Last night, Gerald and I watched a show on the History Channel about distilleries. Turns out, that Earth part is the really essential character of Scotch — ya gotta have peat!
I wrote the poem the other night at Callahan’s. I was explaining to another guy who had never had a good Scotch and I mentioned that is was the only booze that truly represented all four of the elements.
Yeah. It’s kinda funny how Pat’s dad insists on having Scotch — Bourbon and Canadian and Irish won’t do — but he lacks appreciation of the finer points. I can’t stand the stuff he usually drinks. At least we’ve found a birthday/Christmas/Father’s Day gift that will always be appreciated: we get him a bottle of the really good stuff, and he’s very happy.
Oh, yeah, Brian, when we were on Catalina, we left Jerry to find a bar while the rest of the family went on the inland bus tour. The bus driver/tour guide was asked about some succulent plants along the way — what he could say was that a lot of people thought they were century plants, but they weren’t really century plants, and he didn’t actually know what they were.
If we’re getting into bourbon, I have a sentimental fondness for Southern Comfort. Here at Five O’Clock Somewhere, I serve up a Manhattan, based on Dad’s recipe, with Southern Comfort as the core ingredient. Among our guests, it’s a tie with the chocolate-chip pancakes for the favorite house specialty.
Ooh. Southern Comfort. This might make a good case study for the operant conditioners everywhere.
I just don’t like the stuff, although I have never even sipped it. I was at an Aerosmith concert. (This was their big comeback. No, no, no. Not that big comeback. The one in 1984 or so. They had broken up and were back together…)
Anyway, we were at this concert and there was a bunch of kids behind us and one of them puked Southern comfort all over Hikmat. Some of it splashed on me as well. I never knew that a 16-year-old’s stomach could hold that much clinging booze. Gotta hand it to them.
The girl was weeping profusely, and Hikmat, being an honorable Lebanese, did his best to comfort her even as he was wiping the chunks out of his thinning hair.
The night just went downhill from there. Especially for Hikmat, who threw away his shirt and spent the rest of the evening in my wool jacket, itching.
Ooooh, what a horrible way to be introduced to Southern Comfort. It is, really, quite a fine concoction, and it is a pity that you had to encounter it in such a nasty way.
However, I’ll be sure to use Maker’s Mark or Jack Daniels when I make your Manhattan.
Fantastic poem … I’m working on an adaptation of the Ballad of Gilligan’s Island to sum up our recent journey … look for it soon.
Last night, Gerald and I watched a show on the History Channel about distilleries. Turns out, that Earth part is the really essential character of Scotch — ya gotta have peat!
I wrote the poem the other night at Callahan’s. I was explaining to another guy who had never had a good Scotch and I mentioned that is was the only booze that truly represented all four of the elements.
Yeah. It’s kinda funny how Pat’s dad insists on having Scotch — Bourbon and Canadian and Irish won’t do — but he lacks appreciation of the finer points. I can’t stand the stuff he usually drinks. At least we’ve found a birthday/Christmas/Father’s Day gift that will always be appreciated: we get him a bottle of the really good stuff, and he’s very happy.
The HC documentary on distilleries made me want to drink! I was also impressed by the tequila segment. Roll the pinos! Chop, chop!
Brian, I’m trying to think of something that wouldn’t make you want to drink, but I’m coming up dry (and thirsty).
Speaking of which, it’s Friday today (I think). Are you going to be at the same place as you were last week?
Oh, yeah, Brian, when we were on Catalina, we left Jerry to find a bar while the rest of the family went on the inland bus tour. The bus driver/tour guide was asked about some succulent plants along the way — what he could say was that a lot of people thought they were century plants, but they weren’t really century plants, and he didn’t actually know what they were.
I recognized them; they were blue agave.
GLUG, GLUG, GLUG!!
And with the addition of enough alcohol, Brian turns into Brain?
He wouldn’t happen to work for the federal government, would he?
Or maybe America West Airlines?
Whisky (Scotch or Johny)
both of them
shall to walk
to the brain,
but the label
on the bottel,
may be important.
Whisky with ice,
whisky and milk,
whisky is a big smile,
keeping warm,
refreshing body,
for a while.
One have to decide,
once for all,
if is not better
the warm of sunshines
or a sunny whisky color
what is the bitter,
then your life.
mP, you have raised the bar.
Whoa — that’s some powerful poetry. Made me reach for the Glenfiddich.
Not sure that one will fit in the header! Just in the head I suppose.
Along those lines, looks like time for a Kuntucky Jack!
So can we see the poem in Czech?
If we’re getting into bourbon, I have a sentimental fondness for Southern Comfort. Here at Five O’Clock Somewhere, I serve up a Manhattan, based on Dad’s recipe, with Southern Comfort as the core ingredient. Among our guests, it’s a tie with the chocolate-chip pancakes for the favorite house specialty.
Ooh. Southern Comfort. This might make a good case study for the operant conditioners everywhere.
I just don’t like the stuff, although I have never even sipped it. I was at an Aerosmith concert. (This was their big comeback. No, no, no. Not that big comeback. The one in 1984 or so. They had broken up and were back together…)
Anyway, we were at this concert and there was a bunch of kids behind us and one of them puked Southern comfort all over Hikmat. Some of it splashed on me as well. I never knew that a 16-year-old’s stomach could hold that much clinging booze. Gotta hand it to them.
The girl was weeping profusely, and Hikmat, being an honorable Lebanese, did his best to comfort her even as he was wiping the chunks out of his thinning hair.
The night just went downhill from there. Especially for Hikmat, who threw away his shirt and spent the rest of the evening in my wool jacket, itching.
So I’m not such a big fan of Southern Comfort.
Ooooh, what a horrible way to be introduced to Southern Comfort. It is, really, quite a fine concoction, and it is a pity that you had to encounter it in such a nasty way.
However, I’ll be sure to use Maker’s Mark or Jack Daniels when I make your Manhattan.