Your liquor cabinets are awesome, people

Yesterday’s call for liquor-cabinet pictures was a huge success. Not only did I receive detailed inventories of your booze collections, my fellow inebriates, but my inbox contained these awesome pics.

Said Emily: “Our alcohol collection gives yours a run for its money.” Yes, it does—we have no vodka in our house at all, never mind a bottle dedicated specifically to mixing with baby formula. With a KitchenAid mixer to break up the resultant curds! Lucky baby!

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Next up: A fantastic inventory from beerbecue with suggestions of wine and beer not depicted but also present in the house. (Note the family-friendly “Disney Princess hair salon comb.”)

Damn, this is what I’m talking about—a decent booze collection. I was going to tape this picture to my dad’s head after he went to bed, but…I passed out first.

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Sadly, Miss R’s camera was stolen in Las Vegas last year, but she described an inventory that easily eclipses LBHQ’s with its third- and quarter-bottles of Tanqueray and Bacardi respectively plus tonic, limes, and “cheap-ass beer.” Like ours, the collection resides in a bottom kitchen shelf. Thinking I would find a proxy photograph, I googled everything Miss R described and got this:

Can you believe it? It’s a cake. Which has little to do with Miss R’s liquor cabinet and—if cooking gin and thereby burning off its alcohol is involved—is something of a heresy. Still, it’s pretty cool-looking. It just so happens that my Nana—the one with the bionic knee—is a professional cake decorator who blows our minds with an amazing cake every time P or V has a birthday.

Maybe, when V turns 5 this September, Nana will make her a Tanqueray cake.

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Keep sending those liquor-cabinet pics here, my fellow inebriates!

ASTROLIQUOR for July 20-26—What the stars say you should drink!

My Fellow Inebriates,

Here’s your booze horoscope:

Start making vacation plans, Aries. Your calendar isn’t as thick with commitments as you’ve been telling people, and quitting your surroundings for a while will help various people cool off about those sordid incidents that inexplicably achieved lift-off via Hennessey cognac. If you can’t afford to get away for a week, try panhandling, but pick an unfamiliar part of town and keep a low profile!

Taurus, the stars say you’ll be surrounded by water very soon. Whether this is ominous (tsunami, hurricane, wet T-shirt exploits) or not (pleasant seaside vacation) depends on your level of paranoia, which in turn depends on how much gin you consume. Ease off if you need to, or mix it up with some peach schnapps. Whatever new cocktail you come up with, Sunday’s the best day for sharing.

It’s around somewhere, Gemini—at least that’s what you keep telling yourself. Take a deep breath. Calm yourself with some yummy Godet white chocolate liqueur. Whatever the item is, you can find it if you take a systematic approach. After all, it couldn’t have walked away, right? It must be somewhere. But then again, you might have wrecked it or hucked it out the window during a drunken bender.

At first the week will seem ho-hum, Cancer, but a small purchase will get your world vibrating. You might need to fix it or buy some parts, but once you get past your irritation and realize what this product can do, you’ll never look back. It might keep you inside all day. You might never get dressed. You might dismiss friends and lovers so you can play with your new toy. But perhaps you should reconsider…after all, they might bring some rum to put in your new blender.

Leo, you don’t always listen to what others say, but this week you should pay attention. Let their words sink in—a constant headful of gin, vermouth, and crème de menthe makes it hard to absorb information. Of course, your friends might be dead boring. But if they’re not, you might want to do some memory exercises. Do them drunk to establish an unintimidating baseline for yourself.

Rampant emotion is your Achilles heel this week, Virgo, so stop listening to Journey and any other hair-band ballads in your awesome mix. Get some rest; all-nighters make you vulnerable to sentimentality. If you go on pushing yourself, as soon as you get a day off work, you’ll crash. If you don’t think you can go to bed at a decent hour, fill up with vodka and blue curacao. That’ll get you there.

Libra, get ready for a compelling monetary offer. You’re due for a minor windfall, even if it’s just the bank granting you more credit. Sounds like cause for celebration! Get out the Golden Grain 95-proof, toss in a few drops of lemonade, and run around in a thong. Everything’s awesome, and it’s only getting better. Who knows—you might also receive that pardon you applied for.

