In my ongoing project, rewriting the dictionary, I have defined alcohol thusly: delicious poison. But this is inaccurate. I only find whisky, and some whiskey, delicious.
I make the distinction between whisky and whiskey because the Scots insist that whisky be spelled without an e. And they make the best whisky, so let’s respect their wishes.
There are great examples of whiskey, but they mostly come from Ireland.
Ireland and Scotland argue over which country invented this highest marvel of human ingenuity. I take no side in this war, just enjoy the spoils.
American whiskey arrives in the form of bourbon and rye and the popular mash, Jack Daniels. I’m not above sampling these potions, but there’s a stronger burn and sweeter taste to many of the finer products of Kentucky that my middle-age guts don’t adore. If I am to imbibe a domestic highball, let it be full of Buffalo Trace or Woodford Reserve. Otherwise, I stick with the lighter fare from across the pond.
My go to Irish whiskey when I’m on a budget: Tullamore DEW. Jameson is fine as well. Bushmills will do. But if I had my druthers, I’d solely sip any of Teeling Distilleries’ offerings. Redbreast if I really want to splash out. Once I had the Green Spot. It was lovely, but at $70 a bottle, I rarely enjoy that uisce. The batches from Conamara are peaty, much like Islay scotch. I shell out for a bottle when I can. I’m sometimes compelled by Powers. Paddy’s seems offensive. I only this year found McConnell’s, a Belfast booze. So many whiskies, so little money.
As for Scotch… hard to save much on those, unless you go with a blended. I’m not above that, but I splurge on single malt when I can. My favs: Jura 10 is fine for the price, but the older Juras are even better. Laphroig is peaty as fuck. I like that. Brine and peat smoke. Lovely. Tullibardine is affordable and quite nice, but I wish I had the resources to regularly consume Dalwhinnie. When I was last in the Highlands, I had the pleasure of sipping this whisky and sampling chocolates at the distillery, and I don’t know if it is the memory of that grand afternoon or the quality of the booze, but it’s the top pick at the moment. But I wouldn’t turn down Talisker or object to Oban. One day I may get enough socked away for a bottle of MacKellan. I’ve had the Ardbeg, which is smokey to the point of resembling bacon. No thank you. Lagavulin is everything Ron Swanson said it was. He really must have had some gold reserves to afford the amount of that Islay export he drank.
My first whiskey was many people’s first whiskey: Southern Comfort. Basically cough syrup. A short stint in that course and I graduated to Jack Daniels. Jim Beam always seemed like Jack’s lesser cousin, but I won’t lie—I swilled enough of that to tell the difference. Oh, to be young again!
Old Overholt or Wild Turkey Rye. I’d kick neither out of bed for eating crackers.
I wonder if Delilah’s, that punk bar of my youth, still serves cheap Wild Turkey on Thanksgiving. A nice way of avoiding arguing politics with your republican uncle.
As stated, I’m only an import guy, too old rather than too sophisticated for American brown. Bourbon is fire. Scotch is peat and seawater. Irish is sunlight.
Tommy Tiernan joked that whiskey is made of fireflies and the tears of redheaded women. Or something like that. A popular whiskey: Writer’s Tears. Amusing, and, from what I hear, solid. The analogy certainly fits.
Gin is my only other strong water. I like it in summer on ice with tonic and lime. Crisp and dry and rife with botanicals. Almost sounds medicinal. I tend to drink too many G&Ts because clear alcohol still seems like water. Even though I could never stomach it straight.
Whiskey I drink straight. Neat with a water back because one needs water after whiskey, not in it. Especially not in whisky. They say a drop of spring water activates the flavor, but I dunno about all that.
I used to drink scotch and water until a friend said, “That’s just watered down scotch.” Good point!
These days, I keep indulgences to two glasses once (okay, maybe twice) a week. My doctor had words last checkup. But my birthday is coming in a week or so, and I’ve allowed myself an extra night of sipping scotch. Treat yourself, right? Anyway, who wants to live forever?
I don’t think the alcohol is killing me. I don’t drink as much as people seem to think I do. I remember when I was a smoker how every cigarette made me very aware of the seconds I was sacrificing to Nick O’Teen. I felt every drag and knew that no good would come from maintaining that habit well past my thirties. I rarely think about the dangers of strong drink. Somehow I trick myself out of focusing on alcoholic wreckage. We’re all of us capable of defending an abusive partner. You don’t know scotch the way I do. Scotch just loves me too much.
