Drinking to Drink - Part IV

When I was in college I studied film. I wanted to be a director. I loved movies and I loved making video projects with friends. Hence, why not turn that hobby into a career?

Like many kids from my generation, however, I thought that getting into a good school with a good film program was all I had to do. Many of my friends thought that getting into Stanford or UC Berkeley was the prize and that a great life with a rewarding career would simply follow. We didn't realize that these fine institutions would not provide us with the answer to life, but merely help us learn how to help ourselves. Therefore, when I began my film training I learned how to use a camera. I learned how to record audio. I learned how to edit digitally. I learned how to make a movie, but it was my job to come up with the idea for one. mean I have to do that on my own? It turns out that being an art major doesn't necessarily make you an artist.

I've never really been the best at anything I've done in my life. I was always good at sports, but never a star. I was always good at making quirky videos, but I lacked the patience and the perseverance to perfect them. Like other kids I knew, I tried to make up for that lack of effort or talent with better equipment. I always had a great aluminum bat and a top-of-the-line catchers mitt. I had the latest Apple computers with the best copies of Final Cut Pro. I had the means to afford the best tools and the finest teachers, but those things can only take you so far. It's never the guys like me who achieve greatness. The best kid on the little league team was always the scrappy kid with the beat-up glove who was good because he lived to play ball. The best movies in my film class were always made by the quiet kid who had to borrow equipment from friends.

Having the best possible equipment doesn't mean you understand how to use it. There I was, nineteen years old, loaded up with a couple grand worth of editing software, when I probably only needed a cheap DV camera and a stripped down version of iMovie to make the films I was making. Whereas some kids knew how to do special effects and computer animation with Adobe Illustrator that took hours, if not days of extra work, I just wanted to point and shoot. Speaking of cameras: how many people out there actually know how to use every function of their Canon T2i Rebel SLR camera? Yet, you see guys everywhere with fancy lenses and heavy equipment bags. How many people are actually out there, scaling a mountain with their Asolo hiking boots and North Face outdoor apparel? While we like to think that the best equipment makes the for the best experience, it's no good to you if you don't know what to do with it.

More so than any of the analogies above, wine may be the absolute best example of a type of "equipment" where people pay in excess for qualities they don't understand, need, or appreciate. I spend most of my time talking people out of bottles rather than into them. You don't want that 1988 Lynch Bages, trust me. But I want to spend $100 on something nice! What do you think nice tastes like? Smooth, rich, and fruity, right? That's not what the 1988 Lynch Bages tastes like. Then why would it be so expensive? We all know that society equates quality with expense, even if it's often undeserved. With wine there's the added caveat that older is also better. This isn't always true, however. Older is simply different. The older a wine gets, the more its flavors change, but not necessarily in a way that's favorable to a large majority of the public. Old wine is an acquired taste. It can be appreciated only after experience. You're not going to drop a hundred bucks on an old Bordeaux and instantly love it. I know this because many people bring back these bottles thinking there's something wrong with the wine.

Although I find that older whiskies tend to be more impressive, even for the beginning drinker, there are plenty of odd, esoteric, and subtlely flavored spirits that don't necessarily speak to the average aficionado. You might think that spending $100 is the only way to drink good whiskey, but you'll only know that if you've already spent $20, $40, $60, and $80 first. You'll only need the Canon T2i if you're finding that the Powershot S90 doesn't do everything you want it to do. Do you really need the manual focus, added depth of field, and the versatility of wide-angle versus portrait lenses, or does it just make you feel like a pro knowing you have them?

In the end, unless you do everything in life completely alone, there's no hiding a lack of experience. At the end of the semester we all had to screen our films at the university theater. It was clear who had talent and who didn't. If the students that made terrible films did so with the finest possible equipment, the irony of that failure made it twice as embarrassing. But that wouldn't be the only time I experienced something like that in my life. If you head out to the golf course with the most expensive clubs available, then double bogey every hole that afternoon, expect a lot of snickering behind your back when you're not looking. If you've got a garage full of the priciest tools, but your kid's treehouse looks like a condemned construction site, don't be surprised if your craftsmanship becomes a practical joke around the office.

On the same page, if your bar is only full of prestige bottles, but you chose the Glenlivet 12 as the best malt in a blind tasting, what does that say about your palate? It doesn't necessarily say that you don't appreciate fine whisky, but it may mean that you're spending far too much.

