alcohol

ESCORIHUELA 1884 RESERVADO SYRAH (2009)

The house was feeling downright funereal, and wine seemed in order. One of my visitors had urged an Argentine malbec upon me recently. No objections here, so I hustled my mum out the door to fetch one.

She really took her bloody time. I had to distract myself by reading the news, which filled me with paranoia and dread—especially this item, http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2011/11/05/MN3V1LOKC9.DTL, about an asteroid that will barely (bearly) miss us next Tuesday. If only I’d been able to contact my miserable parent to exhort her to get three or four bottles so we could have a properly apocalyptic evening.

Unfortunately restraint ruled the day, and she returned with one wine bottle, and not a malbec (she was not to be, seemingly, commanded by a 7-inch ursine alcoholic) but a syrah, albeit from Argentina as per my instructions. Fair enough.

Scientists tell us very casually that asteroids skirt our atmosphere by mere hundreds of thousands of miles every decade or so. OMG, people. I had no idea. I thought the main threats to my life were young children bent on torture. I thought I might get accidentally beheaded one day maybe, or lose an eye. But here we have massive rocks the size of city blocks careening toward us with a frequency I couldn’t have imagined.

I asked my friend Scarybear if he knew about such things. He told me to chill out and added that I am a “retard.”

So when the wine came back I was relieved. I just had to endure some DTs throughout dinner/bedtime and we were on.

The 1884 RESERVADO syrah (2009) had a real cork, something I hadn’t seen in a while, and of course yet another reminder of my limitations vis a vis dexterity.

Perhaps my favorite aspect of this wine was that it was perfect out of the gate. No need to decant—my tremors bowed instantly to this supple, intensely violet, complex syrah.

As the wine opened up it revealed ripe black fruit, hints of mocha and vanilla, and lovely, balanced tannins. Aged in French and American oak for eight months, this wine lingers on the tongue with an unforgettable intensity.

And at $16.99 it’s an absolute steal: the sort of wine I RECOMMEND buying by the case—the sort of wine I’ll be hitting Santa up for this Christmas.

By the time we finished this bottle I didn’t even care about that stupid asteroid. But I’m still preoccupied with my thumblessness. Find me an invention so I can open bottles, people, and I’ll be yours forever.

KILLER BEE Dark Honey Ale

My Fellow Inebriates,

For a bear, anything with “honey” on the label is an instant sell. My dad actually picked this beer out for me, which surprised me so much that my fur is still standing on end. He said since I was being pretty consistent about writing reviews, it was time I had something off the beaten path.

It’s true that bears love honey. My friend Scarybear claims that when he’s in the wild he sticks his paw right into any old hive he finds, pulls out globs of honey, and devours it bees and all.

(This is as stupid an image as I can conjure in my furry head, given that the Scarybear I know spends hours on the couch watching reruns of Stargate and begging his humans to order pizza.)

That aside, when beer and honey intersect, alcoholic bears get excited. The Tin Whistle Brewing Company, in business since 1995, specializes in English-style pale ales, and KILLER BEE Dark Honey Ale is crafted with four types of specialty honey.

Only I can’t taste honey in it. Swirled in a glass, KILLER BEE wafts cocoa and molasses up front, with toffee following. First sips are roasty, toasty, malty with chocolate predominating but not cloying. There’s almost a peatiness to it, an earthy, deep quality that hints of an Islay whisky. Think deep, sonorous tones if you’re into musical analogy.

KILLER BEE is almost stoutish but not quite. (It’s almost a lot of things, including honey-flavored.) While the mouthfeel is full, it’s surprisingly crisp. Initially the carbonation struck me as low, but a few sips convinced me that the Tin Whistle people really hit it on the money.

I am really freaking scared of killer bees, and I totally admire Tin Whistle for courting them so dangerously with this dark, intriguing offering. At 6% alcohol, KILLER BEE is boozy and warming—the perfect sipper while sitting on the couch watching TV. But the flavors are so dessert-like that one’s enough—you need to have something else ready to drink when you’re done with your KILLER BEE. I RECOMMEND it more as a curiosity than as a beer for pounding.

BEEFEATER Gin

BEEFEATER gin seems to hold a lot of reminiscences for just about everyone I meet. Perhaps because it’s so ubiquitous, or perhaps because it’s just that good. But chances are, if you’ve had a G&T at any reputable booze hole, it was made with BEEFEATER.

I went to the corporate website (drunk) and found it almost unnavigable, so without benefit of its wisdom I’ll give you my tasting impressions.

BEEFEATER is the most juniper-laced gin I’ve ever tried. In addition to juniper it contains eight other botanicals, the perfect choreography of which dates back to the 1860s when founder James Burrough perfected the recipe.

This sort of pedigree would make me feel comfortable drinking gin with the very elderly. If I were invited to an old-age home to entertain the residents, I’d take along some BEEFEATER and feel absolutely immune from any grey-haired judgment. After all, it was the drink for our elders back in the day, and chances are your granny and granddad were lit up on BEEFEATER all day long.

As forthright as its crazy botanical assortment of flavors is, BEEFEATER is one smooth gin. It won’t ravage your throat, it won’t suddenly disgust you, and it won’t make you thoroughly ill the next day.

If, long ago, you ever managed to sneak a sip from a doddering relative’s gin & tonic, chances are it was garnished with lemon. That’s the English way and perfectly lovely; the North American translation is with lime, and that’s great too. The Liquorstore Bear way is to use both, or any, or neither. With the LB method, tonic is optional too.

My dad thinks of gin as a summer drink and has therefore refused to buy me any, so I am going to appeal to BEEFEATER Corporate to send me some of their newer BEEFEATER 24 product to review for you. I will mention the difficulty I had navigating their website while hosed in the hopes that this will persuade them of my seriousness as a reviewer and my commitment to their beautiful gin. And of course I will assure them that I will in all likelihood RECOMMEND it alongside the tried-and-true original. Wish me luck, humans.