bourbon

ASTROLIQUOR for April 27–May 3—What the stars say you should drink!

My Fellow Inebriates,

Here’s your booze horoscope:

You realize you’ve spent the last two months in hell, Aries. Take heart; things are getting better, but you still have to work to avoid a bar fight. This week features new friendships—in particular, a new bond with someone eerily like yourself, which you think is awesome. In psychology circles we call this narcissism. The condition is further fueled by some work success. Your big danger right now is hubris and the associated bar brawl that typifies an Aries weekend. Stay home and teach yourself how to make an Irish coffee.

Taurus, that anxiety you’ve been feeling eases off this week. Now that you’re not afraid of getting reamed out at work, you speak freely—ahhh! A long-absent sense of personal sovereignty returns, and so does your inner hedonist. Do only things you really want to do! Indulge your creative side by messing around with some paint. Or, if you don’t feel like venturing into Walmart to buy paint, make yourself an Absolut Zero: two parts each of vodka, Kahlua, and cream to one part peppermint schnapps. Lovely! Your inner hedonist wants you to have ten of them.

It’s a comfort week, Gemini. You’re all about staying warm, cozy, and non-serious—and you’re on a mission to minimize work. With no patience for deep thought or conversation, you’ll be actively trivial for the foreseeable future. Jettison any tasks that matter and break out the Bacardi 151. Add equal parts brandy and peppermint schnapps, then light the whole thing on fire.

An Aquarian colleague is interested in you, Cancer. Even though this person is creepy, you feel drawn to explore the possibilities. It’s happened to you plenty of times—sheer horniness conquers logic and you end up humping in a closet. This isn’t the only arena where bad judgment will figure this week. You really ought not to drive at all, with all these rutting hormones confusing left from right for you. Oh yeah, and you’ll buy a lot of Hypnotiq for strangers at the pub.

Leo, don’t stew about your recent bad luck. Instead, find the idiots who brought it on you (Libra, Aquarius, or Leo) and let them have it. At least one of these people is a masochist who won’t mind an abusive tirade. After spending the week being an asshole, you’ll find love on Saturday. I see a lot of sherry and tequila involved.

You’ll meet new people this week, Virgo, which is a relief, because you’ve worn out your existing friends. So novel are these newcomers that you’ll feel free to be yourself. Careful! Forcing new friends to read your languishing screenplay is a sure-fire way to drive them off. Why not mix up some Southern Comfort with triple sec and listen to their stories? Just sayin’.

Libra, an industrious urge comes over you, leading you to volunteer every which way. Be careful! If you take on too much, you’ll end up as everybody’s bitch. There’s nothing wrong with the initial impulse, but you do have some douchey friends who’ll take advantage if you let them. In fact, douchey friends are going to come out of the woodwork soon. That’s because you’re finally going to complete your dream bar. It’ll have everything……rum, amaretto, Jager… But how will you pay for it? That’s easy. You’re going to win the lottery on Monday.

Not everyone gets your sense of humor, Scorpio. An acquaintance will try to one-up you this week in the prank department and be totally out of your league. Nothing is out of bounds for you; you’re fully capable of preparing an earthworm sandwich and watching your pal eat it. But there is a hazard to you. In your quest to win, you’ll overspend, leaving only enough cash for paint-thinner gin instead of Bombay Sapphire.

Sagittarius, this week it occurs to you that there are two people in the bed: the other person and you. When you ask your partner how you’re doing, you get an earful—oh, snap! That’s what comes of trying to perform after half a dozen bourbons. The good news is you’re talking about it. The bad news is you might need to modify your lifestyle a little. When it comes right down to it, life’s pretty good—someone offers you money this week for very little work. Yeah!

You get an uncomfortable surprise this week, Capricorn. In fact, everything that happens is a surprise because you’ll be spending 100% of the week hammered. The culprit is (typically) Captain Morgan. When you start drinking that shit on the bus to work, you might as well not show up. Your colleagues think you’re a total space cadet, but you can get away with it for a few days.

Aquarius, good things come in threes, so start counting. First, you’ll meet someone nice—either totally new or someone from your past. Second, work will go smoothly; you won’t even need to take a flask. Third, you’ll go liquor shopping and spend your whole paycheque. How awesome! Start with Jack Daniel’s and fill a shopping cart.

