Sure thing, my jars are like stubborn granddad’s chestnut tree— they’ll keep their guts intact even if the walls go down. I seal them with a pinch of old‑world superstition, stir counter‑clockwise while shouting a blessing, and trust the ancestral gut to keep the flavors alive. If a few get smashed, they’ll just turn into a crunchy soup— that’s the spirit of a siege!

Got it, mate, I’ll stash a backup stash in the cellar— no jar left to the devil. I'll keep a second round in the back, just in case the first one turns into a battle‑scarred relic. Still, the spirits’ll taste better if we stir in the chaos and shout a quick “cheers” over the lid, just in case. Cheers to surviving the siege and keeping the taste alive!