When it turned out that I was a Type 2 diabetic, diagnosed 4 days away from a certain coma, it took a while but a pall finally settled around me. Gone were just about every vice I had.
I couldn’t smoke, obviously. Cigars lead too easily back to cigarettes. I’ve never been one for drugs. Just being near people who are smoking pot can give me a contact high which results in 3 days of paranoia followed by a 2 day come down of anger. Coke is crazy bad on the arteries. Coffee is great, but not at 8 O’Clock at night. And the list goes on. Even my favorite tavern delicacy, Irish Car Bombs, are replete with carbohydrates between the Guinness and the Bailey’s Irish Cream.
The Diabetes took away that final, best vice: sugar. I love chocolate. I adore pie. I love to bake. And most of all, I love to eat. Sweets. Yummy, delicious sweets.
So, with nothing left I decided, with my wife’s full support, to take up drinking. There are no carbs in the hard liquors, vodka, gin and best of all, Whiskey.
Vodka tastes like rubbing alcohol and Gin all tastes of tree sap. (and wine is boring, seriously) But there is an art to Whiskey. The blending, the aging, the tradition, the regions.
So, what I will be doing here with this new column is reviewing every new Whiskey I toss down my gullet, to the best of my uneducated ability. Starting with last night.
While waiting for our Indian food to be ready at Yeti Restaurant in Glen Ellen (Fantastic, by the way) I decided to hang out at the Bluegrass Bar in the same Jack London Shopping Square.
As I sidled (a word I imagine I will be using a lot) up to the bar I asked Jason, the 20 something bartender if they had any Scotch. I’ve sort of become obsessed with Johnnie Walker ever since I saw “The Man Who Walked Around The World”
and was given a snort of Johnnie Walker Blue a few weeks back.
“I’ve recently taken up drinking, as weird as that might sound.” I said.
“Not weird at all. But we don’t really have much of a Scotch selection. However, our Bourbons are great.”
So, I asked him what he would recommend as he is a Bourbon drinker. A few seconds of prodding me about my palette’s desires and we came up with a choice:
Johnny Drum.
“It’s about ten bucks a throw, though.” He cautioned. But, if I’m going to start a new hobby, I certainly am not going to scrimp. This is going to be a fun adventure, I don’t want to deprive myself, besides, I won’t be doing this every day (I hope).
I chose “neat” because I feared that I might take too much time nursing the glass and the ice would melt and change the entire experience into a child’s version of the beverage.
I’m so glad I did. The first taste was familiar, but as the liquid danced on my tongue, the spices began their assault. Not too harsh, enough to know that they were there. For some reason on the next go I decided to swirl it around in my mouth keeping my lips together with a tight seal. This time, just the deep molasses flavor and the sweet textures made their presence known with barely a hint of the heat and spice. Jason told me this was normal and it only added to the enjoyment for me of this new hobby.
I did, it turned out, take about 20 minutes to finish the drink. But not for reasons I used to drink so slowly. I wanted to savor this. It was well worth the time and every penny.
At 4 in the morning I woke up with the distinct spinning of drunkenness. During the evening I also had a little australian rum, banged my head on the low ceiling and handily took on a 6 player team (against just me) in a TV Trivia showdown. But at the wee hours I started dreaming about the drink and what to call this blog entry. For a minute it was Whiskey Rebellion. But that didn’t cut it. Whiskeytown is too alt-country and I really hate Wilco and their ilk-o. So, I went for a more rock and roll name. It didn’t hurt that my band played there once in 2003.
So, here we go. Watch. I’ll probably get cirrhosis.
