"Now this, this I like" speaks the Jovial Contrarian, and I cant help but immediately agree, despite my love of argument. Anything that shakes my hand with lemon peel, black pepper and coriander is a friend in my book. The cakes here aren't the cloying piles of sugar you buy from Starbucks with your overpriced beanwater, they're rhubarb and strawberries from the back yard and baked because the kids are coming to visit but you don't want to load them up with sugar for the ride home. The sweetness is there, but its the sweetness of labor, not sucrose.
I warm with it, and the roses come to bloom, drying hay from the rafters and a freshly vacuumed carpet. Hogwash is hospitality, plain and simple. It plays well with others, accepts me for what I am, and has put in tremendous efforts to make me feel welcome in its home. Even set out the good beeswax candles from the farmers market for ambiance. Fresh linens, pretty soaps, tart little morsels and a tet a tet at the dining room table on a Thursday night just because its been too long since we caught up. Share a splash before your next house guest arrives and watch the fireworks.