My fellow inebriates,
If you were in my local booze store yesterday afternoon, you were definitely helping said store violate the new rules on social distancing. There was an absolute crush as we all, with our great zombie minds thinking alike, stocked up for an at-home St. Patrick’s Day.
It was comparable to the recent toilet paper frenzy. Only Irish whiskey ain’t cheap, so there wasn’t the same potential for hogging all the product.
The item we snagged? Redbreast 12-year-old single pot still Irish whiskey. MFI, all the raving I did yesterday about Writer’s Tears, you can multiply. Redbreast is a gorgeously balanced single pot still whiskey, exemplary in every way, and the obvious darling of critics.
On the nose, Redbreast is nutty and caramel-rich with notes of dried fruit and vanilla.
On the palate, Redbreast lands sumptuously with rich and full-bodied nut-and-dried-fruit notes and a long, lingering finish. It is insanely big, like a zombie apocalypse erupting in your mouth (substituting glorious aromas/tastes for brain matter).
If I can get this bottle open, and if my parents become too incapacitated by COVID-19 to notice me do it, I’m gonna pound the bottle in one sitting.
My fellow inebriates,
LBHQ has always been a perilous place. Look at the way Glen Bear just vanished one day. Look at what a bully Scarybear is (although he’s mellowing with age). Look at these freaking gerbils shredding a Glenlivet box like it’s nothing. OMG, people, it’s terrifying to live here.
I think about this a lot when I’m sober. What if one of the kids got tired of me and threw me in the gerbil tank? I’d be dead within a few hours. Slowly dead, that is. They’d probably gnaw on my eyes.
I started feeling extra-endangered today when I read about the Mary River turtle, this punkass reptile that just landed on the endangered list. It has a mohawk made of algae, freaky-looking spikes growing out of its chin, and get this—it breathes through its genitals.
This awesome weirdo animal is apparently pretty easy to get along with. Just like yours truly, it’s probably not that good at looking out for itself, especially after a few drinks. (How would it ingest those, I wonder?)
Like many news items about plants and animals threatened with extinction, there’s not much in the way of a call to action. Across the planet, creatures are winking out of existence. What the hell can we do?
Even though I know the answer isn’t to drink a bottle of GRAY MONK LATITUDE 50 white wine, it’s the only thing I can think of right now. This wine is a light and refreshing blend of Gewurtztraminer, Bacchus, Riesling and Muller-Thurgau. It’s off-dry and pear-coloured, perfect for a sunny day, and has only 11.9% alcohol. It’s delicious chilled, and Gray Monk recommends salads and poultry as accompaniments (not turtle). Every time we get a bottle of this wine it vanishes.
Let’s hope that punky-looking turtle doesn’t vanish. That’s what we’re toasting (not roasting) tonight.
OMG, my fellow inebriates. I glanced at the gerbil tank (which I rarely do because I’m terrified of the gerbils’ ability to chew and shred). And what did I see?
It was Cocoa the Gerbil, villainously gnawing on the box that used to contain LAGAVULIN 8 YEAR OLD 200TH ANNIVERSARY WHISKY. Where did he get that box??? And where was the bottle?
In a panic I ransacked the kitchen looking for the bottle. Surely it had to be there, with the two inches I remembered of smoky, peaty yet round and buttery not to mention complex whisky. OMG, where was it? Under the sink I went looking for at least an EMPTY bottles from which to inhale the tarry, honey-roasted, briny dregs. But the recycling had gone out days before, apparently with my precious Lagavulin.
This was unforgivable. Not just because my dad and his friend R had finished it, but because Cocoa was now having his way with the box! I’m terrified of Cocoa at the best of times, and here he was lording it over me that my beloved whisky had been drained.
Photo courtesy of Miss V
What the hell was I doing while Dad and R inhaled its sublime smoky yet fruit-forward notes, then sampled its gently charry, burnt-sugar flavour with its hints of licorice and seaweed followed by a baking-spice kick? WHAT WAS I DOING?!!
I was avoiding Cocoa, that’s what. My dad has finally found an effective guard for his liquor. As long as that gerbil tank stands between me and the kitchen, all booze is off limits.