Jill asks:
It's kind of a strange question, though. I need a bourbon match for a book character. You know, a kind of personality match: aggressive male, brilliant entrepreneur, completely stingy with money, doesn't drink much, but needs a good bourbon for when, say, his hippy Marxist parents visit. He's not adventurous; his entire goal in life is to make money and be in control. Could you recommend something for my character?
A guy with this kind of money and power... you would expect Pappy Van Winkle. But he won't touch it. Its 3 times as expensive and not as good. In short... its what you drink to impress them what don't know any better.
Your man has a bottle of Bookers. He loves it because its barrel strength... its uncut and therefore slightly unpredictable. Its always good but its never exactly the same. This little bit of chaos is all he can tolerate in his conquered controlled world... because it reminds him that some things are still more art than science.. and taming and them and controlling them may reduce them to mere mediocrity.
He never cuts it with water. He has cold whiskey stones that he puts in the glass and sips it straight.
He never drinks to get hammered. He remembers that one time he heard an old distiller named Booker Noe once said, "There comes a time in a man's life when he isn't looking to get hammered. He just wants something that will change his attitude a little. He just wants to take a little sip and think, "aww hell... it don't matter."
You can tell a lot about a man by his bourbon.
Do yourself a favor and go to a liquor store and look at a bottle of Bookers real well. Notice the box it comes in. Its very distinctive and the details about it will make a very interesting few words. Bookers is hot by the way... usually 128 to 132 proof or so... and is usually very sweet and complex. Its fantastic. Peppery, smokey, caramel, and vanilla will find their way into a taster's mind.
Now...
I'll have to go have some.
100 comments:
Since it's a bourbon, it's probably the equivalent of a $100 bottle of scotch, no?
OT: Cigars. Have you tried Marco V yet Nate? I'm liking them. You can get them for minimal spondulix, and are actually pretty damn good in my relatively inexperienced opinion.
This is made of awesome--very poetic, etc. I wish I could try some, but I'll have to settle for studying the box. I, um, spent all my alcohol allowance on wine.
Yes, I do think you get my character (his name's Oso--hippy parents, right?). And I can tell you how pleased I am NOT to use a name like Pappy Van Winkle in the same sentence as Oso. I may not have a clue about bourbon, but that name is too silly. Thanks!
"And I can tell you how pleased I am NOT to use a name like Pappy Van Winkle,..."
Agreed. That name is dumb as hell. It sounds like it belongs in an old 1920's cartoon with dancing skeletons.
Excellence is the key with guys like that Jill. People focus on the control freak part... but the control freak is a symptom of striving for excellence. They will always give up perfect control if the price is mere mediocrity. Guys like Oso cannot tolerate mediocrity.
Yes, I think you're right.
Of course, all that whiskey stuff aside, nothing says slick, sharp, Alpha and in control like a gin martini.
"Whiskey stones." Sounds like he's compensating.
Ok, I will bite. How does one obtain whiskey stones? It sounds like a great idea for chilling the bourbon but not diluting it.
They would probably stay cold longer too.
So, first time you offered bourbon/rocks to your friends they weren't surprised to see real rocks?
I'm waiting for Nate to write a book, or maybe a short story, but at the rate he blogs, I know what will never happen.
Susan: Whiskey stones
If you look back to 2004 and 2005 you'll see I blogged as much or more than Vox back then... but over the last several years I have way less time.
The economic world is ending ya know.
Vidad, people throw around this term, alpha, and it really isn't to the point at all. Che Guevara was an alpha. The point is this: brilliant businessman and capitalist who doesn't need to drink a gin martini to demonstrate he's in charge. I suppose I'm getting sentimental, here, but I'm tired of the current societal trend of equating capitalism with corporate fascism. That's the point of my story. And now I'm off to write more of my sentimental nonsense while the Titanic sinks.
Nate, having 'a passel of kids' will do that to you. Which is how it should be if you are to achieve as a great dad.
Waterboy, thanks for that link. One question though. What exactly is soapstone? My impression is that maybe it feels like a chunk of a bar of soap?
Google is your friend.