-David Driscoll


New K&L Single Barrel Bourbon!

Our Weller barrel from earlier this week sold out so fast I didn't even have time to post it on the blog! That's because it's Weller though, so it's to be expected. This, on the other, has got to be one of the goofiest bottles of all time. A piece of felt with some construction paper glued on – hey, wait a minute? Am I dreaming? Am I back teaching elementary school again?, it's just the crazy-looking Henry McKenna Bottled In Bond label. Despite its odd exterior, this is one of the best single barrel Bourbons I've ever tasted from Heaven Hill. It's absolutely glorious.

David OG is on a roll lately. I don’t know if it’s his amazing palate or that fact that he just gets better samples than I do (probably the former), but he’s been digging up some gems lately. I’ve been sending most of my Kentucky barrel samples back from where they came. David, on the other hand, has been delivering cask after cask. First the Weller from earlier this week, now this guy. Single barrel selections are one of the only ways we can offer our customers fun, unique, and exciting selections of American whiskey right now. There’s nothing more fun than finding that inexpensive overachiever, bottling it up, and watching it fly.

Henry Mckenna 10 Year Old K&L Exclusive Single Barrel #982 BIB Straight Kentucky Bourbon Whiskey $26.99 - Mckenna is one of the most underappreciated brands on the market today. Essentially, this is Heaven Hill’s Evan Williams recipe bottled in bond and aged a minimum of 10 years. Ours was barreled in October of 2002 and bottled earlier this year. We got incredibly lucky with this little single barrel. It stood out of the crowd from many samples we'd tasted over the last few months. Here we have the typical Heaven Hill spicy oak nose, soft citrus peel, . There's this fresh vanilla bean character that seems almost unreal. The powerful spice is accented by subtle floral aromas, but it does not seem perfumy, just as if you've walked by an incredible wild rose bush. The palate goes in the exact opposite direction. Instead of being astringent or overly spiced, we get tons of sweet candied fruit (cherries especially). The baking spices come back on the end and coat all that cherry in a dark spicy cocoa. What a spectacular find! Remember if you're reading this now, so are THOUSANDS of other people. We only got 16 cases of this whiskey and it will undoubtedly be sold out in a matter of days if not hours. (David OG)

Since this came out of the SoCal distribution, I just finally got my hands on a bottle today. It’s no joke. Seriously good Bourbon that you can sip neat. This isn’t a mixer, this is rich, textural, nuanced, spicy, dark-fruited whiskey for a hot price. I’m going to stash a few away since I’m into value whiskey right now. If you thought the Weller barrel was good, this will outshine it - guaranteed.

-David Driscoll


Drinking to Drink - Part III

I'm glad people are feeling the need to respond to these posts. I like getting a tad contraversial every now and again to keep our creative juices flowing and our minds thinking.

In response to the claim that consumers are missing out by avoiding the great entry level bottles, I heard from a number of different readers who had one consistent reason for choosing to step up the quality instead: when they do decide to have a drink of whiskey they want it to be really, really good. One of the great things about liquor is that it keeps. You don't have to drink it all at once for fear of spoilage. This allows consumers that don't imbibe in high volume to nip off the bottle from time to time without worry.

My concern, however, was that some of these drinkers might be moving right up the ladder without deciding whether it was actually worth doing so or not. Could they maybe scratch that itch and spend only a fraction of what they're used to paying? There are numerous studies that show an increase of overall wealth often doesn't lead to an increase in general happiness. Might the same correlation apply to whisky and the enjoyment of it? Not that the expensive malts aren't actually higher in quality, but rather that the increase in quality doesn't necessarily lead to an increased enjoyment?

I was hoping to hear from a few people. Keith in Southern California had this to say:

I am a surgeon in Los Angeles. When I was in college - late 1980's - I decided that I wanted something better to drink at the bar than the terrible generic beers that were plentiful and tasteless. So I decided a sophisticated drinker would drink scotch. I was in college and had no money so I figured Johnny Walker Red is probably as good as anything more expensive and so drank a great volume of bad scotch. I thought it tasted terrible but thought drinking scotch must be an acquired taste and probably no one likes it when they start so continued drinking. It didn't get any better but I thought I should probably keep drinking until it tasted good. It never did. I was ill well into the next day. The smell of scotch made me ill for the next ten years.

