What's the Best Island Whisky

HOW AN IRISHMAN TAUGHT ME TO LOVE SCOTCH

In my early twenties, I moved from Hannover to Karlsruhe. Hannover is notorioulsy Germany's grayest city, so I moved to Germany's sunniest city. Supposedly, Karlsruhe was inspired by the sun's rays shining through branches as the prince napped beneath them. He woke up and planned "Sonnenstadt" setting up the streets to emanate from the palace like sunbeams. He called it Karl's rest, but many called it sun city and still do. Some even say it has ties to sun worship and the occult.

Karlsruhe 1721

There's a grave in the middle of the city that looks like a pyramid. Inside is the prince. It's one of those cities city planners, transit designers, and architects know about. I taught English around town and spent most evenings at a pub called Flynn's Inn.

Dave Flynn was a guy who traveled around the world opening Irish pubs for other people until he got sick of that and opened his own pub in Karlsruhe. Flynn's Inn was where every English-speaker in town congregated. It was home base. Dave was a whisky nut and had a secret stash from Kildare and other parts of Ireland he'd share with regulars and friends.

I think it's safe to say I knew almost nothing about whisky before knowing Dave Flynn.

One of the bartenders, Simon, a kind Irish poet, rented a room from me for a while. And even though I never had any money, Dave took good care of me and even let me take advantage of some whisky tastings. At one of those tastings I had a glass of my all-time favorite Scotch: Scapa 12-year.

It tasted like a little bit of peat mixed with the sea and grass of Scottland. I couldn't get enough. It transported me to windswept cliffs. I got really romantic about this Scotch. The host of the tasting told me they let Scapa Flow flood the distillery every year and do nothing about it. I can't find any evidence of this online, but I like the legend, so I'm going to keep repeating it until the distillers write me and tell me to stop.

My last night in Germany was spent in Flynn's Inn surrounded by friends I'd mostly never see again.

Stateside, I almost never found Scapa, but when I did I flipped out (I found it at the Franklin in Vegas and nearly drank them out of it). And when I was in Europe I usually sniffed some out. Their 12-year tasted like an 18 and brought me back to unknown shores. Little did I know Scapa produced no new juice from 1994 to 2004.

Now there's the Orcadian, widely available at least in the western states.

The Orcadian is a smooth and super-quaffable 16-year. It's all honey and salt and citrus, and so delicious it's hard to compare it to anything the same age. That seems to be the magic of this distillery: everything tastes much older than its age statement claims. That means it's a bargain because something of similar quality with an older statement is usually MUCH more expensive. Also, they claim that their angel's share is far less in comparison to other distilleries because of their location. Scapa is on the bank of Scapa Flow, and they're the second-most northern distillery in Scotland (Highland Park has them beat by half a mile).

The new packaging screaming for Americans to love them makes me think I'll be able to get this for a while into the future. And it's pretty and blue and has a little boat on it, and I love it. 

I miss their 12-year. That might be just my nostalgia. I love the Orcadian and want to drink more of it and tell my stories of my expatriate days when the only place I could speak English was with the other foreigners at Flynn's.

I don't know what happened to his spot in Karlsuhe, but Dave Flynn has a Flynn's Inn in Bonn now, and I hope to visit him some day. 

What's the Best Whiskey Chaser?

WHO INVENTED THE JAMESON PICKLEBACK SHOT?
Guest blog by Kanna Smith

My mom and I may not have gotten along when I was younger, but boy do things change. After an exhausting December day filled with obligations, we decided to grab a drink.

I’d never done shots with my mom before, and she was long past her shot days, and I wasn’t taking no for an answer.

After all, “Jameson and good decisions” was my life motto.

I might be less than classy after six or seven shots, but I’m the best version of myself with a little Irish in me. So we were off to the Hermosa Saloon.

Little did I know that it would end with me giving this tiny woman a piggyback ride on our trek home.

Like everyone’s favorite party-harty man-whore, Jameson is everywhere —loved by many and despised by those he fucked over (the weak). And those people are easily coaxed back to Jame-o with a simple pickleback.

If you're going to be an asshole who orders a chaser, try pickle juice. The judgmental stare of a bartender seems to soften when you request a pickleback.