Someone gives you an unexpected and lavish compliment, Scorpio, thereby getting into your good graces. But can you trust this person? There’s only one way to find out: ply your friend with that peachy truth serum we call Southern Comfort. If your friend is an Aries, everything’s probably cool. Go outside and reel around together; it’ll do you good.

Sagittarius, paranoia and tension are making you your own worst enemy. Identify the things you can’t change versus the things you can. For instance, your local booze shop might not have a gin brand you like, and if it’s a government store, the process of approving and stocking that item is so laboriously bureaucratic that you could make yourself miserable fixating on it. Accept what you can’t control, and go with the flow.

You want more money, Capricorn, and the stars are telling you to go get it. The lottery hasn’t been working out, nor have any of your recent dates left money on the dresser. You might have to exert yourself. Then again, maybe it would be more Zen not to exert yourself, and let the largesse come to you. Hmmm. The stars say not. I see you lurching around with Bacardi 151 in one hand and Wild Turkey in the other, wondering if you can sell your couch.

Aquarius, you’re talented at keeping your true self to yourself, but when you get close to someone, your secrets slip out. This week it could be a Capricorn, a Libra, or a fellow Aquarius who liquors you up with vodka, rum, and amaretto—and learns something weird about you. No malice, though—this friend’s a keeper. Along with secrets you’ll be sharing a blaring hangover.

Pisces, your brain hurts. Between memory dropouts and everyday hangovers, your nerves are shot. If this keeps up, you won’t be able to concentrate on any one thing for more than a few seconds. Perhaps you should ease off on the rye. But if that’s unappealing, try mixing it with antioxidant-laden blueberry schnapps plus Red Bull. Your liver won’t like it but your brain will thank you.

The pre-apocalypse gin shoot-out!

I can’t remember where I found this poll. Oops.

If I thought my friend Scarybear was in the minority for thinking that we’re nearing the End of Days, well, perhaps I was right, but it’s not a small majority. This freaks me out a little. I’ve been reassuring myself with the thought that Scary’s an idiot, but he’s got solid backup in this poll and others like it.

When he mentioned the sun had just ejected a massive coronal flare, now speeding toward our little planet, with the potential to duplicate the Carrington Super Flare of 1859, I got really worried and started trying to distract myself with various projects, some of which ended badly.

Scary seemed to be enjoying the idea of all our electronics getting fried despite his reliance on the TV to bring him shows like Dexter and Breaking Bad. His contemplation of disaster seemed even more enjoyable because it freaked me out, my fellow inebriates. I even forgot about my DTs for a while.

And then the brilliant Christine showed up with her canvas bag and effectively banished all thoughts of Armageddon. There was no one in the world I would rather have seen at that moment, and what’s more, Scary vamoosed (being afraid of women), taking with him all notions of solar ejecta and electromagnetic havoc.

Which left us free to do the LBHQ Gin Shoot-Out in peace.

Although Christine had brought Scotch, cask-aged beer, red wine, and a honey hefeweizen, she was perfectly game to get into the gin first. We decided to be scientific and sample the different brands two ways:

  • straight up
  • in identically prepared G&Ts

I’d been envisioning a tableful of gin—seven varieties, perhaps, especially because it was my dad’s birthday—but encroaching old age hadn’t helped my dad find his gin-drinking inner child; nor had the attainment of 47 years triggered the sort of midlife crisis makes a man rush out and blow his whole paycheque on gin. So I had to settle for three brands:

  • GILBEY’S LONDON DRY GIN ($11.88/375mL)
  • GORDON’S LONDON DRY GIN ($12.69/375mL)
  • BOMBAY SAPPHIRE LONDON DRY GIN ($13.99/375mL)

GILBEY’S LONDON DRY GIN

This is a Canadian product my parents told me I couldn’t review unless I managed to get a free sample. But at $11.88 per 375mL, it represents the bottom shelf, and the Canadian bottom shelf at that, so they relented for the sake of contrast. For this, our first Gin Shoot-Out, we wanted three distinct tiers, and something needed to be at the bottom. Our other choice would have been a big jug of POTTER’S, also Canadian, but my parents didn’t want to pony up $36 for 1.14 litres. They said we wouldn’t want that much. Hellloooo???

