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bourbon makes me warm
Oct. 21st, 2006 09:07 pmI forgot that I had another review published: the sushi joint. I forgot to even look and see what the photo Rose took looked like. I'm becoming very blasé about seeing my name in print, apparently.
(It's a gorgeous photo.)
Z is reading more Calvin & Hobbes. "Knife-wielding mother hacks icthyoid!"
I am deeply weary, and I suspect that this is a very minor cold so I had better save my whining for when things get real bad. It is, after all, only just beginning with the cold season. Time to stock up on vitamins.
Work was OK. I didn't really have any fun until my last couple customers of the day. These two guys, I think they knew each other though they came in separately-- I think they were construction workers or something, but they weren't from around here. One was black, one white, and they were grumbling about how they hated New York City. (Man movin furniture down there-- it's all straight up, an the elevator guys are nothin but trouble. And parkin? Ferget it.) One didn't know where Albany was (Is that in the west of New York? he asked, which convinced me that he was most definitely not local) and the other had never been to Niagara Falls. (Oh, I bin, said the other guy. Took my ex-wife so I dunno if that's a recommendation fer the place. Heh, says the first, if I ain't chased my ole lady off yet she ain't goin. Bin married since nineteen eighty three.)
One was drinking bourbon and ginger ale-- Knob Creek bourbon, a double shot in a short glass, with just a bit of ginger ale to top it off. It made me want some, and I sighed and said I didn't think I had any ginger ale in my house. So of course we discussed bourbons. I am apparently a woman of wide alcoholic tastes-- I don't have A Drink I Drink, with the result that, as a bar customer, I am that which I as a bartender most hate: "What can I get you?" *stares blankly* "Ummmmmm..."
I usually pick something entirely at random, or say, "Me too!" to something someone else is having. I really have no preference.
But I do like nice things. I don't have a refined palate, but I have nebulous preferences. I've decided I don't like coffee black, I like Mom's coffee better than Wegman's, and I like Woodford Reserve bourbon (warmer, browner) better than Buffalo Trace (sharper, greener), and I definitely like Johnnie Walker Black (soft, smoky, understated) a whole lot better than I like Chivas Regal (harsh and hot). Crown Royal's also much preferable to Canada Club, and Jack Daniels is great but for mixing only.
I mentioned how I'd acquired a taste for bourbon, via my brother-in-law, who was from down Mississippi/Louisiana way. "I think they put bourbon in babies' bottles down there," the one guy agreed. I pointed out that I'd been raised on Scotch-- just a little was a good headache remedy-- and then mentioned my dad's old joke about not trusting the white man's medicine.
The black fellow was quiet for a moment, and then a little on in the conversation asked whether I was a member of a tribe or something. "No," I answered cheerfully, "no, my dad's just a nut."
"I don't think I got the perspective to participate in this conversation," he said.
"You would if you met my dad," I assured him.
My dad is actually pretty bad at telling black from white. There was one guy in his unit in Vietnam, who one day kinda outta nowhere wrote "black power!" on his helmet. Confused the hell out of Dad until somebody else mentioned that the dude was black. "Could've fooled me," Dad said, telling me the story decades later. "Kid had red hair." He still sounded indignant.
Kids, I don't know why I only ever update this thing when I'm under some sort of chemical influence, but I assure you it isn't because I don't love y'all. But to put the suspense to rest, no: I did not have any ginger ale in the house. But, a splash of Coke has roughly the same effect, especially if your bourbon is too sharp and green to drink just on the rocks. (Sigh. Someone dithered between the Buffalo Trace and the Woodford Reserve and couldn't remember which kind it was that she liked. And that somebody has only herself to blame for making the wrong choice. But the Buffalo Trace has such a pretty bottle. Picture of a bison on it. I'll keep the bottle. Just gotta drink it up first. There are worse fates.)
(It's a gorgeous photo.)
Z is reading more Calvin & Hobbes. "Knife-wielding mother hacks icthyoid!"
I am deeply weary, and I suspect that this is a very minor cold so I had better save my whining for when things get real bad. It is, after all, only just beginning with the cold season. Time to stock up on vitamins.
Work was OK. I didn't really have any fun until my last couple customers of the day. These two guys, I think they knew each other though they came in separately-- I think they were construction workers or something, but they weren't from around here. One was black, one white, and they were grumbling about how they hated New York City. (Man movin furniture down there-- it's all straight up, an the elevator guys are nothin but trouble. And parkin? Ferget it.) One didn't know where Albany was (Is that in the west of New York? he asked, which convinced me that he was most definitely not local) and the other had never been to Niagara Falls. (Oh, I bin, said the other guy. Took my ex-wife so I dunno if that's a recommendation fer the place. Heh, says the first, if I ain't chased my ole lady off yet she ain't goin. Bin married since nineteen eighty three.)
One was drinking bourbon and ginger ale-- Knob Creek bourbon, a double shot in a short glass, with just a bit of ginger ale to top it off. It made me want some, and I sighed and said I didn't think I had any ginger ale in my house. So of course we discussed bourbons. I am apparently a woman of wide alcoholic tastes-- I don't have A Drink I Drink, with the result that, as a bar customer, I am that which I as a bartender most hate: "What can I get you?" *stares blankly* "Ummmmmm..."
I usually pick something entirely at random, or say, "Me too!" to something someone else is having. I really have no preference.
But I do like nice things. I don't have a refined palate, but I have nebulous preferences. I've decided I don't like coffee black, I like Mom's coffee better than Wegman's, and I like Woodford Reserve bourbon (warmer, browner) better than Buffalo Trace (sharper, greener), and I definitely like Johnnie Walker Black (soft, smoky, understated) a whole lot better than I like Chivas Regal (harsh and hot). Crown Royal's also much preferable to Canada Club, and Jack Daniels is great but for mixing only.
I mentioned how I'd acquired a taste for bourbon, via my brother-in-law, who was from down Mississippi/Louisiana way. "I think they put bourbon in babies' bottles down there," the one guy agreed. I pointed out that I'd been raised on Scotch-- just a little was a good headache remedy-- and then mentioned my dad's old joke about not trusting the white man's medicine.
The black fellow was quiet for a moment, and then a little on in the conversation asked whether I was a member of a tribe or something. "No," I answered cheerfully, "no, my dad's just a nut."
"I don't think I got the perspective to participate in this conversation," he said.
"You would if you met my dad," I assured him.
My dad is actually pretty bad at telling black from white. There was one guy in his unit in Vietnam, who one day kinda outta nowhere wrote "black power!" on his helmet. Confused the hell out of Dad until somebody else mentioned that the dude was black. "Could've fooled me," Dad said, telling me the story decades later. "Kid had red hair." He still sounded indignant.
Kids, I don't know why I only ever update this thing when I'm under some sort of chemical influence, but I assure you it isn't because I don't love y'all. But to put the suspense to rest, no: I did not have any ginger ale in the house. But, a splash of Coke has roughly the same effect, especially if your bourbon is too sharp and green to drink just on the rocks. (Sigh. Someone dithered between the Buffalo Trace and the Woodford Reserve and couldn't remember which kind it was that she liked. And that somebody has only herself to blame for making the wrong choice. But the Buffalo Trace has such a pretty bottle. Picture of a bison on it. I'll keep the bottle. Just gotta drink it up first. There are worse fates.)