@Jill
I'm only screwing around to mess with Nate. I'm more of a gin drinker, so that makes my drink better, see?
You're right on the alpha thing. It doesn't equal value, it just equals a state of mind or personality.
I run two businesses, small businesses. A writing/media company and a plant nursery, and I totally agree with you on modern business. Being in bed with the Feds is the name of the game... and that's nothing at all like the great leaders of industry that helped forge this nation.
Susan: "What exactly is soapstone?"
From Wikipedia:
Soapstone (also known as steatite or soaprock) is a talc-schist, which is a type of metamorphic rock. It is largely composed of the mineral talc and is thus rich in magnesium. It is produced by dynamothermal metamorphism and metasomatism, which occurs in the areas where tectonic plates are subducted, changing rocks by heat and pressure, with influx of fluids, but without melting. It has been a medium for carving for thousands of years...Softer grades may feel soapy when touched, hence the name.
The material used for whiskey stones is higher on the scale of hardness, so they don't really feel soapy. And regardless of how they feel, the stones do not impart any soapiness in taste to the liquid. Even if the minerals which comprise them might leach off into the drink, I suspect it would be in such minute quantities that it wouldn't have a noticable effect on the taste. Not as much as water does, anyway.
They also make stainless steel whiskey stones.
toothy
RE: stainless steel whiskey stones
I've read that those can sometimes leak...and though the gel inside is supposed to be non-toxic, the idea of it seeping into the whiskey -- possibly undetected -- doesn't sound too appealing.
Look, don't spend money on whiskey stones. Just walk on down to the river, find some smooth rocks, and pop them in the freezer. That's what the Scottish used to do.
Personally, I don't use any stones at all (or ice or a chilled glass). But for Susan (who asked) or anyone else looking for information on them, there it is.
But a successful entrepreneur who can afford to buy good bourbon isn't likely to fret over the cost of a few stones. Maybe this guy, since he's "completely stingy with money", might -- only Jill could answer that.
"Personally, I don't use any stones at all (or ice or a chilled glass)"
Ah, a "right-from-the-bottle" guy.
Hey, I might be a heathen, but at least I still use a glass....
Real men only drink straight from the bottle, alone, in alleys next to dumpsters.
That's a man that knows what he wants and how to get it.
I feel sort of narcissistic pretending that my character is a real person (or deluded, perhaps), so I'll shut up about that now. This conversation has been enlightening because my relationship with alcohol extends to drinking red wine or quality brandy, never chilled, from canning jars. I would never have thought of stones.
"That's a man that knows what he wants and how to get it."
Aim high.
Come now Jill! We're talking about whiskey and booze here! You had to know there would be all manner of lore and myth and protocol surrounding something dear to the menfolk!
Thanks a lot, Nate. Now I need to go have a drink. And its only 9 AM. And I'm at work.
I said it was enlightening. :)
Real men ferment their own out of ketchup packets, rolls and spoiled fruit in a jail toilet, then strain it through an undershirt.
Nate: You may have answered this before, but what's your take on Knob Creek?
Had it the first time last fall and thought it was excellent. Maybe I'm just deprived?
Real men store it in a bladder sewn under the skin on their back, like a camel's hump, and "drink" it by opening a valve to release it ever so slowly directly into their bloodstream.
Real men march straight up to Dionysus, throttle him with a vine of his own growing, and say, "Gimme the secret to making wine, bitch!"
Real men eat the correct proportions of ingredients, and ferment it in their own stomachs.
Real men wash down their ramen with Dom Perignon, then make love to a wereseal.
Real men sparkle in the moonlight, making all the women swoon...and can furrow their brows so low, they can brush the dust off the tips of their fine Italian leather loafers.
Real men go off into space in pieces of junk held together with binder twine and rivets.
Real men hand roll their cigars out of honey badger dung and poison ivy.
Real men drink acid to make sure every base is covered.
Real men make burgers from lean chuck ground from the broken hearts they leave behind.
Real men shave with their wife's razors when no one can see them.
Real men listen to Bowie songs without having to filter them through a cover band first.
