Reviews

WISER’S SPECIAL BLEND—Making Johnnie Walker its bitch

My Fellow Inebriates,

As exhilaratingly nasty as our last whisky tasting was, LBHQ isn’t big enough for a substance as raunchy as JOHNNIE WALKER RED LABEL. Our tastebuds aren’t sure whether to bother growing back until the bottle’s finished, but kudos to my dad for bringing home such a coarse, discordant palate-abuser.

The hell, you say. There’s no reason to laud such a purchase, is there?

Well, first of all, buying JOHNNIE WALKER RED isn’t the worst choice my dad’s ever made. Just last weekend, for example, he locked his car keys in the trunk of the car. Ka-ching, $60, and roadside assistance popped the mechanism (I had a vision of FOUR mickeys of crappy whisky floating away, all for naught).

Second, products like JOHNNIE WALKER RED serve admirably as tastebud resetters. By burning all your tastebuds off, they destroy the memory of what a good whisky tastes like, zeroing out your expectations (and in fact, my second glass of JOHNNIE WALKER RED was considerably more tolerable than the first). Effectively you get re-accustomed to cheap crap, which is good for your budget.

Third—and I could be totally wrong about this, so perhaps some neo-Darwinians out there will correct me—only the toughest tastebuds survive the bad-whisky assault, and after repeated assaults these hardy little meat-pixels dominate your tongue’s surface, where they not only welcome solvent-like booze but ask for more. Not only is this good for your budget; it also tricks you into thinking you’re enjoying your cheap crap.

Win-win-win.

The only downside about JOHNNIE WALKER RED is that it’s not as cheap as it could be. About $16 buys you 375 mL, but for $11.87 you could have WISER’S SPECIAL BLEND.

But wait, you say, I only just survived JOHNNIE WALKER RED. Surely WISER’S SPECIAL BLEND, at three-quarters its price, will be paint thinner itself.

Surprisingly not. Deep amber-gold, WISER’S SPECIAL BLEND opens up gently with a light grain aroma that develops quickly—wood, vanilla, and a hint of caramel. It spreads over the tongue with a warming, smooth oaky-caramel release, lingering with polite heat and a slight medicinal hint.

For a cheap whisky, WISER’S SPECIAL BLEND has a lot going on. Whereas many of its fellow Canadian whiskies fall short on character, WISER’S offers plenty of depth and layering, and enough balance to hit a wide range of whisky-drinking tastes. With its unexpected subtlety, and for the most reasonable dough possible, it makes JOHNNIE WALKER RED LABEL its bitch.

For sure, there are more complex whiskies out there, but you won’t find them in big-ass 1.75-L bottles with a mere $56 price tag. Which is about the cost of unlocking your trunk to retrieve your car keys. 😦

SANTA ANA CASA DE CAMPO TORRONTES (2010)

Tonight is Meet-the-Teacher evening and my parents’ latest killjoy rationale for staying sober in the early afternoon. (Others include “working” and “taking the kids to the park.”)

And then there’s the overriding concession to social mores: “It’s early, buddy.”

Which got me thinking: How early is too early? Do you have to be middle-aged, uptight, and live in Langley to eschew alcohol before 5 p.m.? Or does everybody operate that way except yours truly and his hobo cohort?

Because, seriously, if the clock says 4:59, my mother won’t crack a beer. If it’s not 5:00, it’s not happening—unless it’s Christmas or her birthday or Thanksgiving or Canada Day or we have company or somebody else does it first. Since the most obvious somebody doesn’t have thumbs to open bottles, and most days aren’t celebratory (I pitched Rosh Hashanah but she didn’t bite), the clock tyrannizes me with its slow ticking toward happy hour.

Apparently all societies have proscriptions on time of day for drinking. (Holy crap, why?) Jittering away until dinner is a cross-cultural norm, my fellow inebriates. A study of 14 countries shows that drinking is much more prevalent after 5 p.m. and on weekends. Drinking that occurs outside of these socially determined times correlates strongly with alcohol-related social problems. Researchers concluded that problem drinkers were most likely to drink at these times. OMG!

The study strikes a note because I would be more likely to drink at these times. If I had my druthers, by 5 o’clock I wouldn’t be drinking anything at all; I’d be heaving away somewhere behind the couch.

But I’d never have sampled SANTA ANA CASA DE CAMPO TORRONTES (2010). It would have been drunk by my parents (“peacefully”) during my passed-out time.

