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2016 Whisky Wind-down, 27: Actually, We Have Tried Turning It Off And On Again

wwd27

Today’s dram: Jack Daniel’s Special Edition White Rabbit Saloon Tennessee Sour Mash Whiskey

Today’s tasting notes: Near as I can tell — the bottle description is not helpful — this is just the regular Jack Daniel’s whiskey, only bottled at 86 proof rather than the usual 80. It’s been a decade or so since I’ve had the regular stuff, and I never much cared for it. This? It’s not bad. Drinks pretty light to me. Still has that signature almost-cloying sweetness of Tennessee whiskey.

Oh, it’s a limited bottling, only available at the distillery or select locations in Tennessee. The name refers to the saloon where Mr. Daniel first sold the old No. 7.

Today’s thoughts: So, here in the States it’s Repeal Day, which marks the anniversary of the end of Prohibition. Yes, once upon a time (1919) a majority of the country thought it was a good idea to ban the consumption of alcohol, to the point of enshrining said ban into the U.S. Constitution. It only took a little more than a decade to admit that wasn’t working and then go through the constitutional shenanigans necessary to reverse course.

On December 5, 1933, the booze started (legally) flowing again.

And then …

You know, what? I’m not going to get into it. Suffice to say the nation remains a patchwork of varying legalities on the matter of booze, as it does on any number of other issues.

Since I’m drinking Tennessee whiskey, I should probably mention that prohibition there was even longer (1910-1938). Also, Jack Daniel’s distillery is located in a county that is still a dry county today. The “land of freedom” is weird, man.

Some other day I may post the thousand words I just wrote (and chopped) on the subject of constitutionally guaranteed freedoms beyond legal inebriation, but that’s a more serious topic than I want to dash off just now.

Today’s note on valuing what’s legal while it is legal: Drink ’em if you got ’em. Who knows what tomorrow brings.

Today’s toast: To the United States Constitution: It mostly works. Mostly.

2016 Whisky Wind-down, 28: Home is Where the Dice Are

Today’s dram: 13th Colony Southern Corn Whiskey, Limited Release, 2013 Bottling, #621

Today’s tasting notes: This is corn whiskey, distilled to sweet, smooth excellence. I daresay any drinker could enjoy sipping this straight-up, but I allow it is suitable for use in cocktails and would probably go well in a pecan pie. Possible best use? Pour a hefty measure into a good coffee, then add heavy cream for a decadent delight that is ideal on a cold, rainy winter morning.

Today’s thoughts: Yeah, so I didn’t drink this today. More’s the pity. I do know it, though, having consumed all of a bottle I was a gifted a couple of years ago. I enjoyed it to the last drop, then kept the bottle because I liked it and saw a suitable purpose for it as a place to keep some extra dice.

Yes, I have extra dice.

Um, a lot of them, actually. So many, in fact, that I was able to half-fill that bottle using only my extra dice of a particular sub-type (rounded 16mm Chessex d6).

Today is World Dice Day, by the way.

I know that because I’m part of a world-spanning dice-collecting club.

We cool.

Right?

It wasn’t always thus.

These days it’s cool to be part of Geek Culture ™, patent-pending, as seen on the big screen, only $19.95 at ThinkGeek …

I’m from a time before that.

I explored my first dungeon with a borrowed d20 in the music file room during lunch break of rookie band camp my freshman year of high school.

I got your cool right here.

I bought my first set of dice* shortly after that session and never looked back.

From that day to this, gamers have been my people.

If I meet someone who makes a reference to rolling a critical fumble and how it got their character killed, I know we’re going to get along.

I mean, yeah, that person could still be a complete asshole in other ways, but we’ve got common ground, and it is drenched with the blood of many critical fumbles.

We are one people.

The people who smile at Stanley Two-Brick, and Wood for Sheep, and so on and so forth.

The people who judge a home on how it’s arranged to make room for books.

The people who know that it really doesn’t matter whether the Leeroy Jenkins video was staged or not because we all know a Leeroy, and he’s like that whether the game is WoW, or D&D, or Risk. Hell, he’s probably like that at Tic-Tac-Toe.

The people who live by the phrase “there is no such thing as too many dice.”

My people.

Today’s note on finding your people: They’re out there. They always were.

Today’s toast: To my people: May your dice not try to kill you next session!

—–

* It was a black/smoke double-set** from Armory. (Those dice are in the bag in the picture. Original bag, too.)

** Back when a set meant six because we didn’t have a fancy d10 with percentile numbering to make seven.***

*** If you chime in with a comment along the lines of “Pfft. In my day, we not only had six-dice sets, but they were made of cheap plastic, and we had to fill ’em in with a crayon” … not only will I love you, I will invite you to my next game day. Bring the dice.

2016 Whisky Wind-down, 29: You Might Like It

Today’s dram: The Glenlivet, 12-Year-Old

Today’s tasting notes: Do not fear to drink this. Perhaps maybe try this if you’ve never had Scotch whisky before. It is the definition of approachable — an easy-to-enjoy whisky exemplifying the basics of a style, in this case a single malt from the Scottish Highlands.* Smell it, and it will take you to a warm happy place. Sip it, and feel that warmth flow into you. Hold it in your mouth briefly, savor the heat and subtle sweetness. Swallow, and feel smoothness with just enough of an edge to let you know it is actually Scotch whisky.