Straight up

No two ways about it, GILBEY’S is rough. Jagged and pointy, front-end palate abuse with no backnote to speak of, the taste lacks not just subtlety but almost the entire array of flavors that make gin so famously nuanced. It’s a little like being shivved in the tongue, drinking this ragged stuff. Perhaps it would appeal to drinkers of cheap vodka with its lack of complexity and harsh edge. You couldn’t possibly get down a martini made with GILBEY’S, not unless you were very committed to drinking that martini. I would do it, of course, but only if I didn’t have GORDON’S and BOMBAY SAPPHIRE winking at me from across the table.

Gin & Tonic

GILBEY’S is much more tolerable with tonic and a big squeeze of lime. But it’s still edgy—sort of like chewing tinfoil or being yelled at. I thought it was okay, and I would do it again.

GORDON’S LONDON DRY GIN

We’re already fans of GORDON’S at LBHQ; it won us over just last week. The best-selling gin in the world and James Bond’s gin of choice, GORDON’S is a solid, traditional gin.

Straight up

Back to back against GILBEY’S, a straight sip of GORDON’S provides a flood of juniper-infused relief. On the tongue it expands with complexity, although citrus and juniper jump to the foreground. Highly sippable, GORDON’S would make an admirable martini.

Gin & Tonic

Ahhhhhh! Yes! This is what GORDON’S was made to do. With its firm citrus backbone and juniper chorus, GORDON’S owns the gin & tonic. Its personality punches through the tonic nicely and coordinates well with a lime twist. Maybe we’re all primed to delight in a GORDON’S G&T because so many bars mix with GORDON’S by default, but none of us were disappointed by its generously layered flavors. What Christine said about gin in general, “It tastes like more,” couldn’t have been more true with a gin like GORDON’S.

BOMBAY SAPPHIRE LONDON DRY GIN

We haven’t had this at LBHQ for many years. My mum grew up with BEEFEATER, practically the antithesis of BOMBAY SAPPHIRE and famous for clobbering the drinker with not unwelcome lashings of juniper. BOMBAY SAPPHIRE strives to be more delicate: a premium but still affordable gin with a more floral profile. As such we expected it to win the martini category but possibly not the G&T category, because its subtle notes might get lost in a mixer.

Straight up

Ahhhhhh! Yes, indeed, BOMBAY SAPPHIRE tinkles across the tongue with delightful botanical essences, none outstripping the others. Of the three gins, BOMBAY SAPPHIRE is the lightest and most playful sipper. With just a whisper of vermouth it would make a perfect martini.

Gin & Tonic

Here we found ourselves divided. My mum thought her BOMBAY G&T was divine; Christine liked hers but preferred GORDON’S; and my dad departed from all reason, describing his BOMBAY G&T as “dusty.” What he meant by that I couldn’t pry out of him. I live in a house full of synaesthetes who don’t know how to describe flavors except in terms of sounds/colors/textures, and I guessed, when my dad said “dusty,” that he was applying some sort of metaphor—that perhaps a G&T made with BOMBAY SAPPHIRE felt venerable somehow; perhaps it threw him back to a past life in which he was a British colonial pounding tonic for its anti-malarial quinine and getting pissed on gin as a side effect. But he said he meant it literally—that it tasted like dust. So I guess we have to take my dad to the doctor.

Results of the Shoot-Out

Here’s the breakdown (lowest being best):

  1. most favorite
  2. second favorite
  3. least favorite

Resoundingly, the bottom-tier gin got waxed in the Shoot-Out. But the whole exercise illustrates the law of diminishing returns. Once you get past the bottom shelf (which, with a mickey, it costs about a dollar to do), you enter a realm of highly competitive products, the best of which often comes down to subjective tastes. For the 375mL size, the three products we reviewed were about a dollar apart. At $11.88 GILBEY’S got trounced. At 76 cents more, GORDON’S represented a whole other echelon. But adding $1.30 for BOMBAY SAPPHIRE didn’t make a significant difference; it was almost a toss-up, with GORDON’S emerging the winner by one point.

Whether this will play out with three other gins, we just can’t know. We can’t know until we do it. But there’s a Shoot-Out Part Deux in the future. If Scarybear’s ideas about global annihilation are wrong and there is a future.

Photo: Reuters/NASA