drinking

TANQUERAY SPECIAL DRY GIN

My Fellow Inebriates,

My mum told me she dreamt last night that I was doing my own typing. With my paws, no less.

It's okay to serve pancakes.

This dream sounded ominous to me and possibly related to yesterday’s suggestion of a breakfast brainstorming session with the gents from BROKER’S GIN with my mum slinging pancakes on the sidelines.

Her dream did seem tinged with threat. I said, “Don’t worry, proper gin enthusiasts skip breakfast; they just mix their gin with juice in the morning.”

Silence.

“So you could just squeeze us some OJ or something.”

I had a split second to ponder the angst my mother’s humorlessness and now undeniable middle age must cause her before she chucked me in the toybox.

Also by Dan Lacey

Thankfully the box got cleaned with Windex yesterday. I could even taste the residue on the plastic. So at least it wasn’t full of weird detritus and petrified mysteries. So I had time to think about all kinds of miscellany: When will my Obama & Penelope the Unicorn print arrive? What kinds of juice go nicely with Cachaca? Is Dolly somewhere in the box? Is it true about the carbon dating on the Shroud of Turin? Why hasn’t Hanukkah Harry visited yet (or has he started consolidating eight visits into one to be more environmentally friendly)?

But mostly I was thinking about a nice gin & tonic. I’ve been so fixated on BROKER’S GIN lately that I haven’t given much attention to its competitors. Let’s talk TANQUERAY.

Even older than the venerable BEEFEATER, TANQUERAY SPECIAL DRY GIN dates back to 1830 when son-of-a-clergyman Charles Tanqueray first “traded in the church for the still.” Quadruple-distilled, TANQUERAY boasts a slightly smaller botanical array than many of its competitors: juniper, coriander, angelica and licorice. The result is a snappy, focused gin that makes a distinctive martini while being powerful enough to punch through the tonic in a G&T.

I had no idea (thank you, Internet) that TANQUERAY had merged with GORDON’S in 1898. This upset me a little because GORDON’S really has nothing on TANQUERAY, making the merger a typically cynical bid to cover all bases in a market with variable purchasing power. Don’t get me wrong; I would drink GORDON’S, but not if I could have TANQUERAY, which admittedly I would drink even if you wrung it out of dirty underwear into my mouth.

Which is to say TANQUERAY really is all that. Straight up it conveys pine to the nose, and then delicate juniper and citrus undertones. The distinctiveness of these flavors is the reason TANQUERAY makes such a rad martini, although purity aficionados (and habitual vodka drinkers) would no doubt prefer its cleaner-tasting super-premium sibling TANQUERAY 10. I’d honestly rather have the dirty little original at two-thirds the price—it has more character, and if you truly appreciate gin, character is what it’s all about.

Finally my mum retrieved me from the toybox. She said it was hard to channel my thoughts when I was so unhappy, but that if I ever expressed any further notions about her stringing on an apron to serve my Old Boys dick-stroking gin-drinking club she would %&*#!/$* bury me. OMG!

 

BROKER’S GIN—Part 4!

My Fellow Inebriates,

I received another lovely note from Julia Gale of Broker’s Gin the other day mentioning she’d been ill and sending holiday greetings. I know exactly what it’s like to feel ill, as I frequently inflict it upon myself, so I send her my most positive, healing wishes.

If I keep mentioning Julia, it’s because the boys who run Broker’s have decided to leave her at home when they visit in the New Year to address the Broker’s drought here in British Columbia. Now, if I were running Broker’s Gin I would certainly include someone as warm and thoughtful as Julia in my Canadian delegation. (Of course, if I were running Broker’s Gin, there would be no gin in stock, obviating the delegation.)

Still, I wonder how to entertain these English chaps once they arrive. There isn’t much in my neighborhood besides Walmart and Costco, although there are a few seedy bars that might do in a pinch. There’s also a scruffy-looking casino, which might be our best bet.

