Redbreast Irish Whiskey—what the world needs right now

My fellow inebriates,

If you were in my local booze store yesterday afternoon, you were definitely helping said store violate the new rules on social distancing. There was an absolute crush as we all, with our great zombie minds thinking alike, stocked up for an at-home St. Patrick’s Day.

It was comparable to the recent toilet paper frenzy. Only Irish whiskey ain’t cheap, so there wasn’t the same potential for hogging all the product.

C2018 RedBreastThe item we snagged? Redbreast 12-year-old single pot still Irish whiskey. MFI, all the raving I did yesterday about Writer’s Tears, you can multiply. Redbreast is a gorgeously balanced single pot still whiskey, exemplary in every way, and the obvious darling of critics.

On the nose, Redbreast is nutty and caramel-rich with notes of dried fruit and vanilla.

On the palate, Redbreast lands sumptuously with rich and full-bodied nut-and-dried-fruit notes and a long, lingering finish. It is insanely big, like a zombie apocalypse erupting in your mouth (substituting glorious aromas/tastes for brain matter).

If I can get this bottle open, and if my parents become too incapacitated by COVID-19 to notice me do it, I’m gonna pound the bottle in one sitting.

Writer’s Tears—because it’s still St. Patrick’s Day, dammit

My fellow inebriates,

First we got sick.

Then they closed the borders.

Then they shut down the bars.

Now they’ve closed the schools…indefinitely.

In adjusting to this new normal, I almost forgot it’s St. Patrick’s Day. Thankfully, I have some liquor to cry my bear tears into.

C2017 Writer's TearsWriter’s Tears Copper Pot Still ($63 at my local booze store) is a blend of single malt and single pot still Irish whiskies that’s aged in American bourbon barrels, resulting in a mild, smooth flavour. It’s golden in the glass and slightly leggy.

On the nose Writer’s Tears is subtle but well layered with apples, vanilla and hints of citrus. It has an undeniable freshness to it that’s at odds with the image of a miserable writer confined to an attic. Perhaps the tearful writer in question is a young bear whose paws are too effing useless to punch the keys without his parents’ help.

On the palate Writer’s Tears is rewarding—you get all those lovely orchard notes along with sweet honey and a more muted array of delicately layered spice and floral contributions. The mouthfeel is smooth and coating without being cloying.

If you’re stuck in your attic or basement or even your kitchen, desperately trying to write a novel or come up with a witty tweet, you should break out the Writer’s Tears. And if you don’t have any, you should run to the liquor store and purchase some, because—OMG, my fellow inebriates—what if they shut that down?

Eau de Musc—leave it to beaver

My fellow inebriates,

If you think you’re seeing a lot of “aspirational” reviews from yours truly these days, you’re not wrong. My parents aren’t visiting our local booze shop as often as I’d like, so instead of drinking, I spend my time drooling over hooch on the Internet.

Except today.

You see, I came across HOUSE OF TAMWORTH EAU DE MUSC whiskey from Tamworth Distilling.

Eau de Musc Tamworth Distilling

Tamworth Distilling

Yeah, yeah, it looks lovely. But guess where the key tasting note comes from?

Guess…

Okay, I’ll tell you. It comes from a beaver’s ass crack.

It seems beavers secrete a substance called castoreum from a sac near the base of the tail. The flavourant supposedly tastes a bit like vanilla and berries, and its use dates back to old times. (How anybody got the idea in the first place … you really gotta wonder.)

As you might guess, this isn’t a voluntary donation on the part of the beavers. Somebody traps ’em, eats ’em, and sends the anal secretions to Tamworth Distilling to put in EAU DE MUSC.

beaver-1448390_960_720

Yeah buddy, I’d be scared as shit too.

Beavers remind me a bit of gerbils (which terrify me, but are part of our family). So I can’t get behind EAU DE MUSC even if butt-cavity-flavoured whiskey tastes like ambrosia from the gods. And luckily for all of us at LBHQ, it’s not on the table anyway. You have to go to New Hampshire (live free or die) to get this stuff.

Still, I’m curious. So if you’ve tried this whiskey, or even if you’ve just sniffed a beaver’s bunghole, drop me a line in the comments and I’ll add it to my compendium of hypothetical (if not aspirational) tasting notes.