Torrontes grapes look a lot like the green grapes you find at the supermarket. I have no idea whether they’re the same, nor has it occurred to me to eat them, but if they are, the kids’ lunchbags often contain the ingredients for a fresh, aromatic white wine with moderate acidity. Not a waste, as the kids do need to eat, but it’s good to know Torrontes grapes abound throughout Europe and the Americas. Three variants exist, the most common being Torrontes Riojano, the most likely ingredient in SANTA ANA CASA DE CAMPO.

Torrontes doesn’t age well and is best consumed within a year of its vintage. If you have a bottle from 2010 you should drink it right now, even if it’s not 5 o’clock yet.

I expected a mellow, caressing Torrontes-style fruitiness to wash over me, so the zestiness of SANTA ANA CASA DE CAMPO was bracing. Pale lemon yellow, it exudes fragrant citrus and floral notes, perhaps some jasmine tea. One whiff and you know this wine isn’t mellow; it’s zippy, zingy, and whatever other Z words you can think of. The aromas translate logically from nose to palate—bright, well-balanced chords delivered with light-to-moderate mouthfeel and a finish that doesn’t overstay its welcome. Certainly a yummy wine, but not as generous and lingering as the varietal can be.

The bottle recommends pairing SANTA ANA CASA DE CAMPO with seafood or spicy cuisine—i.e., dinner. But this seems too late in the day to enjoy such a crisp Torrontes. Better to pair it with a spicy breakfast omelet.

Better still, just wake up and open the bottle.

(Holy crap, where is the family? I thought it was Meet-the-Teacher evening. It’s night! There are stars out! Do you think they’ve made a detour to the liquor store?)

STEAMWORKS PALE ALE—the beer you need in your mouth

My dad is pretty good at not saying the wrong thing. If anything, he errs on the quiet side, and people often wonder what he’s really thinking. Not only is he diplomatic; he’s a good listener (except when you happen to be a bear requesting alcohol). So I sure didn’t expect him to describe the taste of STEAMWORKS PALE ALE (new in bottles!) thusly:

“It’s nice. Kind of a grapefruit note going on with the hops, and it finishes really cleanly. Kind of like a houseguest that cleans up after themself…in my mouth.”

I really like this summation. What it says about my dad I’m not sure, but my mum refused to transcribe it.

Prudishness, you ask?

Well, no. Well, yes. Yes, but in a different way. My mum insists there’s no such word as “themself,” and therefore my dad referred to a houseguest cleaning up after himself…in his [my dad’s] mouth. Which she said she’d happily type.

You have to be careful of these grammar-obsessed people. They are so detail-oriented that they can’t see the forest for the trees. As I warned my mother, they often become alcoholics after years of tearing their hair out over the exact meaning of “threshold,” whether the Oxford comma adds clarity or is just pedantic, and of course the demise, literarily, of the elegantly genderless “one.” As in:

“…like a houseguest who cleans up after oneself…in one’s mouth.”

This would have rescued my dad from some specific lifestyle-related questions that arose after we sampled STEAMWORKS PALE ALE. It would have obviated my mother’s arbitrary correction to “himself,” and it would have saved me from inadvertently summoning some raunchy imagery I hadn’t previously connected with my dad.

But let’s focus on the beer. For years Steamworks pub has been wowing Vancouverites with its line-up of tap beers. Problem is, you could get it only at Steamworks. But after 17 years, the pub is making a bold play for craft-beer market share, bottling its splendid products (at Dead Frog Brewery until the new Steamworks production brewery is built) and shipping them to liquor stores across BC. Ahhhh!

The whole production says money. The bottles are silkscreened with a sweet steampunk design celebrating Vancouver landmarks. Pale ale and Pilsner have already shipped, while Steamworks winds up to launch a series of limited-edition bombers including raspberry, oatmeal stout, pumpkin ale, and wheat ale.

If, like my dad, you’re not sure what you’re tasting, STEAMWORKS PALE ALE provides a tasting key on the bottle:

Malts—Pale, Carapils, Crystal, Caramalt

Hops—Zythos, Cascade

IBUs—35

This puts STEAMWORKS PALE ALE into the bitter category, with a grippy, hoppy, grapefruity edge. With medium mouthfeel and refreshingly punchy carbonation, this delightful elixir packs 5.2% alcohol and lingers satisfyingly on the palate, finishing…er, cleanly.

Beautiful bottle, beautiful copper hue, beautiful taste. Don’t listen to my mum, who’ll just tell you there’s an unnecessary apostrophe on the bottle. And if you listen to my dad…well, don’t. He liked STEAMWORKS PALE ALE. A lot. End of story.