I can review this whiskey with one word, a word that I’m guessing the last three dates I’ve been on could review my presence and performance on said dates.
“Meh”. (All blame falls on me, this I realize. Self-inflicted, Sensible wounds make for bad company).
As in, it wasn’t great, it didn’t suck, it was nothing to write home about, and on a scale of 1 to 10 (-1- being “like talking to a box of dead squirrels”, -10- being “we finger-blasted each other in the back of an El Camino (yeah you read that right, she got to the second knuckle on me too), and -5- being “the greeter at Wal-Mart seemed pleasant enough”) it came in at a solid 4.2.
Much like those last three dates, the taste of this whisky caused nothing spectacular to happen in anyone’s mouth. If I walked into the bar and saw this sitting there, lonely on a stool reading a shitty paperback, and after a quick but thorough inspection I found that no one named Jameson or Maker’s was in the room, I’d sit down and have a stilted conversation with Tullamore. We’d start talking about the weather within about ten minutes, which is always a bad sign on a date, I’d pretend I had to pee after eleven and go bomb the bathroom with whatever pen happened to be laying around (hypothetically speaking, of course. People who do that in real life are dicks), then I’d make a casual-ish exit and never go back to the bar again just so as to avoid having to repeat the experience.
To summarize, you could do a lot better (easily) and you could do a lot worse (equally simple). At about $26 a bottle, save yourself eight bucks and go the Kilbeggan route.
Simply put, there is no secret magic in this bottle. Move along, folks. There’s nothing to see here.
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