"SOMEone's Got to Protect Her Fucking Toes"

Dad, the white knight of recently removed big toenails, got exercised at breakfast this morning about the incessant social schedule Mom has accepted since we arrived, and with a swish of his sword declared, "This is MADness!" and they decided to forgo the day trip to Dinklesburg with the Worthington contingent and spend time in the spa soaking her feet.  Thus freed as well, Peter and I rented bikes and headed off into the countryside. We returned 6 hours later sunburned and tired and not nearly as hungover as we had been earlier in the day.  So of course, we started in again - took Mom and Dad down the hill to meet Max the bartender and try a few more of his creations.  We have a winner: the Basilico.  Without being nearly as specific as I'd hoped, he tells me it's very easy: gin, lots and lots of basil leaves, mango purée, lime juice, a little pineapple juice, and simple syrup as needed - throw it in a blender and voilá.  The best summer drink since the Bootleg, coming to a patio in the suburbs near you in August.