My friend Derek and I often like to joke about what we’ll do when we’re “fuck you” money rich. Derek hates incompetent jack-off drivers. Thus he claims that any time he saw someone do something stupid on the road in front of him he would just ram into them. Not maliciously or dangerously, just enough to dent their vehicle and let them know they’re a jackass. He’d treat the roads like his own personal game of bumper cars. I, on the other hand, would probably use my billions to buy out every single ticket to games at particularly nasty arenas when my favorite sports teams were on the road. Nothing would be better than going to an away game that has no home field advantage, just me and my half-dozen of drunk friends yelling for our team. But that’s probably not realistic.
What Derek and I would think it most amusing to do with our hypothetical vast wealth is to engage in egregious drinking faux-pas, simply for our own enjoyment (oh, and to piss off tightly-wound and snobby bartenders)*. So we might go to the Four Seasons hotel bar and order a glass of Johnnie Walker Blue Label WITH Diet Coke. Or, go to Blue Bar at the Algonquin and order a 30-year Macallan with “a lotta ice.” But, our favorite would be to go somewhere real classy and order a car bomb. For the beer base, we’d ask for a three-quarters full pint glass of Sam Adams Utopia and for the whiskey drop we’d ask that Jim Beam Distiller’s Masterpiece bourbon be used. By our estimates that absurd concoction would cost, oh, around $500 and deliver such a potent and brisk jolt of alcohol to our systems that we would probably fall backwards out of our bar stools. But we wouldn’t be kicked out of the bar or hotel. Why? Because we’re loaded recall. And loaded people (definition 1) are allowed to be assholes when they’re loaded (definition 2). I can’t wait.
But, in realty, I am not rich yet. And, thus, I will have to save those antics for when I am older. Which will actually make them all the more funnier. Nowadays when I tipple I got to be a tad thrifty. It’s why I mostly drink craft beer. The most expensive and greatest of beers are at most $15 to $20 for a bomber. That’s pricey, no doubt, but doable. And there are, of course, tons of extraordinary beers that are only a few bucks, allowing one to try plenty of them per night, and thus waste all their free time blogging about them. For liquor, though, that is not the case. One needs to know the best values on the market. For bourbon, there’s nothing better than Old Grand-Dad 100 proof “Bonded,” checking in at around $18 a bottle. For Scotch, I’m not sure if there’s a cheap one on that market that is actually of a quality I would consider consuming. For Canada whiskey…we’ll that stuff sucks and it shouldn’t even be drunk. My mom used to throw a nipple on a bottle of Crown Royal and serve it to me when I was a tot. That’s how weak it is. And, for Irish whiskey, there’s nothing better than the legendary Jameson.
Jameson is the only liquor I will take a shot of. In celebration, in mourning, to “amp” up the night a bit, or to simply wash away pain. I typically don’t believe in shots, as I think they are for people that don’t like drinking and can’t handle the taste of booze. It’s almost an insult to the manufacturer to take a shot of a quality liquor. (I mean, can you imagine pureeing up a slab of wagyu Kobe beef and then throwing it down your gullet as fast as possibly? It would be absolutely mental!) I love the taste of booze, and thus I actually prefer to have Jameson neat, like I have all of my bourbons and Scotches and whiskeys. But sometimes, a man needs to do a shot, and I do understand that. Jameson is a tad weak at 40%, but that’s why it’s so drinkable and that’s why it sells so well. Not much bite, very flavorful. Buttery with some honey, malty, sweet, smooth, and surprisingly fairly complex.
Jameson also has a 12-Year and an 18-Year, both of which are even more outstanding, though those bottles are usually hidden on the top shelf of a bar caked in dust due to the lack of folks ordering them.
Jameson reminds me of drinking late into the night and just shooting the shit with my friends as the crowd gets thinner and thinner in a bar. And, when it comes down to it, the memories a drink evokes may actually be more important that how it tastes.
*These jokes probably aren’t funny unless you’re a massive alcohol nerd.