Scotch Single Malt Whisky!

[stefano]

So tell me, did you like it the first time you tried it, or was it an acquired taste? What kind would the experts here recommend for a whisky virgin's first sip?

I hated it the first time. Then I decided to start gradually. I started with Bushmills, an Irish whiskey. Irish whiskeys are usually triple distilled, while Scotch whiskies twice. The corns of barley used for Irish whiskeys is dried in closed oven and not over a peat fire. For this reasons Irish whiskey is smoother and have no smoky flavour. Try it, drinking a litte sip of water just after it. Then gradually I moved to Scotch and now I love the peaty ones from Islay.

Concerning water, most serious whisky experts suggest to add about 20%
of water in it. They say it helps to free the volatile substances which give aroma to the whisky, and of course not to burn your lingual papillae.

Well.... do as you want, just DO NOT put ice in it!!!!!
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[SteveShaw]

And in 1975, I broke up with a girl who put soda in Glenlivet. Not soda as in "carbonated water," but soda as in "coke." I'll spare you the details of the sordid parting of the ways, but suffice it to say that it came that same evening and involved a fencing foil and the drunken recitation of a poem from Cyrano De'Bergerac ("Then, as I end the refrain -- thrust home").

A sad tale indeed, possibly. But surely it should have read "I broke up with a girl because she put soda in Glenlivet" and stopped there. The rest seemed superfluous. You should have known at that point that such a relationship would have no future. I know I'm risking treading on your sensibilities by going on like this, but on the other hand it was 31 years ago so I'm hoping you're more or less over it by now.

Actually, on second thoughts, about that fencing foil...

[gonzo914]

And in 1975, I broke up with a girl who put soda in Glenlivet. Not soda as in "carbonated water," but soda as in "coke." I'll spare you the details of the sordid parting of the ways, but suffice it to say that it came that same evening and involved a fencing foil and the drunken recitation of a poem from Cyrano De'Bergerac ("Then, as I end the refrain -- thrust home").

A sad tale indeed, possibly. But surely it should have read "I broke up with a girl because she put soda in Glenlivet" and stopped there. The rest seemed superfluous. You should have known at that point that such a relationship would have no future. I know I'm risking treading on your sensibilities by going on like this, but on the other hand it was 31 years ago so I'm hoping you're more or less over it by now.

Actually, on second thoughts, about that fencing foil...

Ah, but it was because. The sequence of events when thus --

• 1. Person in whose honor entertainment was being given, who will hereafter be referred to as "wench," comes to dinner.
  2. Wench puts some type of cola beverage in Glenlivet. With icecubes.
  3. Gonzo looks on disapprovingly but says nothing for fear of spoiling any chances at some rustric bonking later on.
  4. Gonzo drinks more Glenlivet.
  5. Repeat step 4 a few more times.
  6. Gonzo decides to hell with the rustic bonking, grasps fencing foil.
  7. Gonzo performs dramatic reading from Cyrano de'Bergerac, the passage Cyrano recites when he is composing a poem while dueling with someone who has insulted him.

  Lightly I toss my hat away.
  Languidly over my arm let fall
  My cloak with all of its bright array, then --
  Out swords!! And to work withall. . . . .
  
  <<There's more lines here I can't remember, but then it ends >>
  
  Prince, pray God, who is lord of all,
  Pardon your soul for your time has come.
  Beat. Pass. Fling You aslant, asprawl;
  Then, as I end the refrain, THRUST HOME!!

  8. Gonzo ends dramatic reading with a flourish and a nearly perfect strike to the sternum.
  9. Exuent wench and any hope of rustic bonking.

And so gonzo would submit that if none of you has ever poked a wench with a foil for desecrating good whiskey and/or whisky, or has otherwise forsaken an opportunity for rustic bonking in defense of the distiller's art, then you have no call to criticize his orthography.

[SteveShaw]

You don't suppose for a minute that the fact you were wielding a trusty sword when pissed up and shouting "THRUST HOME!" at the top of your voice had anything to do with her leaving, do you?

[gonzo914]

You don't suppose for a minute that the fact you were wielding a trusty sword when pissed up and shouting "THRUST HOME!" at the top of your voice had anything to do with her leaving, do you?

I should hope to kiss a duck it did. What did you expect me to do -- "I say, you unconscionable slattern, please remove yourself and that vile concoction to the other side of the threshold post haste and never again darken this humble abode." Better she should have a cracklin' good tale to tell her friends -- "And then, he was standing on the coffee table with this sword . . and . . . and . . .oh, god, I can't go on."

The true gentleman always contrives to leave the lady under the misapprehension that parting company was her idea.

[SteveShaw]

The scenario becomes ever clearer. For the first time you have revealed that you were brandishing the weapon standing on the coffee table. What must the poor woman have thought! Are there any other facts you have chosen to withold until now in the exercise of dramatic licence? I mean, for example, whilst all this was going on were you clothed?

[gonzo914]

I mean, for example, whilst all this was going on were you clothed?

But of course. It would have been presumptous to have been otherwise, as the person in whose honor the entertainment was being given had yet to assent to the planned rustic bonking, and furthermore, was unlikely to once she heard the words "Out swords" and discovered she did not have one. In this respect, I will admit to having been a less than perfect host, for if a gentleman is anticipating swordplay with a young lady, it is considered de rigeur in polite society that he supply the young lady with a suitable blade.

But enough of this banter -- back to the aqua vitae, lads.

[djm]

For swordplay, wearing clothes is, I think, a minimal safety standard, just in case more than one of your swords is swaying about at the same time. Clothes while drinking, on the other hand, are entirely optional.

djm

[The Weekenders]

That guy talks funny when he drinks.

[Lambchop]

Note to self: Remember not to put ice cubes in whiskey and coke . . .

[SteveShaw]

Note to self: Remember not to put ice cubes in whiskey and coke . . .

To be on the safe side, sell the fridge and keep the coke in a separate house.

[Joseph E. Smith]

That guy talks funny when he drinks.

[gonzo914]

Note to self: Remember not to put ice cubes in whiskey and coke . . .

I know not what course these other gentlemen have taken on their lives' journeys, nor am I privy to their very private passions and prejudices concerning the aqua vitae and how they would react to the above described commixture, but gonzo has mellowed with age and can state now from the vantage point of his later years that he would never, ever, even contemplate now such a display of swordsmanship with a young lady, or with a lamb, no matter how perverse a libation she might request. The Cyrano recitation -- perhaps, but more likely would be something requiring fewer histrionics and less lunging, something that can be performed without having to get into the armory -- maybe Trouble in River City or one of Og's songs from Finian's Rainbow.

And as for the rustic bonking -- well, 'tis still a consummation devoutly to be wish'd.

[djm]

Note to self: Remember not to put ice cubes in whiskey and coke

Its not nearly so tough as that, LC. These guys are obsessing about the pure, single malt stuff. However, for regular run-of-the-mill rye and other blended whiskeys you can pour in all the pop and ice you like. Make mine a rye and ginger and I'll meet you on the patio.

djm

[gonzo914]

. . . for regular run-of-the-mill rye and other blended whiskeys you can pour in all the pop and ice you like.

You not only can, you have to, or you'll turn your taste buds to cheese and your esophagus into a fire gantlet.