The last time we had this in the house it was earmarked for—get this—an Irish cream cheesecake, i.e., another profligate waste of decent booze. For all my mother’s claims to Irish heritage, she doesn’t have the first clue what Irish liquor is actually for, so instead of drinking it she chucks it into cakes that spend an hour burning off their alcohol content in the oven.
This is very frustrating.
Nevertheless I did get a chance to taste the dregs of the aforementioned airline-sized bottle before it was sacrificed to gluttony rather than drunkenness.
For $33, JAMESON IRISH WHISKEY, in sufficient quantities, would totally get the job done. It’s a little rough and unfocused—fruity, nutty, a touch metallic even—but there’s nothing disturbing or offensive about it. With a moderate burn and a short finish, it suggests itself for Irish coffee and hints at the flavors in Bailey’s, so at least my mum picked the right booze for her greedy project.
I’d be perfectly content to sip JAMESON straight up, and I advise the same for my mother, the expansion of whose ass is a threat to smallish animals like myself who tend to get left under couch cushions, etc. Then she could say: “I’ve gone on a whiskey diet. I’ve lost three days already!” instead of needing to visit Walmart for fat pants and ending up on the internet in one of those people-of-Walmart photos.
I highly RECOMMEND not monkeying around with this awesome triple-distilled blended whiskey, and drinking it.
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