Recently, I’ve had some health issues that have limited not just my mobility, but my ability to imbibe. It would seem that my left leg was not pleased to have had its very good friend (my left hip) replaced and fought rather valiantly to force out the usurper. Interestingly enough, my better half has slammed me repeatedly as my rather aggressive whisky therapy had done nothing to keep the implant in place. Apparently, I was supposed to rub the whisky into my left leg and not down it, claim it was a part of the rehabilitation process and hope for the best.
Anyway, my new hip is out, a spacer has been added and I am using a walker (how old did I just get?). As a consequence, I have been on some medications that do not mix with alcohol. Or, maybe they do as long as I’m not driving heavy machinery. I’m just not sure as I’m not a pharmacist, nor have I played one on TV. I have been relegated to the shortest of short pours in terms of beer and I’ve not had any whisky since the middle of the summer.
The other night, while the bottles began their siren song, I realized that for the first time in months, I felt up to a taste of The Water of Life. So, off I went at a break neck hobble (sort of a weird right leg hop, left leg drag) over to the whisky cabinet and perused the inventory. As there would be only one taste, I wanted to make it count. Mentally, I had worked out the mechanics of the drink. Hobble to the cabinet, place a glass in my pants pocket (the Jewbilee glass made for an excellent receptacle) and then select a bottle that I could hold between a couple of fingers while still maintaining my grip on the walker. (Editor’s note: As my pockets just aren’t deep enough to hold a bottle of whisky, someone needs to begin work immediately on whisky pants. Maybe like a pair of carpenters’ pants but with deeper pockets; loops to hold an opener, a spare cork and glassware; and temperature controlled liners to hold ice and chilled water should the need arise.)
I knew I would only have one (there was still some nighttime medication to be had) and I wanted to make sure that it was one that was familiar and well-liked (none of this peaty daring do and no time for cask experimentation). I viewed my handful of bottles (okay it might be like 7 or 8 handfuls) and selected the Redbreast 15. It was just as I remembered, and the pour (though short) was just what I wanted. Naturally, the feeling of buyer’s remorse creeps in and I am left wondering that while I was quite pleased with my selection, should I have made a different one. As a virtual shut-in (at least for the near term), I welcome feedback. To facilitate the discussion, the following is a list of bottles from which I had to choose. If YOU could only have one, which one would it be?
Categories: Booze Banter