Though she was hesitant, my mom is a drinking champion. It was pretty impressive to watch a 5’3” 105 pound woman toss back shots the way she did. I finally knew where I got it from. One shot turned to two, two shots turned to three, and three shots turned into forcing the bartender to join in our fun.

Like most nights that end in mornings hunched over toilets regretting every life-choice ever
made, we’d had no intention of getting so wrecked.

Between the shots, we mended a once-broken relationship. Picklebacks helped.

Who knew that brine would cut the burn of alcohol and the past? A goddamned genius.

Piggybacks after Picklebacks

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Legend has it an old lady with gold teeth walked into the Bushwick Country Club one night and asked for multiple shots and chasers of brine. The bartender liked it so much, he coined the term "pickleback" back in 2006.

Mostly people in NYC shot pickle brine behind Old Crow Bourbon. Salt changes the PH and seems to lessen the burn of ethanol. Alcohol burn whilst doing many shots can lead to sore throats and worse hangovers.

I like to think it's Las Vegas's obsession with Jameson Irish Whiskey is what propelled the pickleback to international notoriety.

Homophobia at Bulleit

WHY I DON'T BUY BULLEIT BOURBON ANYMORE

I was on the Bulleit train from almost the beginning. I love their rye and their bourbon and drank them often, as I'm addicted to Manhattans for half the year, and I don't mind a Boulevardier when I'm feeling saucy. But now I've officially disembarked.

For better or worse, America went with capitalism, and the only way for that to work is for consumers to vote for the world they want with their dollars.

That's why I'll never go to a Hobby Lobby and why I haven't drunk a drop of Bulleit Bourbon for almost six months now. 

The story goes that Tom Bulleit's daughter Hollis Bulleit made the brand the powerhouse it is through dogged ambassadorship but was pushed out when her sexual orientation became public. I guess it shouldn't surprise anyone that a Kentucky-based family's patriarch is a homophobe; homophobia and racism are rampant down south unfortunately. But I don't care that I'm not surprised, and I'm not going to support a brand that I know is anti-gay.

There are other great bourbons at the same price point anyway.

There's a Slate article about how family businesses are more susceptible to such problems. It makes me think of Marxist notions to abolish the family unit. I don't understand how people spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with racist/homophobic family members. If the world is going to be a better place tomorrow, eye-rolling isn't enough; pillory your grandparents if you have to.

Diageo owns Bulleit and Johnnie Walker and countless other brands. As a consumer, it's hard to pillory Diageo. Remember when Dove was running ads about all women being beautiful while Axe was running ads about all women being sex toys? Unilever owns both brands and didn't care how anyone felt about that if you kept buying their products. That's just how branding works and why Diageo is so powerful (and also dangerous).

For now I'm drinking Buffalo Trace and Gentleman Jack, owned by Sazerac and Brown-Forman, respectively, both of whom have probably had similar issues in their histories. . . but what else am I supposed to do?

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When I was living in Virginia, my ex-in-laws were horribly racist, sexist, and homophobic. The father of the family would proudly declare himself one from time to time. When his daughter was dating a black dude Big Daddy announced his intention to "tie him to the back of his truck and drive down a dirt road." When his daughter pointed out that her father had expected her brother to marry a Chinese girl, he proclaimed "I'm a racist and a sexist."

When you talk like that you deserve to lose your brand—you're a nazi. Nazi's, contrary to Trump's view, are the enemy because they threaten peace and hinder progress toward equality.

My ex-wife often sided with her parents. That drove a rift in our relationship. It was the thing we fought about the most, and it eventually tore apart our marriage. I thought I had to tolerate it until we had the chance to move far away from her ancestral home. But when that became a real possibility, it became clear she would never be out from under their influence.

And I'll never take that train again.

What Kind of Scotch Should I Get My High Roller

The MACALLAN M at Whiskey Down
Guest Blog by Kanna Smith

Eager to be a part of something new and learn about a spirit that I didn’t even like before, I started working at the brand new Whiskey Down in the middle of the MGM Grand Casino in Las Vegas. I was frustratingly scheduled 1AM-9AM, the hours when sobriety is rare, manners and inhibitions rarer, and small-town women realize the enormous responsibility of high heels.