Ten years later I was in training in Philadelphia. I decided now that I had some money (in residency I earned - literally - pennies per hour for the first year but worked about 100 or more hours per week so made a living. Later it was a few dollars per hour not because I earned a lot more but because the hours came down to a more reasonable 80-90 after the first year.) I was going to try scotch again but the sky was the limit! I would buy the very best bottle available. (I had no idea how expensive scotch could be.) So I went crazy and spent - if I recall - about $30-40 for a bottle of Glenmorangie. (I also had no idea that different regions of Scotland produced different tasting scotch.) It tasted terrible. I was certain it was an acquired taste and so made myself drink just a taste every night to acquire it. Every night a taste. Every night was terrible. Two weeks later I gave up. It was just gross.

Ten years later my wife and I with some friends were out to dinner on New Year's Eve. Everyone had something to drink. Everyone but me. The waiter asked what would I like and I really didn't have any preference for any particular drink. I mentioned that scotch sounds interesting but I am one of those people who just doesn't like scotch.

The waiter said "There is no such thing. Everyone likes scotch. They may not have had the right scotch yet."

I told him again I would like to like scotch but I just don't

He said "I am going to bring you a drink. You are going to love it. If you love it, pay for it. If you don't, it's on me."

How can you turn that down?

It was the most delicious drink I think I have ever drunk. Macallan 18.

That was the day I became a scotch drinker.

However Macallan 18 cost around $135 then. Since the bottle, I figured, would last 3 or 4 years I wanted to make sure that if I were going to spend such an enormous sum of money and that would be all I drank for the next three or four years I better make sure it was what I really wanted. I tried a dozen or two scotches in bars the next month or two but really loved the Macallan. I bought the bottle. Three months later it was gone.

From my perspective I am not always in the mood for a drink of hard liquor. It is so strong I really have to be in the mood. However thank goodness I am in a place now where I can afford good stuff. I don't drink it every day (I'd say most weekends but not all weekends I'll have a small drink and almost always when friends come over). So if I am having a small drink once a week or twice a week and I have an option to drink drinkable good stuff or really great stuff, I figure I am 44 years old and choose the best stuff I have. Not to be macabre, but I don't know how many years left I have. Hopefully lots and hopefully good ones. In that case if there is a Talisker 10 (I thought it was OK but didn't love it), Lagavulin 16, and Port Ellen 9th release available, why would I drink the Talisker if I know there is something I truly love? (Lagavulin 16 is one of my favorites though)

Anyway I wanted to give an alternative thought. I usually have about 4-5 bottles open at any one time but if there is a really good bottle that comes out I know I will not be able to drink it ten years from now because it will be gone so I would buy it now, expecting to open it up to drink whenever the current stash runs low. I drink regularly but not daily so if I am going to have a drink I want to drink whatever I would enjoy the most.

In this case, the increase in quality certainly made a difference for Keith. Pre-Macallan, there was no enjoyment whatsoever. Post-Macallan, there was passion. The reason I particularly enjoyed his letter is because for years he tried to like Scotch, but didn't. Only after finding the right whisky was his love eventually able to blossom. For those who don't drink whisky all that often having one or two nice bottles they truly enjoy is probably the way to go.

I can give you a similar account with the opposite effect, however. I tried this approach with my wine consumption and found that my enjoyment actually decreased as a result (which is why I began Part I of this conversation with the wine analogy).

My alcohol intake since working at K&L has gone through the roof, not surprisingly. At times, I'll make strides to cut back on what I ingest, mainly for health reasons or to stay fit. I'm a dedicated runner, usually logging about 25 miles a week or more habitually. About a year ago, as part of an effort to increase my distances, I decided I was going to drink less wine (maybe only once or twice a week), but that the wine I would consume would just be of a higher quality. Instead of spending $6-$12 per day on a reasonable bottle, I would concentrate those funds on a $30-$50 bottle of serious quality for the weekend. That way my increased enjoyment from the higher-end wine would counteract the decreased enjoyment I would feel from the fewer occasions to sip.

Or so I thought.

What I soon realized, however, was that my enjoyment of alcohol didn't stem so much from appreciating its quality as it did from appreciating the general experience of tasting it. I ended up putting more importance on to each encounter, making the potential for disappointment even greater when the wine didn't live up to expectations. I also discovered that part of the fun in drinking, for me, was finding that great bottle of $10 wine or $20 booze that truly transcended its price. Bargains were simply more fun.

