times. Despite my ambivalence regarding mint the mint-choc combo, I do love an After Eight. (and I think Nuit Etoilee is nice, but have never worn it). I think its the 70s nostalgia thing again, and the fact that my grandma would serve them proudly on a plate after Sunday lunches in her stiflingly tiny sitting room. My sister and I used to tear the corners off the wrappers, stick our fingers in them, and say that they were Sindy Pants (ahem). I took a pack of them to a posh dinner party earlier in the year, to see the reception, and I was in fact met with a mix of horror and bewilderment on the faces of the hosts. (And I did get drunk and tell the Sindy pants story. I think I was the only one who laughed). Only one friend (also posh, nice) stood up for my choice and said he was a fan. (What can I say? He also likes the Divine Comedy. Such are our tastes.) x

    • The idea of a posh dinner party is sheer hell for me, especially with people who are over serious about the ‘level’ of everything and who lack a sense of humour.

      Love the idea of your grandmother proudly serving the After Eights up on a plate, though. Class, and its horrors, runs so strongly through everything you write here.

      I would love, love, love one day to try your chocolate raspberry pudding cake, even if on the whole I find the raspberry chocolate combination, though undoubtedly delicious, strangely suffocating. I feel as if the fresh raspberries are being poisoned and asphyxiated by the chocolate (with mint, it is potent enough to shine through). Tom Ford Tuscan Leather has a similar effect – a strong and lovely raspberry note drowned out by a creosote fence.

      • I thought I was the only one who found the raspberry chocolate combo strangely suffocating. I also can’t do the whole-strawberries-dipped-in-chocolate thing. Usually the strawberries are those huge “impressive” California ones, signalling ripe red on the outside, but actually pale and painfully underripe on the inside, and they are served ice cold to keep the chocolate firm. The chocolate never melts, never gets unctuous and flavourful, just creates a weird juxtaposition of textures in the mouth — waxy chocolate, mushy-gritty strawberry.

        I don’t know if this is just a North American thing, but the height of forever-déclassé dessert construction here is the Ambrosia Salad. Canned mandarin oranges, canned pineapple chunks, shredded dried coconut, miniature marshmallows, sour cream, stirred together and left overnight in the fridge so the marshmallows get all gloopy. Can’t believe I’m confessing to this but . . . yes, Guilty Pleasure.

      • with coffee for breakfast. I WANT IT.

      • You do? What a relief! I thought I might have lost my membership in the Cool Club. Your open-mindedness has reached dizzying new heights, dear Neil. Wow. I am thrilled!!!!

      • Dear your multi-levels of potential irony have lost me here. Clarify!

      • For the record though, I fucking HATE dinner parties.

      • I wasn’t sure if you were having me on, actually, so was uncertain, yet giddy if you really meant you liked the sound of it. Yes, my response was confusing, and sorry for that. I was confused myself. 😉 I think Ambrosia Salad actually sounds rather awful and many people here wouldn’t be caught within a city block of it — those who even know of its existence, since it’s quite a kitsch, 60’s thing.

        I can understand your take on dinner parties. Fuck ’em.

      • As for kitsch though , that is only a good word for me. We couldn’t live without it.

      • I should qualify : I enjoy dinner parties ( or more like having dinner, either at ours, or theirs), with real friends once in a while, to catch up, but I can’t bear showcase affairs where people are just making ‘witty repartee’ and smiling incessantly and presenting themselves in the best possible light. Plus, as you know, I like quite simple food. When things are uptight and too polished I either just want to leave or become boorish and drunk

      • I knew there was that distinction: between the dreaded “dinnah pahtee” and a good meal with good friends.

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