If their gin consumption isn’t so far gone that they eschew eating like yours truly, perhaps I’ll invite them over for some breakfast. According to the kids, my mum is okay at making pancakes, although her omelets are wretched. She won’t mind stringing on an apron, I’m sure, and serving the three of us while we discuss how to re-introduce Broker’s Gin into western Canada. I will make sure we have some grapefruit juice to combine with their fine gin.

The visit is still a couple of weeks away, besides which it never pays to over-plan things, so I’ll just sit tight until the gentlemen contact me.

CASTILLO DE MONSERAN OLD VINES GARNACHA (2007)

My Fellow Inebriates,

If I hear another parental exclamation about how expensive this season is and how booze is a “luxury,” I’m going to lose my furry mind. The budgeting conversation was so boring today that I rested my head in the curve of a bunch of bananas for most of the day, drowning out the banality.

Okay, maybe that doesn’t sound too understanding. As a bear without a social insurance number, I’ve never felt any obligation to bring home any bacon (barf—that’s for you, Hanukkah Harry—bacon is blech). So I don’t know how to budget, shop, do taxes, save, open an RRSP or any of that financial stuff. Why would I? It’s totally boring.

Except. Except that all this budgeting curtails my wine consumption.

I like exploring wines a lot, especially nuanced vintages and off-the-beaten-track varietals. I love detecting the layered scents before taking that first, tentative sip and disappearing into a wondrous, sensory ravishment by an exceptional wine.

But let’s face it, I’m a raging alcoholic, and the important thing is to keep wine in the house. If that wine is in a box, so be it.

My parents do not agree. They draw the line at boxed wine and will not stoop below the $10 mark. No matter how engagingly a liquor store’s $9 shelf talker ogles them, they will not purchase wine they can actually afford. Instead they keep a dry house for days on end and then spring for an occasional “decent” bottle.

Of course this is total BS. It means long periods of dreadful shakes and shivers, not to mention desperate cravings and urges to taste Windex and Clorox. The other day I drank half the vanilla in the baking cupboard, only to discover it was artificial and devoid of alcohol. If only my parents would invest in a friendly box of cheap plonk, I could park my mouth under the spout during these dark times and stop being the nuisance they say I am.

Still, I have to applaud my parents when they find something cheap enough to buy and drink without feeling guilty. The latest find, CASTILLO DE MONSERAN CARINENA OLD VINES GARNACHA (2007), was recommended by their local liquor store consultant, who pointed out that Spanish wines at the store often boast slightly older vintages, presumably because they tend to trickle more slowly to the North American market. Thus you can find, with a good consultant, some spectacular buys on mature wines that can certainly hold their own against the pricier Australian, US and Canadian bottles.

I’m wondering how we can get to know this wine consultant of ours a little better. My parents say he’s young and very friendly (which puts him out of their league as a potential buddy). If I wish to meet him, I may need to stow out of the house inside a purse or jacket pocket. The only problem: the liquor store is currently overrun by bears for its annual Share A Bear program, and I’m not sure what species they are. If they’re grizzlies like my friend Scarybear, then they will make things very difficult for a handbag-riding interloper, and I might end up getting the crap kicked out of me.

The reason I want to get to know this wine consultant (whose name my parents can’t even remember) is that I suspect he goes to tastings, and he might not object to taking along an alcoholic bear. Of course he might not have a man-purse that I could ride in, but maybe he has a backpack or some pockets. It would depend which pockets and where they were on his anatomy, because I wouldn’t want things to get weird.

That dude would be good to go to a tasting with because he certainly has good judgment. CASTILLO DE MONSERAN OLD VINES GARNACHA ($13.99) was a phenomenal surprise; even before it opened up, one inhalation revealed its promise. Ripe and full, this traditional old-vine Grenache bursts with plum and dense cherry, balanced oak and hints of olive. Remarkably complex for a Grenache, CASTILLO DE MONSERAN is lush yet structured, with a deliberateness about it that tells you these particular Spanish dudes know their craft.

I felt such sorrow when the last drop was drained, I had to curl up with the bananas on the counter. A spectacular value, CASTILLO DE MONSERAN OLD VINE GARNACHA is worth buying by the case.