Reviews

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.

LABATT BLUE

My Fellow Inebriates,

There is a time and a place for mass-market beer. The hockey game, on my couch.

This is where mainstream beer really shines—you can drink it fast with no pretentious tasting pressures, and it gets you nice and gooned. My good friend Jean-Guy recommends starting a case of LABATT BLUE just as Don Cherry starts mouthing off before the hockey game, then stretching it out for the next couple of hours. Perfect. Neither item distracts from the other: beer and hockey synergize into a perfectly anaesthetizing pocket of time.

Jean-Guy has all sort of other ideas about alcohol. He was the dude who first urged me to mix Stolichnaya and Smirnoff in a 50:50 on pointless-feeling days.

I barely know anything about hockey. I’m usually looped before the puck gets dropped. But as a Canadian bear I like to be semi-present for a game once in a while. What I can’t decide about hockey is, Is it emblematic of Canada? Or is it a meathead sport? What does “offside” mean? It seems to mean a couple of different things.

Mostly Don Cherry hurts my eyes with his outfits. Sure, that’s his gimmick, and I do have a soft spot for unusual visuals, but I think most people would prefer him naked to seeing these fashions.

Cherry does explain some of his get-ups. He has worn his pink suit, for instance, to thumb his nose at the left. “I’m wearing pink for all the pinkos out there that ride bicycles and everything.” Wow, so cool.

Don Cherry triggers me to drink LABATT BLUE, and fast. This last part is key, because LABATT BLUE has little to recommend it tastewise.

Less visually assaulting

Straw-colored with a quickly dissipating fizz, LABATT BLUE feels empty and light in the mouth, with a bit of a twangy, metallic funk. It has a pleasant crispness that is dependent on its being cold—hence the importance of pounding the case quickly.

As far as macro beers go, LABATT BLUE isn’t the worst, simply because it’s not memorable in any aspect. It’s an entirely appropriate accompaniment to anything mediocre you plan to do.