If there were guests, they were too drunk to drink, or too rude to serve. I had an odd amount of power as a cocktail server: if I didn’t like you, you didn’t drink. You could stumble into any other bar you wanted to in MGM, but I'd have already given my friends there a heads up. Sorry bud, you’re done drinking for the night.

Opening night at Whiskey Down

I tried to exercise caution. I would make the call only when I was certain that the douchebag I was kicking out was just that, a simple drunk douchebag. . . because money talks in Vegas, more so than anywhere else. It screams at you from every machine, every table, every hooker’s eyes as they follow their unsuspecting marks to the bar. And that's what screamed at us when one of the youngest millionaires in the world requested we carry Macallan M at Whiskey Down.

My ears rang when he came in. He was polite, liked whiskey, tipped well, and was a big gambler. There was nothing more I wanted in a guest. He was drunk this evening, more than I had ever seen him.

“Whisky makes me frisky.”
-Some drunk guy probably

“I’d like an M. neat please,” he slurred, eyelids dropping.

I smelled a delicious opportunity in the alcohol on his breath. As I delivered the M, I mentioned my love of whisky and my curiosity surrounding the single malt.

“You’ve never had it?” He asked thickly. I could hear the concern in his voice. I nearly had him.

I blinked coyly, “I can’t afford it." That sealed it. He instructed me to add another to his tab, so I could enjoy it after work.

What followed was the longest shift of my life. I couldn’t wait to try this $730-per-1.5-ounce Scotch! 9AM finally came, and after I tasted the whisky, I nearly did too. I carefully brought the glass to my lips and slowly let the liquid gold touch my tongue. The warm scent of dried apricot melted delicately into flavors of vanilla with a tart plum finish. The first swallow numbed my entire mouth; a sensation I’ve not experienced since.

And though I’ve had the Macallan M once more since that fateful night with my high roller, you know what they say… You never forget your first.

The MACALLAN story »

What Should I Buy for My Bourbon Drinker

If you watch the video above, you might get why I like this bourbon so much. Anyone who thinks Tito's is handmade should take a look. I don't have a personal romantic story to go along with this except I drink it a lot with friends. This bourbon comes with its own story. This is the real deal. This is old-school American craftsmanship at its best, but you get to put it in your mouth and consume it! You can't say that about fancy cars, Jerry Seinfeld!

First up, you see. You see the barrel-shaped bottle with its parchment like wrapping. On closer look, you can see where someone has handwritten where the juice in this thing comes from. And there's a little horse on top with letter by its back leg.

Next is the smell. You can smell that barrel. You can smell Kentucky! You can smell the bluegrass on the morning after a thunderstorm. There's a tiny bit of smoke from where lightning struck the night before.

Then the taste. You can taste the summer humidity. You can taste the sweating pipes in old barns. You can taste the dust settling at dusk as the fireflies start their nightly fandango. The freshly cut trees.

It's a magical drink, and it's not the same for everyone. You see, a single barrel means each batch is slightly different and will never happen exactly the same way again. Now, there's something to be said about the incredible talent some masters possess to create the same bottle over and over again, year in and year out, but there's also something worthwhile knowing that after you're done with some Blanton's bottles, that's it: a unique experience you'll never track back down.

If you're at a bar, if they have it, a dram of this will run you between $23 and $55. I knew a bar that sold it at $15, and I drank all they had. I know a cigar lounge that sells it at $23 here in Vegas, and when they see me coming, they pour it before I sit down. I go there a lot for the bourbon.

A colleague asked me before Christmas what he should get for his friend who is a bourbon-drinker, and this is what I suggested. He went with the easier-to-find Angel's Envy, which is a fine bourbon. But if you want to make someone feel special. . . or better yet, make yourself feel special, buy a bottle of Blanton's.

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A short word about the horses:

When I worked at MGM Grand, I helped work a bar called Whiskey Down. Some bartenders there collected the stoppers because they spell BLANTON'S when you collect them all. You can even buy barrel staves with pre-carved holes into which collectors might insert and display these stoppers.

