alcohol

BROKER’S GIN—Part 5!

Things are looking up at LBHQ—I think. If I weren’t such a dumbass about checking my Twitter account, I would have realized days ago that the lovely Julia Gale, Business Development Manager at Broker’s Gin, had tweeted me:

“Greetings young Liquorstore Bear! Please may I have your contact details?… We’d love to call you.”

Two days late, I scrambled to reply. (Julia had told me previously that Martin and Andy, the owners at Broker’s, would be visiting my home province to rectify the gin situation—i.e., the absence of this elysian gin from our government liquor store shelves.)

For those of you who haven’t been following our correspondence, here’s a recap from November:

JULIA:

Greetings from Broker’s Gin!! Dreadful to hear that you can’t get any of our fine gin at the moment, especially as you’re obviously a fan. I know that Ontario is awash with the stuff at the moment so maybe you’re from another province. If you drop us a line to broker@brokersgin.com with some more information, we’ll try to help!

LB:     

Julia, delighted to hear from you! You’re right; it is dreadful that I can’t find Broker’s Gin at the moment. Ontario is full of hooligans so I wonder why they have it and we don’t here in beautiful British Columbia, where it is mild all year and perfect for making a gin-and-tonic every single day. Of course I also wanted the little hat from on top of the bottle. I thought that after finishing the contents I could wear the little hat and look like you, Andy, and Martin—all so smart and British-looking.  

These pleasantries carried on for a while, with a few solutions being proposed:

  • Cross the border to buy Broker’s in the US
  • Ask Santa for some
  • Chain myself to government liquor store railing to demand reinstatement of Broker’s Gin

What with potential cross-border cavity searches, a disheartening Santa spoiler, and my failure to find a pair of small handcuffs, these ideas weren’t quite doing it for me. Then Julia emailed about Martin and Andy’s visit to BC.

I really wanted to talk to Julia, to hear her lovely English voice (even with the post-flu pornstar/Barry White gruffness she says it’s acquired over the hols). I can’t fathom why she isn’t joining Martin and Andy on their visit. Anyway, my parents would never let me answer the phone—they say I’m a mouth-breather. So I gave Julia my parents’ numbers, and she said Martin might phone. This makes me a little nervous…

  • What if my parents don’t answer the phone? Take my dad, for example, who just yesterday ignored an unknown 604 number. What if that was Martin from Broker’s Gin? OMG!
  • What if we don’t click? I don’t know Martin quite the way I know Julia. He might not enjoy talking to bears the way Julia does.
  • What if he’s very serious? Broker’s Gin has a web page dedicated to humor (“I’ve gone on a gin and tonic diet. I’ve lost two days already!”) but what if Martin turns out to be very stern in person? (Mind you, it’s okay if Julia’s stern, so long as we establish a “safe” word.)
  • What if Martin and I do click, then spend the day getting drunk, betting at the casino and regaling each other with stories—and he’s too hungover to attend his meeting, and fails to get Broker’s Gin back into liquor stores here? OMG!!

So it’s a very anxious day, my fellow inebriates. If only I had some gin to take the edge off.

LAS MORAS TANNAT (2008)—Like

My Fellow Inebriates,

I spent all morning twitching with the urge to steal an idea from The Dissemination of Thought. Coupled with a Tannat-related headache and dehydration, this compulsion troubled me. I feel bad when I swipe things, and worse for not thinking of them first. But let’s face it—no one’s expecting nobility from an alcoholic animal. And really, it’s TDoT’s fault, isn’t it? If he hadn’t disseminated such a topical thought, I wouldn’t have felt like purloining it.

If you haven’t clicked the links yet, here’s the gist: There are types of Facebook users ranging from the Whinger to the Liker and everything in between—and those types are annoying.

I probably could have generated my own idea for the blog today had I not drunk so much LAS MORAS TANNAT (2008) last night. But I woke up with a rough headache this morning, which probably relates less to the wine than to the quantity consumed.

I’d never tried the Tannat varietal before—at least not knowingly, as it is typically a blending grape. Increasingly it’s being planted in Argentina, Australia and the US, though, so you’ll probably start seeing more Tannats on the booze-store shelves over the next few years. At 14% the Argentine LAS MORAS certainly caused bedspins and kept me from checking in with Facebook’s Wrestler Unstoppable, which meant my avatar “LB the Alcoholic Bear” got his ass kicked while I slept the wine off.

Our local booze-store consultant steered my dad toward this $14.99 product. She (and the bottle label) suggested decanting it an hour before drinking it, instructions my dad texted to my mum from the kids’ bedroom where he was patiently waiting for them to nod off, not knowing she would ignore her phone. So when he came downstairs the bottle was still sealed, and we commenced drinking it without letting it breathe. The wine did get a chance to open up over the next 90 minutes, but truthfully it didn’t change much in that timespan.

For full-bodied red wine fans, LAS MORAS won’t disappoint. Intensely dark with an admirable fruit/oak balance, it strikes a satisfying tannic chord with soft fruits up front and chocolate/bread in behind. If you love this note, you’ll be very happy, but if you prefer a wine that develops more dynamically in the glass and on the tongue, you’ll find yourself curiously underwhelmed by its lack of range.

Perhaps this explains why Tannat grapes are so often supporting players in cabs and malbecs rather than carrying the whole show. LAS MORAS lacks complexity; the sip doesn’t differ much from the swallow, yet it strums a fully satisfactory note. It would be a great wine for events where the focus is on socializing or a meal because it holds no surprises and it doesn’t assert itself in an intriguing way.

