- Master of Time
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Now, I know that some will rebel at calling Jack a bourbon. "Ain't no bourbon, motherfucker! It's Tennessee whiskey!"
Well, it is a bourbon until the point of charcoal filtering. Bourbon with a twist. Then again, call it as you please.
It was bloody hot that day, so I really needed a drink upon arriving at my colleague's place.
I really had foul memories of Jack Daniel's, said memories dating back to the prom night. Jack on the rocks, not much to eat, dancing, more Jack, smokes, smokes, smokes... First it had me engaged in a series of rather fierce skirmishes with gravity. Needless to say, gravity won most of them. And then old (no.7) Jack decided, that it's gonna be great shenanigans, to push the contents of my stomach out, the way they came in.
I couldn't fucking look at bourbon, for a long time. Then came Scotch, then came a few great days in Berlin, with the penultimate day of drinking having cured me out of whisky for quite some time.
But recently, I did muster myself to try Scotch again. Asked for a few recommendations, and... Yeah, next payday, hopefully it's gonna be a bottle of Dalwhinnie.
Returning to the barbecue - after the first glass to quench the thirst came the time to eat. The meats were quite damn tasty, and quite damn spicy. So, what Mr. Bloke did, he's been extinguishing that with Jack on the rocks.
I seriously didn't know that I'll ever like Murican booze again. Bad memories of JD Old No. 7, a faint memory of Jim Beam tasting like fuckin' moonshine... And there, after ten glasses of Jack, I had something of an epiphany. I liked it again.
Today, drove down to the local supermarket. Full of hope more than a Donkey's full of himself, I walked to the shelves with booze. Jim Beam, Jim Beam, more Jim-fuckin-Beam. Oh, fuck you, Mr. Beam, I'll be better off driving the extra mile to Tesco for the Jack. Or indeed anything else. So there I am, looking through whatever booze Tesco had to offer. Jim Beam. No, fuck you, Jim, you make me wanna vomit. Jack Daniel's. Hmmmm. Wild Turkey... Had Wild Turkey a few years ago. I'd like to say I remember it, but it would be a lie. I remember not hating it, and that says something. Pulled out the phone, checked the account balance. OK, the salary's there, no down payment blues... OK, Jack or the Turkey. Ahhh, well, decision was made by a coin toss, and the Turkey it is.
So, I just had a glass of Wild Turkey on the rocks. In theory, nothing fancy, just their basic bourbon. But as much as I thought I'd never say that...what a fuckin' bourbon it is. Mild and spicy at the same time, not leaving a single foul note in the aftertaste... A true ode to all things great among all things Murican. Perhaps the bourbon aficionados here will say, "Mr. Bloke, but why the fuck are you writing an ode to something as common as Wild Turkey? There's more fancy shit out there!"
"Perhaps. Why? Just for the love of it."
"Of Wild Turkey, dropping the F-bombs or of doing write-ups?"
To which I can proudly say, "Of all of the above."
Elim Garak, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
No good deed ever goes unpunished.
Rule of Acquisition no.285