THE GLENLIVET 12—To be shared with good friends only
Some dickhead from my dad’s office borrowed a $700 cable (stored in a special canister for years at LBHQ, and, like, pristine) and—you guessed it—this dickhead took that cable, hooked it up to his own crappy stereo, then stuffed the cable back into the canister without even coiling it up, people. He crammed that interconnect in the can the way you’d shove spaghetti down the garburator. He didn’t give a crap whether it kinked, AND get this: When he returned it, he told my dad that it didn’t even sound that great.
This is, of course, total crap. My dad may not know shit about making a decent margarita, but he knows his audio, and his co-worker—we’re gonna call him “X”—is totally on his shit list now.
Which means, if we ever get any more GLENLIVET 12 in the house, X is not allowed to share it.
Okay, so he’s not allowed in our effing house at all, and especially not if we have GLENLIVET 12.
The small empty bottle of GLENLIVET 12 now sitting in our recycling bin came from R, a good friend who does appreciate hi-fi, not to mention a good belt of whisky now and then. R and my parents (with the kiddies away at Nana & Papa’s) put away two bottles of wine before hitting the GLENLIVET 12, after one glass of which my mum wilted and we boys were left to pack the rest away along with a final red-wine chaser. That was such an awesome night that I haven’t even allowed myself to think of it since. I mean, maybe you live in a household where everybody pounds that much hooch every night, but I don’t, my fellow inebriates; most of the time LBHQ is practically a temperance zone.
My mum almost had a heart attack when she saw $80 in dead soldiers the next morning, but it was nothing compared to learning (1) that we have $700 worth of cable just sitting around the house; and (2) that my dad generously lends it out to tone-deaf dickheads who (3) return it looking like it’s been jumped on and possibly used for autoerotic asphyxiation.
If X tried GLENLIVET 12 he’d probably say it didn’t even taste that great. Then he’d return you a jagged, broken bottle with bits of glass floating in it. That’s because people like X prefer shitty things. And if you give them something nice, they piss on it!
X’s hypothetical GLENLIVET 12 review would be very wrong, MFI. With the light gold elixir’s fetching bouquet of fruit, caramel, and slight smoke, it serves up a smooth yet pleasantly oily mouthfeel that introduces itself to the palate gently, insinuating orchard and citrus notes, vanilla, and honey along with a pleasant burn. The finish is crisp and just a tiny bit medicinal—not overwhelming but certainly not disappointing either. This is more than a serviceable whisky; you can sip it comfortably, unless of course you pound it on a drunken tear with your awesome friend R, who, unlike X, is welcome at LBHQ any time.