and then some more bourbon.
I remember growing up, my church and whole neighborhood (potato/potahto, hello small towns!) would have an annual Christmas party. Many many treats. Hot spiced wine. Cider. Two beautiful Christmas trees. Lots of laughter and plenty of singing, because it was hosted by our church's beloved music director, and because hello—Christmas music is the bomb. (Are we still saying the bomb these days?)
Also inevitably, there was a toddler in the pastor's family.
I distinctly remember the intense combination of horror and thinly veiled amusement in this jolly bunch of Baptists when they realized the pastor's toddler had consumed four bourbon balls. It's hard to tell if his giggles were bourbon-induced or just from seeing a Christmas party from the eyes of a toddler, which has got to be one of the happiest times in any person's life, ever. (<-- a totally objective statement.)
Probably the latter. But that's probably because they didn't have these bourbon balls. They are strong, y'all. And they're not even baked, so the the-alcohol-gets-cooked-out excuse isn't even an option here. But as long as you're not a 2-year-old, you're golden!
There's a chance we always add a little extra bourbon to them when we make them, too, but I'll never ever tell...