Today’s thoughts: Growing up I was a picky eater. That is a true statement, but it also rather understates both the past and present. When I was a kid, I hated eating almost everything. Ever heard a parent lament that their kid will only eat chicken nuggets and ketchup? Yeah, I hated those, too. Especially the ketchup. Bleh. And I still hate it. I hate nearly all condiments, in fact. And yes, hate is the right word. It’s not a word I ever really go for, but I will allow myself to be an absolutist and use that word in regard to those things. Ketchup? Hate. Mustard? Hate. Mayonnaise? Hatehatehate!

Send me food with any of that on it and tell me to just scrape it off? Fuck you. Scrape your face off.

My younger sister told me at Thanksgiving that her two-year-old son can’t stand mayonnaise, and she thinks he might be allergic because he throws up when he encounters it. When she said that, I wanted to run to him and hug him and tell him, “You are not alone! Uncle Jon also knows this pain!”

But he’s two years old, so I didn’t.

I will as soon as he gets a handle on this language thing, though.

What I will try not to say to him are things like “Try it, you might like it” and “Your tastes will change.”

How I loathed those phrases, which were thrown at me so often in my youth.

And yet … I now grudgingly admit they hold glimmers of truth.

I mean, I did finally learn to like pizza, a burger in a bun rather than separate, potatoes, pecan pie …

Oh, and whisky.

Contrary to appearances, I was never against trying things. I just wanted people to listen after I tried a thing and said, “No, this isn’t for me.” Usually, the gag reflex got the point across, but people are surprisingly persistent when you tell them you can’t stand a thing they love.

Here is where I nominate my mother for sainthood, because wow did I ever make her life difficult, what with the not eating most of what she ever put in front of me, which necessitated an awful lot of cooking something extra just for me, and so much special ordering at restaurants, and entirely too many patient conversations explaining my eating habits to other people, and … god, how is she not completely mad?

She is made of steel, that is why.

But under her steel beats the softest heart in the world, and she never let me go hungry or forced me to be miserable just because I was picky.

I am going to go call her as soon as I post this.

Today’s note on meeting the expectations of others: Fuck ’em. Yeah, me included, for telling you to try Scotch whisky. Don’t want to? Don’t. Grinning and bearing is overrated. Graciously decline where possible, threaten to stab as needed, repeat as necessary. And always, always, to thine own taste buds be true.

Today’s toast: To picky eaters everywhere: May the person who takes your order always listen carefully and get it right!

—–

* — Speyside. I know. But if you know enough about Scotch whisky to know Glenlivet’s sub-region, then that paragraph really isn’t for you, now is it?

2016 Whisky Wind-down, 30: Smoke, Peat, and Love

Today’s dram: Laphroaig, 10-Year-Old, Cask Strength (56.3%), Batch 2, December 2010

Today’s tasting notes: Do not drink this if you do not enjoy smoke and peat. Seriously, probably don’t even sniff it. If you’ve had Laphroaig before, you know its reputation as the smokiest, peatiest of all the notoriously smoky, peaty Islay malts. The cask-strength version is essentially the dire, half-dragon version. Do not attempt if below Scotch Whisky Character Level 10.

Today’s thoughts: My wife gifted me this bottle for a birthday a few years ago. Once, maybe twice a year I pour myself a wee dram and savor it for the smoky, peaty punch in the mouth it is. My wife I appreciate every day of the year. For her strength and compassion. For her humor and insight. For the support she lends me, in ten thousand little ways, from one day to the next. It’s no exaggeration to say I wouldn’t be who I am without her. Life is better as a great adventure, together.

Today’s note on drinking form: Some people choose to water cask-strength whisky. These people are weak. (Do not even talk to me about people who water standard-strength whisky.)

Or, to put it another way: my favorite whisky is like my favorite person: strong as all hell.

Today’s toast: To love!

2016 Whisky Wind-down: Primer

If ever a year called for a whisky advent calendar, it’s this one.

While advent has a particular meaning — counting down the days leading up to Christmas — I’m more excited to see 2016 out the door.

I did not prepare ahead and buy a whisky advent calendar, but I do posses a not-small collection of whisky, enough to daily drink a different dram as I delight in the demise of this damned year.

In that spirit, I shall marshal my spirits and begin 2016 Whisky Wind-down.

Each day for the rest of the year, I’ll pick a whisky and write something about it, something about the year, and something else.

I’ll probably do this daily, and I’ll probably be consistent in form, but no guarantees either way.

It won’t be just about the whisky, of course. I’ve got a lot on my mind lately, and I’ll use every dram as a vehicle to segue into something. Some of them, even, will be fun. I’ve been gloomy lately, much like 2016 itself, and it’s time to remember there is still light in the world. And while I don’t think we should lose ourselves in delight while the world burns, sometimes we have to remember that we can’t fight fires all day every day.

Anyway, it’s been a long year. Bottoms up.