In my world, I don't necessarily derive a greater amount of pleasure from a glass of Port Ellen than I do from a glass of Caol Ila. I can recognize the difference in quality and enjoy the contrast of flavor, but I'm not necessarily happier as a result. Ultimately, my greatest sense of enjoyment comes from the ritual of drinking itself, finding pleasure in what each experience can offer individually. Even though I was opening incredible bottles of Bordeaux and Burgundy, each one delicious and far better than what I was used to drinking, I didn't wake up the next morning with an extra spring in my step. In fact, I felt bad about having spent the extra cash.

For some people, the pleasure derived from drinking alcohol is in direct correlation to the perceived quality of the beverage. Keith's experience is a great example of this phenomenon. However, for others, like myself, the pleasure of drinking alcohol comes simply from the act and the experience itself. Personally, I'm as happy eating tacos from Chavez Market as I am filet mignon from a Michelin-starred French bistro. But I wouldn't want to do either on a regular basis because that would mean missing out on everything from Indian curries to Chinese dumplings.

The same scenario works for liquor. There's simply too much fun stuff out there that shouldn't be missed, in my opinion. If I watched only "the best" movies I would never have time for hilarious romps like Cabin Boy or Super Troopers. If I listened to only "the best" music, I wouldn't be able to enjoy my morning commute with yacht rock classics like Toto's "Africa." Such things have their time and place, and I enjoy each of them for what they bring to the table. Therefore, I think it's important to stress to customers the idea that there are some fantastic "every day" bottles out there that we shouldn't necessarily overlook on account of their low price tags.

With some things, however, I am just like Keith. I don't really care about my coffee as long as it doesn't taste like tar. I don't really feel like backpacking around Europe anymore when I could just stay in a nice resort. Alcohol is just something that I feel differently about because it's my biggest passion.

Some people just want it to taste good. Some of us just want to taste as much of it as possible.

-David Driscoll


Drinking to Drink - Part II

Popularity, fame, and success can be blessings in life. They can also be curses.

I was watching VH1 last night while they were re-airing an old series called The Top 100 Songs of the 1990s, marveling at some of the names and faces I had forgotten. When they finally made it to "Jeremy" by Pearl Jam, the subject turned to the band's aversion from fame during the mid-1990s – how they shunned the limelight, stopped making music videos, turned away from commercial labels and tour sponsors, and managed to keep making music together as a result. Pearl Jam wanted to make sure they didn't burn out prematurely.

Contrast that story with the eventual number one artist: Nirvana with "Smells Like Teen Spirit." Kurt Cobain became so famous that his punk rock band became "too mainstream" for most punks, losing any type of street cred whatsoever. He had trouble dealing with the newly-found stardom and the importance society placed upon his every lyric. We all know how that story ended.

Recognizing one's own over-exposure is critical to maintaining a longstanding career – just ask Vanilla Ice or almost any other one-hit wonder on the VH1 countdown. Pop culture phenomena always begin as an exciting burst of light and energy, before dulling down into repetitive drivel for commercial jingles. Once everyone jumps on board the gravy train it's no longer cool (I touched on this briefly a few weeks back), and there are few things more important in life than self-perception. That's why fashion and lifestyle magazines exist: to keep us up to date with what's hip and what isn't.

The irony here, however, is that once something becomes popular enough for the mainstream to finally discover it, it loses all of that mojo. As I once heard one of my students say, "Facebook stopped being cool once your parents joined." Now, granted, there are plenty of people out there who don't follow trends and stay true to what they like. But, as we all know, there are even more people who don't. Otherwise you'd still be able to get a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle whenever you wanted one.

Working in a retail store all day, I interact with quite a few people. In doing so I make observations. What I've noticed lately fits right into what I witnessed as a high-school music fan in the mid-90s. I fear there's a backlash coming.

FLASHBACK: Beyer High School. Modesto, CA. 1994. David notices a student he dislikes wearing a Nirvana T-shirt to school and listening to Green Day on his Discman. David instantly becomes annoyed and rolls his eyes. "That guy likes Nirvana now?" he thinks to himself, immediately deciding he no longer likes Nirvana and instead will tell people his favorite band is the lesser-appreciated, more-artistic Sonic Youth.

