My collection as it existed over a year ago. It's grown considerably since.
I received the following typically-laconic text this Christmas Eve from my good pal Tyler: Let's explore whiskey together.
It's a Christmas miracle! was my beatific reply.
I'm ready, he responded.
It should come as a surprise to exactly no one (in the history of ever) that I'm an ardent fan of the ol' firewater. Though I love to sip on my own here and there, it may come as a shock that I'm actually far less the stodgy-middle-aged-aristocrat-slowly-becoming-one-with-his-tufted-leather-chair-in-the-west-wing-of-his-manse than some might assume. Actually, I'm quite extroverted, thank you, and my tufted armchairs are upholstered in velvet.
Ahem. What I'm getting at, of course, is that I'd rather enjoy adult beverages in the company of others than as a solo endeavor. Also, I prefer contemporary literature, so you can keep your Russian classics on the shelf of that expansive west wing library, SIR.
Tyler and I had our first tasting together a couple of weeks ago, a selection from his impressively growing personal collection (expect an LD LBC edition soon). We swilled from different shaped snifters, we sniffed and swished and I took the alliterations way too far, as I am wont to do. Because I am NOT, as previously discussed, a dusty old codger. No, no. I'm a fourteen-year-old girl busily crafting her first creative writing assignment and alliterations! Are meant! To! Be! Used!
But back to the part where I'm old enough to drink.
Doing a tasting can be a bit like an archaeological dig through the recesses of scent memory. Describing various notes is an odd reconnaissance mission, and too often I found myself with my eyes squinted nearly shut, combing through memories of aroma and taste, hoping for a match. I jotted down a few notes about what I tasted in most of the whiskeys we tried. It's a rough sketch, really, and I'm by no means a connoisseur. But if you've ever wondered about picking up a bottle for yourself or as a gift, here are a few worth trying.
Consider it the advice I'd soggily impart were I to corner you at a party, tumbler in hand and burning hot barley on the breath.