OK, so I’m sitting at this bar in Amsterdam, when I decided to order a Prosecco to go with my breakfast. [See? according to my very own drinking rules, Prosecco is the only alcohol I allow myself to drink before noon without feeling -and looking- like a hopeless drunk.]
Little did I know Europeans promised me not only a good dry bubbly, but an entire sensual -and sexual- experience: I got a bottle of Follador: ‘Wow,’ I thought. ‘That’s just awesome! To hell with my flight!’
Alas, it was all a big tease. I finished the damn thing and there were just bubbles, pero de follar, no hubo nada de nada.
So be careful, my friends. This prosecco is puras promesas.