My grandaddy used to enjoy just a little sweet vermouth on the rocks in the evening. He passed that appetite on to me. I don’t do it often, but it’s one of the very few things that gives me a sense of history… of belonging to a line of people before me who lived and died and understood things about existence that I do not yet know. So, if you have some, raise a glass of sweet vermouth on the rocks to your ancestors. They died for themselves but lived, at least in part, for each and every one of us, whether they knew it or not.