Yesterday in the Redwood City store I was asked by a few older gentlemen if we had any Pappy Van Winkle for sale. I politely answered that we wouldn't get any until November and that, even still, getting a bottle was next to impossible (as SKU can attest, I am always nice about it). While I did this, however, I noticed two younger customers hovering in the liquor aisle look at each other and shake their heads. What did that disdainful turn of the neck mean? I think we know, right? It means that asking for Pappy is super uncool in some circles. Maybe not drinking it, but definitely asking for it. Asking for Pappy means you don't know what's going on with American whiskey right now, about how hard it is to land a bottle of old Bourbon. If you don't know what's going on, you're outdated and uncool. It's like walking into a famous New York restaurant without a reservation and expecting to get a table.

That's just an example of the type of thing I'll see on a weekly basis. Yet, there are plenty of more straightforward examples. Many of my most passionate customers are moving away from the prestige collectables because of how they feel it makes them look. They're long time fans who want to make sure I'm not confusing them with the Pappy-chasing newcomers. Drinking "the best" whiskies used to be fun for these guys because it was just a matter of tasting them, rather than finding them. Nowadays it may still be fun, but it's almost completely uncool.

The injection of new blood into the whisk(e)y industry is beginning to frustrate more and more customers, however.  When the people who know what good whiskey is have to compete with people who know nothing about whiskey it takes the fun right out of it. With the current shortage of older American expressions available, the road to new and interesting bottles has become quite crowded and these normally divergent paths have merged into one crowded superhighway. Pappy became the most sought-after Bourbon because it was the coolest whiskey around, as well as one of the best. Having a bottle kind of implied that you understood a bit about whiskey and could recognize what good Bourbon was. But what happens when buying a bottle of Pappy marks you as the guy who doesn't know anything about Bourbon and is just looking to impress your friends? Or does the eye-rolling and head-shaking of my young customers already mean that day has come?

Popularity via association is nothing new for booze. Jack Daniels grew largely during the 1950s thanks to its association with the Rat Pack as its drink of choice. If perception can help to build a brand, it can definitely help to destroy it. The Van Winkles are benefiting from their family's own hard work and dedication to quality. The whiskey deserves the attention, yet, like anything, the more we idolize something, the more cool it becomes to tear it down. Since prestige bottles are becoming undrinkable trophies, it means the backlash will focus on utility – buying something inexpensive and quality-oriented simply to drink (the entire hipster movement is built on irony). Drinking a $20 bottle of something decent will mean you really know about whiskey because you've had the Staggs, the Pappys, the Parkers, and the Willetts, yet you still chose the Yellow label. What's cooler than being able to spend more, but choosing not to? "Yeah, I mean, I've had all that stuff man, but, you know, I'm just over it. It's not worth all that effort anymore. I just wanna drink and enjoy it, man. Ya know?"

If that sounds like a Gen-X caricature, it is. But, at the same time, it's actually pretty close to what I hear regularly on the sales floor. It's no different than the grunge era rockers distancing themselves from the hair bands of the 80s - We're about the actual music, man, not flashy costumes. I'm noticing a new movement among whisk(e)y drinkers that's focused on affordable, classic, big-brand quality, rather than pricey, collectable, limited-edition status. It's definitely a reaction to what's happening in the "scene." I get a lot of feedback from people all over the country who take the time to share with me what's on their mind. Most of it seems to point towards a disassociation with the status quo. The irony here, however, is that the Van Winkle bottles were never marketed as luxury goods. Like Kurt Cobain and Nirvana, their success is simply the result of organic pop culture hysteria.

Like the first Nirvana groupies, true whisk(e)y fans do not want to be lumped in with the growing legions of Pappy-seeking newbies. I'm not the one saying that, however. The twenty emails in my "inbox" are saying that. Literally. In response to Part I of this article I got more than a few messages from readers who felt that I needed to make a distinction between the people who drink whisk(e)y to be cool and the people who actually enjoy it. The problem, however, is that there is no distinction anymore, at least not unless you speak up about it. You'll never know for certain who's buying Pappy to actually drink it and who's buying it to show off at a business meeting. That's why most requests these days are usually predicated with some sort of explanation, as in I actually plan on drinking it, rather than flipping it, so that we know they're not one of the "other guys."