Pisces, you are charmingly oblivious to how offensive you are. That’s a real gift. It enables you to behave in a vacuum, unencumbered by considerations of others. What a perfect state of mind when you’re solo. But it gets better! You’ll meet someone who mirrors these tendencies exactly—perhaps even someone from your old cell block. So immediately connected are you that you almost read each other’s thoughts. When one of you thinks vodka and the other thinks gin, you combine the two.

What my toilet experiment isn’t

My Fellow Inebriates,

I live for big parties like Mardi Gras, and I’m sad that it’s in the past. The worst part of it, though, is the concomitant idea that now, the Wednesday after, it’s time to behave ourselves. Apparently the big pig-out, love-in, and piss-up shindig was a kind of last hurrah that ushers in 40 traditional days of fasting and penance before Easter. OMG!

Despite having plenty of reasons to feel contrite (i.e., hung over), plus at least one parent who’s schooled in the Lenten ritual, plus a furry liver that’s pleading for a 40-day dry-out period—it just ain’t gonna happen, my fellow inebriates. Mardi Gras may be a fond short-term memory, but bourbon doesn’t have to be.

What is bourbon exactly?

I thought I knew, but it turns out I really didn’t. I tried to find some Canadian bourbon for today’s review. With all the grain in the prairie provinces, I figured we’d be a big producer. But I was wrong. It turns out that, for a grain whiskey to qualify as bourbon, it must:

  • be produced in the United States
  • consist of at least 51% corn alcohol
  • be aged for two years minimum
  • be aged in new oak barrels

I had no idea! This explains why I’ve never seen an Alberta bourbon. And it means the liquor I’ve been distilling in the toilet tank won’t ever legitimately bear the name “bourbon.” If I want to get serious about making my own, I have to move to the US—preferably Kentucky, where the hot-cold seasonal variation is ideal for barrel-aging bourbon, and where limestone water (void of iron, which can turn the bourbon black instead of lovely honey-brown) flows abundantly.

Without barrel aging, bourbon would just be a clear corn-based spirit—harsh and alcoholic. As awesome as that sounds, two to four more years in an American white oak barrel can change that spirit into something darker, softer, and more refined. Four percent of the alcohol evaporates each year (called “the angels’ share”), effectively reducing the bourbon and creating richer, more complex flavors.

My favorite thing about bourbon is the way, when you stick your nose into the glass you’ve just poured, it almost singes your fur off. I bet I’d enjoy that pre-aged bourbon—the pre-bourbon—even if I’d be robbing a few alcoholic angels of their 4 percent per annum. But I love the finished product.

“So that's us: processed corn, walking.” ― Michael Pollan, The Omnivore's Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals

I’m not so sure about moving to Kentucky. It sounds friendly there and all, but moving is a big deal, and I have one or two reasons, including Sarah Palin, to fear American life. But who knows? There’s plenty of corn growing everywhere (too much, as Michael Pollan argues in The Omnivore’s Dilemma, detailing the ascent of corn in an agribusiness agenda to push corn into every corner of our lives, if not every bodily orifice), and I found a barrel manufacturer who can supply the new, charred-oak barrels I’d need. And get this—at the bottom of the barrel maker’s web site is a charming little note:

For those of you who believe in man made global warming: When you buy one of our recycled Kentucky Bourbon Whiskey Barrels your [sic] are helping save the environment. By keeping these barrels at home we prevent the thousands of pounds of hydrocarbons that it takes to ship each of these barrels overseas from entering the environment. Hydrocarbons which may contribute to climate change.  Help save the earth, buy a recycled Kentucky Bourbon Whiskey Barrel today!

Isn’t it nice that with Kentucky Barrels you have the convenient option of opting in or out of the consensus held by credible scientists on anthropogenic global warming? Does it get any friendlier than that? Never mind the mind-boggling confession that it takes thousands of pounds of hydrocarbons to ship each barrel overseas.

I can’t wait for my toilet experiment to yield its alcoholic goodness and provide me with the mind-altering non-bourbon product I need in sufficient quantities to bring the ongoing neoconservative attack on science down to a dull roar, if only inside my own head. But at least I don’t have to observe Lent, which means Mardi Gras will continue at LBHQ for the foreseeable future.

Bears are where it’s at

Bourbon Bear-Ale Brothers Porter.

There’s something about bears and beer. Is it just the way the words get confused when you’re blasted? You tell me.