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?

The 4 ryes I’m enjoying in my bear time

My fellow inebriates,

The rye aisle at my local booze shop is a wonderland, but I’ve been neglecting it.

don draperIf I had to blame someone, it might be Don Draper, with his relentless consumption of Canadian Club. Understandably, I thought Canadian Club must be reasonably top-shelf, and I drank it accordingly.

Turns out Canadian Club is fine for 10:00 am at work, but in our spare time (our bear time), we can do better. Back in December, Santa thought so too, and put this wonderful Northern Border Collection rye sampler set under the tree for yours truly.

rye mixer

I’d be lying if I said these little bottles were still around, MFI, by my memories of them linger. Over the next four blog posts, I’ll talk about each one of them while urging you to sip them at work. Stay tuned!

PS       What do YOU drink at work? Drop me a line in the comments.

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.