johnnie walker

Cheers, Dad(s)

My Fellow Inebriates,

Presumably I once had a bear dad—i.e., a dad with 74 chromosomes, not 46 like my human dad. Although I can’t remember anything before coming to awareness at the liquor store, I was probably lucky to escape the dodgy life of a wild Kodiak bear. Hell, my bear dad probably would have eaten me in the wild, since that’s what male Kodiak bears tend to do.

My human dad has never tried to eat me. He’s never even tried to eat his human kids. The worst thing he ever does is take mysterious business trips without me. But even that has its upside.

For instance, he got back from Vegas yesterday. I’d assumed he would have wrecked himself at the casinos and bars, sticking coins in slots and bills into g-strings, but instead he got off the plane looking reasonably well rested and bearing a duty-free bottle. Ahhhh!

Cheers, Dad.

 

Why fun is better than hot

My parents have refused to purchase critical items including but not limited to Johnnie Walker Black Label and Goldschlager. They tell me groceries take priority and that’s just how it is.

I get the solid-foods thing; I understand that people and especially kids need to eat meals, and that it’s important not to squander our resources. I do actually like the kids, even though they get a little nutty sometimes when it comes to yours truly.

Can you tell which handwriting is thumbless?

So yes, we should feed them, which means allocating funds for Rice Krispies and apple sauce instead of my booze wish list.

But sometimes my parents waste money.

For instance, they paid the school $10 for something called Hot Lunch and then forgot about it.

According to the school, Hot Lunch means a pizza day for the kids, so they don’t have to bring a sandwich. The school collects the money about two weeks before the lunch, at which time parents check off their preferences as to pizza topping and milk versus juice to accompany it.

Urban slang defines Hot Lunch a little differently—something the grade one teacher may be aware of, given that she rephrased it in the classroom calendar as “Fun Lunch.”

Either way, it slipped my mum’s mind and she packed a sandwich anyway—a waste of resources and (I humbly point out) a small but direct hit on the Goldschlager fund.

I expect my parents to forget stuff. But I wondered how they could forget the school’s exuberant urging to enjoy Hot Lunch.

I asked my mum if she was concerned about the school providing Hot Lunch for minors and making parents pay for the experience.

She smacked her own forehead, realizing she’d forgotten all about it and exerted herself unnecessarily to construct a ketchup-and-cheese sub. This mattered to my mum, who tends to economize with her parenting efforts.

“Is it the Hot Lunch aspect of it?” I asked.

“Fun Lunch,” she said.

“Because I think I’d decline an offer of Hot Lunch myself.”

“Oh, would you?”

“I would.” I was being very sincere.

“Miscreant.”

So I guess it looks like another dry day here at LBHQ.

CAOL ILA 12—Take me, I’m yours

You know I’ll drink anything, especially in a liquor crisis like the one we’re suffering right now at LBHQ. After waving a sad goodbye to the lovely New Year’s empties, my eye turns to our nasty little cupboard with its languishing Malibu and mescale. But it doesn’t take long for those neglected bottles to start giving me come-hither looks.

We all sometimes slum it when it comes to alcohol. Maybe we’re at a wedding where the freshly married have adorned each table with twin white/red bottles of the 28-day UVIN abomination they cooked up together. Maybe we’re basking at a beer garden listening to a band, too happy to scrutinize the beer. Or being polite at a dinner party. Or on a budget. Or an alcoholic—like your furry host here.

Increasingly the budget matters when it comes to booze. Market analysts say appetites for high-end hooch have shifted from North America to Asian markets where disposable household income has increased, whereas fewer North Americans can afford premium liquor these days.

That’s what makes my recent exposure to CAOL ILA 12 so poignant, my fellow inebriates. The knowledge that we can buy top-notch whiskey only on very special occasions (“not just so you can get wasted, LB”) makes me want to lash my parents into productivity and financial ease so we can purchase our own bottle of this golden stuff.

You see, we sampled CAOL ILA 12 at the generous behest of my newest best friend Christine, who brought it in a canvas bag with two other single malts this past weekend. Understandably, she took the bag home afterwards, although if I’d had a moment alone with her I would have negotiated a means of joining her.

I’ve described the first of our three samples, TALISKER 18, already. It was a tough act for CAOL ILA 12 to follow, and perhaps this ordering was unfair. (Perhaps we should have swished with Cutty Sark in between.) But CAOL ILA 12 held its own, offering distinctive characteristics that argued for its rightful inclusion in a tasting against TALISKER 18.

CAOL ILA is the largest of eight distilleries on Islay, traditionally a peat-cutting and fishing area on Scotland’s west coast. While it markets four single malt editions, much of its vast production goes into JOHNNIE WALKER blended whiskey. This might be why JOHNNIE WALKER is so damn good.

But CAOL ILA 12 is better. One whiff tells you this is no simple scotch—aromas of peat and honey, earth and vanilla float from the pale golden liquid. Redolent of campfires and misty nights, it has a medicinal hint, a whiff of iodine, brine, and complex herbs.

The sip is smoky, the peatiness walking a careful tightrope between too much and too little, sweet treacle and spice contributing delicate background notes, with unplaceable floral notes behind. Smooth and dry, it fills the mouth, its shy medicinal quality expanding in a serious, smoky finish. Sipping CAOL ILA 12 is a gift to the tastebuds—layer upon layer of artful scents and flavors, pressing you against the wall and ravishing you like there’s no tomorrow.*

This is the power of an exquisite single malt whiskey. Cutty Sark may get you drunk and Bell’s may get you laid, but a whiskey like CAOL ILA 12 will dominate you, and in a good way.

Unfortunately luxuries cost money, but you don’t have to slum it. Just remember that when you drink JOHNNIE WALKER, you’re getting some of that elysian CAOL ILA with it (albeit with a bunch of other malts). Think of it as a promiscuous Islay whiskey, and it’s all good.

 *What do you mean I don’t know what I’m talking about?