I took a long, slow sip from my whiskey glass and felt the liquid tingle the edges of my tongue. The second drink is always my favorite. The first is downed too fast. It has a job to do and there is no time to stick around and socialize. But the second can be sipped, savored, and rolled around in the mouth. On its own terms, it’s close to perfect. And after a performance like that, it’s only natural to want an encore.
I wouldn’t call myself successful but by sheer luck and occasional effort, I have managed to reach a station in life where I can afford to drink high-end hooch. Whether I want to is another matter. I don’t need to pay top dollar for some single malt distilled on a Scottish island inhabited by Wicker Man inbreds, especially when it has the bouquet of a burnt tire.
On the other hand, well liquor isn’t all that appealing either. I shy away from any bottle where someone has tried to work both the bourbon and scotch angles by putting “Kentucky Haggis” on the label. The stuff is usually aged for a week and a half in particle-board casks before caramel color is poured in and it is shipped off to market. I am too old to endure the hangovers one gets from drinking this swill.
I like Jameson’s, a mid-range Irish whiskey that sells for five bucks a pop at my local bar. It gets the job done and doesn’t ask to much of the imbiber. It has a rather pleasant taste if you like whiskey and no one expects you to drone on about how smoky or peaty it is. All that is required is that you treat it like a potato chip and have more than one.