I'm not a big collector of things, but I have a few of these stoppers, and now I feel like a schmuck not having collected them. I've got a couple N's that are different from one another, which means to me they change these horses fairly frequently, adding to that uniqueness. They're small and easy to forget about in a drawer. Maybe when I get a few more, I'll buy one of those staves. I just found one on Amazon I want:

Thrillist Wrote an Article. I'm in it, and there's a Cartoon of Me, too!

That's me next to Li'l Jon. He used to like to stop by the Lobby Bar at MGM Grand after his sets at Hakkasan to drink tequila; maybe he still does. I don't know anymore because I don't work there anymore. I miss it a lot sometimes, and this article makes me see it all with rosy glasses. It's also really cool to be mentioned in an article like this. It was a long time coming, and I wish I'd been there long enough to print it out and frame it on our wall.

Casey Childers spent a whole 24-hour period in our bar. He saw a lot. It was a slow day, so I wish he'd seen how crazy it got, but he saw enough. He talks about a lot of my team, and it was an honor to work with them.

Check it out.

The Dry Manhattan

I love a Dry Manhattan, especially this time of year. A long time ago, I read somewhere it was Frank Sinatra's favorite drink, and Jack Daniels was his favorite whiskey (he was buried with a bottle of it). So, I decided to give it a try, fell in love, and now I always drink it with Jack. And I drink it in a rocks glass because it seems like that's how Frankie would take it, too.

How I make a Dry Manhattan at home:

1. If I have a jigger, I fill it up heavy and let a bit more slosh over into the glass. If I don't have a jigger, I just pour heavy, maybe I count to two.
2. I put a dollop of dry vermouth in it (about the same amount I put in my Martinis)
3. I splash Angostura aromatic bitters in.
4. I drop in a grip of ice.
5. NO GARNISH.

I take it with no fruit because I hate the Maraschino cherries most bars use in America. If it's the real-deal ones that really swank bars sometimes have, I'll go for it, but I hate the candy ones. I usually don't have cherries on-hand at home either.
Sometimes I use a shaker, but it isn't really necessary. The ice drop seems to work fine, and I swirl it around a bit.

This is the only thing I drink with Jack Daniels. I don't have anything against Jack Daniels, but that cardboardy background kind of brings together the bitters and vermouth and lingers a little so that you want to take another slug. Sinatra must have said that at some point.

The Manhattan is the sonnet of the cocktail world. The best bartenders stick to the confines of the form but nonetheless express great creativity with it, like the boundaries 14 lines represent.

There are a ton of variations, including one with Fernet-Branca, one of my favorite things on the planet. But my Dry Manhattan is inspired by Frank Sinatra, and there's nothing fancy about it, and I love it.

Anyway, it's kind of my go-to winter drink, and I'm drinking one right now.

Red Bull Cocktails

When I was a kid, Red Bull was a new thing. Vodka Red Bull was a good drink at clubs because well-vodka was often bottom-barrel stuff, and the Red Bull could keep you dancing. Some people gave this drink cute names, but no matter where you went, a Vodka Red Bull was right there. It tasted like gummibears soaked in kerosene, but I drank it happily. 

Soon, Jaeger with Red Bull started showing up. Then, there were a million new energy drinks, and countless flavored vodkas appeared, and then sweet malt liquor like Schmirnoff Ice. Alcapops. So as my tastes matured and developed, the market became more geared toward cocktails that tasted like children's treats. And people born just a couple years behind me are maybe a little stunted.

Then came the craft cocktail craze. I love it. I've been to a few of the best cocktail bars in the world, and I know a few celebrity mixologists, and I am enamored of this world of booze we live in today. It came along just in time for me. And in a small way, I've been a part of it. 

So I was googling around thinking about Red Bull because in Las Vegas, the slim cans are ubiquitous. I can often smell it spilled in the streets, and their logo emblazons everything from menus to billboards. Are there any "good" cocktails out there with Red Bull?

I found this: http://mybestcocktails.com/cocktails-with-115-Red-Bull.html

But most of the drinks on that list turn me off. 

If you know of any good ones, please let me know in the comments. 

Stratosphere

I went to the Stratosphere with my friend L. For $35 you get to go to the top of the tallest structure west of the Mississippi and ride all of the rides. It's a great way to spend an evening.