And that's why pop-culture backlashes start. Because people get so sick of having to explain themselves or defend their actions in the face of public scrutiny that they finally just give up and move on. "You don't understand! I liked them BEFORE it was cool! I'm not one of those guys!" Of course, if you have to explain yourself you look even worse. "I'm sure you're not one of those guys, sir" (smiles smugly). It's easy to simply say, "drink what you like," but what if what you like has become associated with something you dislike? What if your brand becomes the preferred choice of white supremacists or neo-nazis?

Kurt Cobain had trouble with his own issues when he found out that two Nirvana fans were singing one of his songs while raping a woman. He wrote, "I have a hard time carrying on knowing there are plankton like that in our audience." That's obviously an extreme example, but it speaks to a larger issue. When you put something out into the world for consumption you have little control over who consumes it. Your biggest fans may be your biggest embarrassment. I'm sure there are still rockstars in the world that shudder at the idea of their music gracing the latest collection of Jock Rock.

But that's the price of success.

-David Driscoll


Drinking to Drink

We get this question in the store all the time: I'm looking for some "everyday" wine. Just a few "everyday" bottles. I need some "weeknight" red wine.

Do you know what that means?

It means the customer is looking for wine to drink on a Wednesday night when they don't want to break out the good stuff. It means an inxpensive bottle of sauvignon blanc to open while watching the latest Modern Family episode. It's the difference between a $10 bottle and a $50 bottle. Who wants to drink pricey Bordeaux on a weeknight, anyway?

If you're a beer drinker it might mean popping a can of PBR in the parking lot at Oakland Alameda stadium while you tailgate the A's game. It might mean a light, refreshing lager to enjoy on that warm Tuesday evening instead of the Bourbon-aged porter you've been saving since last weekend.

What either of these situations does not insinuate, however, is the idea that most wine and beer drinkers don't understand the difference between fun booze and quality booze. They know the time and place for a bottle of high-end Bordeaux. They can comprehend the need for an easy bottle of crisp white wine in the meantime.

Do whiskey drinkers understand that, however? Do whiskey fanatics get that there's a time and a place for Old Overholt and a time and a place for Sazerac 18? I'm not so sure.

The new push towards quality single malt and Bourbon seems to have forgotten an important facet of whiskey enjoyment: no one ever said the inexpensive stuff wasn't good.

Nevertheless, prices for bottles like Old Pulteney 21, Pappy Van Winkle, and Macallan 18 continue to skyrocket, while prices for Glenlivet 12, Buffalo Trace, and Glenfiddich remain inexpensive and consistent. Why is that the case? I thought whisk(e)y was the hot commodity. Could it be that the demand for hard-to-find, collectable bottles has hit an all-time high, while the entry level booze never really took off? It makes sense, right? All the collectors and hoarders went right for the "good stuff," leaving the basic necessities untouched. We'll never see a bottle of Weller Larue on the shelf ever again, yet Weller 107 still stands pat at $20 a bottle. What the heck is going on?

I'll tell you.

Whisk(e)y customers have forgotten about Buffalo Trace. About Four Roses Yellow. About Old Grand-Dad. About Glenmorangie Original. About the Bank Note in liter bottles. About simple pleasures and everyday hooch. Why? Because they're not collectable. Because they're not rare. Because they're not being talked about on message boards. But the tide is turning, trust me.

Pappy? You might as well bust out your old MC Hammer pants. Ardbeg Supernova? Why don't you pass the C&C Music Factory CD over to my boombox. You're dating yourself. There's a new movement on the way.

This is what happens when a genre gets played out and exploited by the masses: backlash. What happened to drinking whiskey just to drink it? What happened to popping a bottle of Old Fitzgerald while catching the latest Warriors game? What happened to session whiskies like Jameson, Paddy, or Old Crow?

Are we creating a society of drinkers who only purchase collectable, rare, top-shelf spirits? Wine drinkers aren't that narrow. Neither are beer drinkers. So what's happening to the liquor aficionado? Why are wine and beer drinkers fine with diversifying their collection to include the everyday, while spirits drinkers choose only the "best" or the "finest?" Why do my wine customers specifically ask for inexpensive wines, while my spirits customers ask specifically to avoid the inexpensive whiskies?

Are they losing touch?

I'm sipping on a big, fat glass of Old Overholt right now. Why? Because it's Wednesday. That's what we do mid-week. I'll save the Mortlach 22 until Saturday. That way I'll really appreciate it.

-David Driscoll