Much like most of the status updates on Facebook. My wrestler is just about the only reason I use Facebook. I update my status every few weeks or so, and of course I make a nuisance of myself with blog updates, but otherwise I barely pay attention to it.

When my parents first opened a Facebook account for me, they thought it was a pretty novel idea. Haha, look at that, a bear! Can you imagine? Bet nobody’s done that before!

We quickly learned that plenty of people had done it before. Within a day I had dozens of friend requests from stuffies of every animal species. I couldn’t keep up, and actually stopped accepting them. So much for being original.

Here’s my current FB friend breakdown (roughly):

  • 305 bears including pandas and koalas despite their differing chromosomal count
  • 166 other animals
  • 149 people
  • 24 friends/relatives of my parents
  • 45 deviants, including furries and inanimate objects (“Corporal James Shittington,” “Bill’s Toaster,” “Head of Bathroom Security,” etc.)

There’s considerable cross-pollination between categories—i.e. “Daemonic Bear” and “Archie Candypants” fall arbitrarily into the bear category, but they could just as easily be deviants.

You’d think the status updates would be pretty overwhelming, but it’s surprisingly quiet on my FB wall. That’s because most of the stuffie accounts are inactive; their humans opened the accounts many years ago for a giggle and never pursued it any further.

Which means most of the status updates I read are from Whingers, Likers, Lovers (thank you, DToS) and a few more additional ones that plague me in particular:

The Stuffie Lover. “Bunny wunny wuvz you, snuggwy wuggwy!” These animals have too much time on their paws. Like DToS’s Lovers, they favor the third-person. I wish they’d finally wear out the “W” key with their saccharine updates.

Posted to shock. Watch me shrug.

The Shock-Value Addict. “I’ve got a freshly scrubbed, clean-as-a-whistle anus.” Uh-huh.

Danglers. “Going for medical tests today…” Um, so do you want people to ask? Are you going to live?

Show-offs. “Four-course meal devoured and cleaned up, washing done, homework finished, kids in bed—ahhhh!” Congratulations. I guess I won’t call Child Services.

Threateners. “Time for a purge. If we haven’t talked lately, I’m unfriending you. Contact me if you want to stay.” OMG! How ignominious to be unfriended by you. Uh, who are you again?

Food Photographers. “Brining the turkey.” “Dogs on the barbie—mmmm!” I have no idea what some of these people look like, but for some reason I’ve seen their cookies.

Wingnuts who assume everyone shares their agenda. “Bleetched the sheat and dug out my pointty hat, y’all—who’s comming with?” Oh dear, when did I accept that friend request? I must have been on a red wine bender. Guess it’s time for a purge.

If you haven’t already checked out The Dissemination of Thought, what are you waiting for? Open a bottle of LAS MORAS TANNAT and sip contentedly. This wine won’t try to get your attention—it won’t distract you from this interesting and original blog.

GLENFARCLAS 17—Come back, Christine!!!!

My Fellow Inebriates,

OMG! Help! Holy shit, humans!

I’ve been hiding out today because the six-year-old barfed in school and came home early. Needless to say, I do not wish to be the preferred stuffie right now. The washing machine scares the freaking crap out of me, and a projectile offering from Miss P would guarantee me a ride in it.

This means I have limited time to tell you about the last item from our weekend scotch-tasting threesome before the invalid gets off the couch and comes looking for cuddles.

Big thanks once again to my friend Christine for visiting with a canvas bag containing this and two other fine whiskies. When you taste two stellar whiskies—the first mind-blowing and the second only fractionally less astonishing—you almost stop breathing wondering what the third will be like.

TALISKER 18 and CAOL ILA 12 are renowned for their peatiness, making GLENFARCLAS 17 the potential oddball of the tasting triad. A Speyside single malt, GLENFARCLAS (“valley of the green grass”) is distilled using spring water from snow melt alongside the River Spey in Ballindalloch, Scotland, rather than the heavily peated water that contributes the characteristic peat-smoke flavoring to the other two I sampled.

Islay whiskey fans sometimes disparage Speyside whiskey (and vice versa) precisely because of the relative lack (or presence) of peat. Even whiskey drinkers who enjoy both regions still tend to favor one of the two styles.

Predictably I like both and suffer equal spasms over the absence from our liquor cabinet of either product. But regardless of that even-mindedness, I’d just enjoyed two peaty drams before the GLENFARCLAS 17 was poured. How would this third whiskey compare?

In the glass, GLENFARCLAS 17 shines a rich coppery amber, with detectable oiliness around the edges. On the nose: a surge of sherry, abundant but contained, and apple-butter with vanilla-butterscotch behind—a perfectly modulated chorus with an oak backbone and distant peat.

The sip is weighty and full, developing with a sensuous pace, the sherry-malt tones mellowing across the tongue into bakery-spice notes and lingering smoke. This whiskey dries noticeably on the tongue, masterfully balanced and complex, with an almost endless finish.

Not with scotch, people.

Some whiskey aficionados, especially Islay fans, might accuse Speyside whiskies of being comparatively simple—but only after burning off their tastebuds with Wonka SweeTarts in the company of an ailing six-year-old.

Adding water might enable the drinker to pick out its individual flavors with heightened precision, but dilution seems an unimaginable crime, and I couldn’t bring myself to try it. Of the three whiskies savored that night, GLENFARCLAS 17 was my favorite, and when Christine left the house with it, I pressed my nose against the window, vibrating with horror and sorrow.

Come back, Christine. Please come back.