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The Benny Hill

Photo by Josh Nibert
The Benny Hill. Photo by Josh Nibert

My experience of Benny Hill is not a really flattering one. It’s the perspective of an 8-year-old girl watching the opening montage, a sped up scene of a big white man running around, all while “Yakety Sax” plays. I vacated the area after that, not caring that I missed all the jokes that I wouldn’t like or wouldn’t get anyway. For this Little House on the Prairie-loving girl, it was like the worst version of The Three Stooges.

None of that scene replayed in my head upon first sipping this drink. I thought about Winston Churchill who liked his gin, how celery bitters punched up the classic pairing of the spirit and cucumbers, and how suddenly, I liked the Roanoke afternoon even more, the sun slanting low between the buildings downtown as the evening took on a mountain chill.

There is more than a name to this drink. Don’t skip the two kinds of bitters, as they are more than a slapstick trick.

The Benny Hill
from Hunter Johnson of Lucky, Roanoke, VA

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