First though, L was running late, so I decided to play a few hands of Blackjack. The dealer was cool, and I was up to $100 at one point, but I ended up giving most of that back. I think I was $10 in the hole, but I tipped her and also had enough in chips left to tip the bartender at the lobby bar and the valet.

I asked for a Fernet Branca on rocks, but the bartender didn't know what that was (bad sign), so I ordered a Dirty Martini with Tanqueray. It came garnished with stale olives and a chip of ice, but it tasted right. The music was a mix, but there was more rock and roll than you usually get at places like this, and I dug that. "Everything is better with Rock and Roll."

L showed up and we figured out how to get to the top of the tower. The signage of the place and indeed the very flow of traffic seems to be a haphazard afterthought. The ladies at the counter selling tickets told us to use the machines. The machine contract must have gone to the lowest bidder. One was down, the other two ran like they were on DDOS. But it added to the fear of dying at the top.

The double-decker elevator is fun, there's a video screen showing the people riding beneath your feet. Your ears pop with the changing pressure. It's fast. At the top, more confusion as to where to go. I wondered if someone had spiked my drink. But the view!

I've been to the tops of many a tall building, but this is Las Vegas. Things are more fabulous out here. This glowing garden in the middle of the black valley looks like a shining testament to our humanity. Keep the crown jewels, England.

The bar up there was closed for a private party, so we couldn't get a drink, which was disappointing.

The rides are contraptions that dangle and spin you over the edge of the tower and shoot you off the top of it. Thrilling, terrifying, wonderful. I recommend doing all of them. I didn't feel like going on any of them more than once, so it wasn't a loss that we didn't buy bracelets that allow you to take unlimited rides.

I found out about Level 107 Lounge after this outing, so I'll be going back to the tower for that.

Poetry and Cocktails

Last night I went to an open mic called the Human Experience. There was some poetry. I read some from the Murdercycle Diaries. The poetry reading was at the Beat, a cafe in downtown Las Vegas on Fremont Street. It's an interesting place filled with artists doing artistic things, and they had beer, some wine that had been open too long, and some spirits. I was surprised no local beer, but they had Magic Hat #9 and Dogfish Head 60 Min., so I had one each.

There was a lot of rapping, and slam, and some singer-songwriters, lovely women with guitars, a saxophone, and a guy who made 8-bit beats with his Gameboy. It was a loud room with loads of energy. I was entirely surprised when I read that the room fell silent, and everyone in it gave me their undivided attention. After I read, people came up to me and shook my hand and kind of gushed about how much they liked my work. I haven't received that kind of enthusiastic praise in a while at a reading. Las Vegas is a good place to be a poet, I think. But that might be premature, so give me time to investigate.

I met some new people at the reading, and one of them was a woman, so she and I went to one of my new favorite bars: Downtown Cocktail Room.

She's a beautiful middle-sized bar with a tricky door, which, even though I'd been there three times previously, I still paused before choosing to push the glass or the metal. They have an inspired list of seasonal cocktails, and I'll get around to trying more of them, but I had Fernet on the brain, so I ordered a drink I'd heard of online, 50/50 Fernet/Campari, which was OK, but they make impeccable Hanky-Panky's there, and I ended up drinking three of those.

My female companion was one of those lovely singer-songwriters, good guitar work, great voice, and a fair conversationalist. She was good company in that way women always are at dark bars late at night after poetry readings.

Here are a couple lists:

3 THINGS TO HELP YOU MAKE YOUR OPEN MIC A SUCCESS:

1. Never allow anyone to say "Let's give it up again for _______" It's a waste of time, annoying, and inconsiderate to your audience and other performers.
2. If someone goes over whatever time you've allotted them, have the courage to cut them off. If you told someone you would give them 3 dollars, and they grabbed 5, you'd be pissed. Time is precious.
3. If a performer isn't there when their name is called, too bad. They're off the roster.

3 THINGS I LOVE ABOUT DCR:

1. Their layout lets you choose to be intimate or open and part of the action.
2. Sophistication is the theme, but they somehow don't seem snobby about it.
3. Dark as fuck.

BLVD Cocktail Company

I went out with a showgirl. The first time we went out, we met at the BLVD Cocktail Company. It was busy and loud, but actually a perfect place. I don't really like the LINQ very much, it reminds me too much of Downtown Disney or the Irvine Spectrum, but this place is worth checking out.