Wait, slow down! I can't take notes this quickly! I'm trying to get down on these fine points on real men...
get down *all these fine points*...Good heavens, what did I just accidentally say? I'm outta here.
Real men dress in blue teddies...and have loofahs in their showers.
Real men drink on Wednesdays.
Real men ride Harleys.
Real men do the Chicken Dance at weddings. And the Macarena. And the Electric Slide.
Real men don't eat quiche, and they DON'T EAT SOUP!
Real men know how to ride a horse, how to properly rope a steer, and how to hogtie a woman.
Real men hunt boar with a zip gun and a putty knife. Not only can they kill the beast and mount the head, but they can also patch the holes in the wall where they first tried to mount it but decided it looked better over the fireplace mantle instead of the big screen TV.
Real men, quite obviously, carry water.
Real men have bloodhounds that actually live in their bloodstream, allowing them to smell danger from miles away.
Real men court danger, punch fear in the face, laugh at anxiety and knee weakness in the groin.
Real men condense the five love languages down into one, then encase that single tongue in cement and bury it beneath a pile of smoking rubble.
Real men only hold down jobs for the irony.
Real men can drink and urinate simultaneously without stopping.
Real men emit pheromones so strong they can cause spontaneous pregnancies in female astronauts on the space station.
Real men laugh.
Real men roar with laughter as they drink the fermented blood of their vanquished foes.
Real men go to work with the eyeliner still on.
Real men can get an honors degree in interior design and still decorate their house with wood paneling and animal trophies.
Real men don't use power tools. In fact, they have so much strength that anything other than hand tools would just slow them down.
Real men make their wives get out of the car and change the flat tire out for the spare...because they're too busy holding the car up off the ground.
If real men bother to shave at all, they use plain water and the lid to a tin can from last night's dinner.
Real men use natural underarm deodorants, like prickly pear cactus and spiny sea urchins.
Real men incorporate firearms terminology in all their platitudes: they shoot for the moon, aim for the stars, reach for the brass ring, and always hit their target.
Real men actually DO eat quiche...they just call it an egg-and-bacon pie.
Real men make their own sammiches.
Real men can pull their own weight...and throw it around...at the same time!
Real men can keep it going for 100 comments.
Real men don't cheat toward that goal, either.
Nope, they sure don't
Real men drink their drinks at swim-up bars...underwater.
Real men don't know when to quit when they are disastrously behind.
I hate to break the momentum, but I'm laughing my freaking head off.
Real men laugh their freaking heads off.
Real men grow non-native invasive species in their gardens to feed to their non-native invasive pets.
Real can watch Star Trek without being doomed to a life of perpetual virginity.
Basically, here's this thread:
10 MEN = REAL
20 GOTO 10
Real men...........?
Real men don't ever forget what they were about to say.
Real men change diapers with binder twine and rivets.
Real men know how to barbecue beef, pork, chicken, fish, and all species of extraterrestrial aliens.
Real men still carry old brick-style mobile phones, because they're strong enough to do so.
Real men know how to club baby seals...and how to seal baby clubs.
Real men don't bother to ask for directions, because they know that all roads lead to Rome...and from there, they can catch a plane.
Real men practice nihilism...in space.
Real men hunt monsters under the bed armed with naught but a meat tenderizer and a garbage can lid.
(Can't believe Nate didn't tell that story on the "Dads" episode of the ATF show.)
Real men harvest bacon from the rocks on which they grow.
Real men can hand-till the soil with a butter knife... and still average an acre per hour.
Real men don't have chickens that are less chicken than they are.
Real men don't prep for disaster. Disaster preps for them.
Real men don't employ chickens as hatchetmen.
Real men don't giggle.
Real men give pedicures to pumas.
Real men can spank random women on the butt without repercussions.
Real men know the difference between a sonata and a minuet.
And they'll smash you in the mouth for talking during either one.
Real men fish AND cut bait.
At the same time.
Real men have the restraint to stop when they've reached 100.
And then they'll take one down and pass it around...
"Real men have the restraint to stop when they've reached 100.
And then they'll take one down and pass it around..."
HA!
Well done, gentlemen. Thanks for all the laughs.
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