I decided to go for some kinda big money booze because my palate is getting picky and fonder of things that I hated in my younger years. I mean, back in the day if you told me I’d like beets and brussels sprouts I would have thrown a lamp at you, but now a days, beets and brussels sprouts are good, cuz they FEEL healthy, and considering my lifestyle, even if it’s not healthy, if it FEELS healthy I’m gonna jump on it.
OK, that doesn’t really apply here. What I’m getting at is that taste buds evolve with age, and as I get older my tastes are growing into new dimensions. Every girl I’ve been involved with since 1998 has been into whisky. And while that beverage has become a more prevalent presence in my life as time goes on, those ladies, much to my own foolishness, keep on fading away leaving me with nothing but this whisky. It’s my own fault, and I own it with tears and loneliness.
A year or three ago there were free tastings in one of our liquor stores (idiotically controlled by the OLCC. Oh how I miss California, where, like an adult, you can buy condoms, chips, a light bulb, two pounds of apples, and a gallon of vodka all in the same store… at 1 in the A.M.). It was a scotch thing, which I knew nothing of, but soon discovered was an alcohol that occasionally tastes a lot like a mouthful of peat moss. Kind of like how beets taste like dirt. Even if you hadn’t actually had the privilege of experiencing a mouthful of dirt, you can imagine ex-ACTLY how it tastes. And with that, if you tasted some hard-core scotch for the first time and said, “WHOA! What the fuck does THAT taste like?!” and someone said “peat moss” you’d be like, “Oh, OK. I can see that.”
So, this is a twelve-year, price-prohibitive (compared to what I usually drink) scotch whisky (which, I'll tell you since I didn't know, the difference twixt scotch and whisky is that scotch is whisky that comes from Scotland I felt dumb when I learned that). Two casks, hand-turned barley or some shit on the floor, old Scottish distiller keeping it old school. Point being, this is a good entry into the world of scotch. I have no vocabulary for this business, so bear with me whilst I drop some layman’s terms on your face.
The smell is of a heady caramel with a slight kerosene burn that people who like whisky have come to love. It’s also more viscous than Makers or Jameson. If you take a small bit and hold it in your mouth you can feel it being thicker than water or the cheaper stuff. I mean, it’s not like motor oil or (so I’ve been told) semen, but it’s definitely thicker than other things I usually drink (like motor oil… or semen… WHOA! Wait…)
The up front taste, right when it hits your tongue is whisky, but when it flows to the back it gets a slight peat moss flair. Not enough to put one off, like some hardcore shit where you’re like “Dude! Who just dropped a shovelful of dirt into my face?!”, but enough to help you swagger some baby steps into the scene.
All in all, I’d say I dig it and it is a perfect entry into scotch for those of you who enjoy whisky but are looking to get deeper into the… brown alcohol scene (hey Amaretto, go fuck yourself). Once I save up enough extra cash I’ll get deeper into the scotch scene and fill you in. But for now, if you’re on the same curious path as I am and have and extra (gulp) fifty bucks to drop, this is a good beginning lesson. Just do as I do and keep some cheap shit on the shelves for when alcoholic friends drop by. Keep this in the cabinet behind the bulk flour, rice, and almonds.
Dr. Avalanche’s off the cuff review: “Tastes like licking an oak tree.”
To be clear, Avalanche has weakly proclaimed that he refuses to be a snob. But tell me, does pretending that Southern Comfort and The Cure’s “Seventeen Seconds” are the pinnacles of existence make you a man of the people; a veritable Bruce Springsteen of the degenerate set? I say it makes you a twat who is slumming with a grimace just to earn street cred.
But he is entitled to his own opinion… even though “Head on the Door” has ALWAYS kicked “Seventeen Seconds” ass and, to quote an amazing person:
Dear Southern Comfort,
You aren’t very comforting!
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