The reason I wanted to go out with this particular showgirl, despite my personal ban on all women who dance for a living, was the way she talked about Boulevardiers (there were tons of other things actually, but this was the thing that caught my attention and really won me over). And what better place to get a Boulevardier than BLVD? We showed up at 12:30 AM. Live music. Packed.

BLVD makes their Boulevardiers with a chocolate bitters that really rounds out the rye in a way that makes it sinfully delicious and smooth. Garnished with a cherry, it's a treat.

My first round was a Dry Manhattan made to perfection and served by a lovely model/cocktail waitress who was very attentive.

At one point, we had an uninvited guest. His name was Phil. I thought he was with my date at first, but it turned out he was just a passing reveler. He drunkenly complimented us, saying I have an awesome shirt and that we look like a great couple. Then he disappeared into the night, leaving a $10 beer on our tab. Our model/cocktail waitress happily deleted it.

I hope to visit this place again soon. 

I went on a second date with the showgirl. It was even better than the first. Then it fell apart. Personal ban: back on.

Celebrating at the Top

Let's say you had something to celebrate. Plus, there's a perplexingly pulchritudinous person whom you've convinced to participate in the celebration. Pray tell, where should you ponder your recent approbation? To where will you and this prepossessing partridge perambulate to partake in a phial of Champagne?

Well, I might make at least one major recommendation: the Mandarin Sky Lobby. There's a mysterious lounge up there on the 23rd floor masked by massive lenses with magnificent views of Las Vegas. If I may, men go mad for it, and ladies love it.

I was here for Perrier-Jouët, which they graciously serve by the glass, but their cocktail list looked proper, including a section dedicated to tea. The views really are fabulous, or fabuleaux, as they say down the street in Paris. The service, attentive but elegant—not pushy or rushed. A place like this could probably get away with letting some things slide; enough people are willing to pay preciously for the sophisticated vibe and views, so it's a testament to their managerial acumen that there's a high degree of attention to detail and an art to their service.

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A note on parking:
It's easier, in a way to valet at Aria. The Mandarin is a large building, but its decor is somewhat subdued. If you're not familiar with its precise location, park at Aria, which has far easier traffic access from Las Vegas Blvd, IMHO, walk past their gorgeous fountain, follow the little signs, and you'll be in an elevator heading skyward in about 12 parsecs (45 seconds).

The Boulevardier

I met a delightful person today who claimed to love bourbon. Favorite bourbon? Bulleit Rye. "How do you like it?" "In a shot glass next to my beer or in a Boulevardier."

I adored this answer partly because it sounded honest and true, and partly because I had not heard of anyone drinking a Boulevardier in ages. It's one of those Negroni bastards you unfortunately don't see around very often, but it's a delicious cocktail and one worth exploring. Also, documented references to this drink predate the Negroni, which I find mildly interesting.

Here's a history of the drink »
Here's a recipe »
Here's a very slightly different recipe »

I have had it in a cocktail glass, but I prefer brown spirits in a rocks/old-fashioned glass for purely aesthetic reasons.

So, this person and I are going to get dressed up in the middle of the night, go to a whiskey bar, and order Boulevardiers. I'll take pictures.

Also, there's some controversy regarding Campari. So here's a link to that if you care about controversy. My personal take is I'd rather eat as few bug butts as possible. I mean, there's an acceptable amount of insect parts in everything we eat, but yeah, I prefer not to jump in and eat them on purpose. I don't see it as a betrayal that a company might change its recipe ever so slightly every hundred or so years either. Times, tastes, and what's acceptable to stick in one's mouth change, people.

Obligatory literary rye reference.

1901

I worked at Club 33 at Disneyland when I was in my more formative years. I think it's where I caught the food and beverage bug, and it's certainly where I got into fine wine and beer and cocktails.

It looks like Disney is at it again with 1901. Only Club 33 members will be able to get in there, which makes it one of those things I'll have to finagle for seeing as how all my connection at Disney have pretty much dried up. It looks like something I just have to experience though. I mean, look at it.

It looks like it's been up and running for a while, so I have to start sneaking in my desire to see it into conversations with corporate types who might have an in.

Here's a link to the Disney blog about it.