I Look Like a Murder Victim

You know what? It's impossible to stone cherries and remain unsullied.
Good thing I wore my ugliest old house rag clothes, because I am spattered with cherry juice from head to foot. Yes I wore an apron, but it only covers the front of my torso, so my sleeves, arms, hands, face, and lower legs are dimpled with pink. Well, actually my hands are pretty damn reddish all over, as I had to catch the pits in my hand, so as not to blow out the semi-new garbage disposal machine.

Why am I covered in cherry stain, you ask? Am I making a pie for the cherry pie loving Grumpy?

No.

I have embarked on a mission far more important than pastry.

I am attempting to create the perfect cocktail.

So far, I have learned how to create my own simple syrup, grenadine, and sweet and sour. Today I made homemade maraschino cherries. Now you must understand, these cherries will be nothing like the garishly hued, strongly sweetened orbs you can buy at any store. These cherries are the real thing. Real, fat, fresh Washington cherries, pitted and gently placed in a warm bath of Luxardo maraschino liqueur. They are currently resting on my kitchen counter and tomorrow (when I empty the fridge of all the food for tomorrow's family reunion picnic) they will go in the fridge, to rest and ferment.

I am a somewhat impatient person, but I will sit on my hands and wait for my cherries. What else can I do?

I'm drinking cheap red wine right now, and eyeballing my cherries.