GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #372: AGING WHISKEY, BREWING BEER

 Not too long ago I got a whiskey barrel so I could age my own whiskey. I have to say that it has been going very well. The taste of the barrel truly comes through with this thing, and the longer I keep it in there, the better. But I can't keep it in there too long. I have discovered, much to my sadness, that if it's in there for too long, it has a tendency to evaporate. What a horrible thing to happen to whiskey! So I've adjusted my approach.

I figured, if I could do that, maybe I wouldn't have such a hard time brewing beer, right? I got a DIY beer brewing kit, good for six bottles, and saw the claim on the box that "if you can make oatmeal, you can brew beer."

Hold up. I can't make oatmeal, and I have no desire to learn. That shit looks gross, like someone gathered a bunch of puked-on pencil shavings and put it in a bowl. No thanks. But I've been teaching myself how to cook. Maybe . . . ?

Nope. I read the instructions, and they are very exact. I have no numbers on my stove's dials. I've been teaching myself to cook by eyeballing it. There is no fucking way for me to do this. At least not right now. Not with this stove. I could eyeball it, I guess, but I wouldn't want to ruin beer. That would be horrible, right up there with evaporating whiskey. This must be avoided at all costs.

*sigh* Maybe someday. Not anytime soon, but perhaps there will come a day when I can drink my whiskey and chase it with my beer.

A man can dream.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #270: GRAMPS

For all my life, I thought that Gramps dying would be the worst thing to happen to me. When he actually started dying, I went kind of crazy. Some of you were there for that, and I'm ever grateful for the help you offered.


I'm still not over it. There are days when I don't think about him, but they aren't often. I dream about him a lot, like he's still alive. Sometimes I even wake up thinking I'll see him when I go downstairs. But I'm much better now. The worst I could imagine is done, and I think I'm stronger for it.


Sometimes I go out to visit his grave. I bring an airplane bottle of Jim Beam for both of us. I remember when I was a kid that he had a couple of shots after each dinner to aid with digestion. The first hard alcohol I ever drank was Jim Beam because I trusted his judgment, and I was right to do so.


I'd sit at the grave and visit with him. I'd pop the tops off of each bottle, and I would pour his onto his side of the grave while I drank my own.


Those who know me very well know that I hold alcohol to be sacred. This should tell you how much I valued Gramps in my life. I poured perfectly good whiskey onto the ground in honor of him.


God, I miss him. I miss him so much.

IT'S NOT JUST A KEVIN COSTNER MOVIE: A whiskey review of Tincup

The first thing you notice is the odd look of the bottle. It seems taller, but that’s only because it doesn’t have much of a neck. It’s also shaped like a hexagon with a tin cup for a cap. Very intriguing.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is Colorado whiskey, made from Rocky Mountain water. At first, that seems like blasphemy. Very few good whiskies are made outside of the American south, but Tincup will change your opinion.

Distiller Jess Graber is a man who loves his booze. You can tell that right away, as soon as you open the bottle. It smells like bourbon, but there’s also a hint of rye in there. It’s 84 proof, which is a little low for the newer generation of whiskey, but that makes for a nice and mellow experience.

This is some seriously smooth booze. It goes down with the ease of water, and it doesn’t even give you an afterburn, much less an aftertaste. And due to its low alcohol content, it won’t completely fuck you up. You’ll get a nice buzz going, and it won’t sneak up on you. It won’t play tricks. It will put you in the perfect enjoyment zone.

So why call it Tincup? And what’s with the tin cup cap? Graber says he “made Tincup in honor of Colorado’s first whiskey drinkers and the cups they drank from.” How awesome is that? The only problem is, the tin cup it comes with sucks. While it looks cool as all hell, it leaks out the bottom. Not too much, but just enough to make you feel guilty for wasting booze.

But that’s kind of like getting pissed off for seeing a Country House cheeseburger on a paper plate, a minor complaint. This is some good shit, folks. You should try it as soon as you can.

IT'S A SPIRIT, GET IT?! A whiskey review of Jacob's Ghost

The first thing one notices about Jim Beam’s new whiskey, Jacob’s Ghost, is its clarity. Unlike other whiskies, this one is clear, like vodka. It’s a hard idea to get into one’s head, but it’s certainly unusual. Next, it has a remarkable looking label. “Ghost” is the biggest word on the label, and just under it is a giant depiction of Jacob Beam, the first face you’ll see on the side of a regular bottle of Beam. Look very closely, and you’ll notice his eyes move. No, you don’t need to be drunk to see it.

As with their other specialties, this one has a story on the label as well. It reads, “Jacob’s Ghost celebrates the ‘spirit’ of Jim Beam’s founding distiller, Jacob Beam—by refining the clear whiskey he first distilled in 1795. Jacob’s Ghost is clear, but it isn’t Moonshine or un-aged White Dog. It’s a special whiskey, aged at least one year in white oak barrels and crafted by our master distillers with over 200 years of Beam tradition to be uniquely versatile and flavorful.” Very cool.

However, upon opening the bottle, suspicion immediately sets in. It smells exactly like the phony moonshine that is so popular right now. Tasting it does not dispel this suspicion. It’s just a little bit smoother, despite a more pronounced after-burn. This is probably because the Ghost is aged an entire year instead of just a month.

At least Beam didn’t decide to jump on the awful phony moonshine bandwagon. They won’t sully their reputation by doing that. They just call it white whiskey, and they should be applauded for their lack of pretension. It’s a shame that it’s just not that great a whiskey. If you’re looking for something better than the regular Beam, go with the Devil’s Cut or the black label.

A WHISKEY THAT LIVES UP TO ITS NAME: A review of Woodford Reserve

Before you even open the bottle to get a good whiff, you can tell that this is some serious, fancy-pants booze you’re holding. The bottle is slim, almost like a flounder, and the cork (yes, cork, not spin-top) even has the company’s logo emblazoned on it. There is a label on the bottom telling you which bottle number this is, from which batch. Granted, a lot of whiskies are doing that these days in order to give the impression (sometimes falsely) that their booze has a longstanding tradition and is well worth the over-inflated money you’re about to pay them.



How does Woodford Reserve measure up? At 90.4 proof, you know this stuff is capable of kicking your ass, but the smoothness is what will truly convince you. There is practically no burn, just a little heat with the aftertaste. Hence, you can probably drink this all day and be fucked up long before you realize it.


There is an oddness to its flavor though. It’s thick and very earthy, kind of like sucking on a twig. Yes, Woodford Reserve tastes kind of like, well, wood. This could actually put it on par with the Scottish Ardbeg, which tastes like you’re drinking a campfire.


No matter how you look at it, Woodford Reserve is strong, and it’s good stuff, well worth the $35 and change you’ll pay for a fifth.

IT'LL FUCK YOU UP: A whiskey review of FIGHTING COCK

The first thing that catches your attention is the bottle. A picture of a rooster, ready for battle, flashes out at you, and the words FIGHTING COCK blaze out of the label. There’s no two ways about it: this whiskey is out to kick your ass.



And it helps that it’s 103 proof. It’s good to note that so many bourbons are upgrading from a mere 80 proof to anywhere from 90 to 103. Some even have the balls to go higher (like Old Granddad), but Fighting Cock remains at a respectable 103.


The taste is smooth at first, almost identical to Wild Turkey 101. They could be fraternal twins, they’re that close. Yet . . . the after taste comes back to give you a Chuck Norris roundhouse kick to the head. There is no doubt about it, this whiskey comes with a devilish bite.


There is no background story on the bottle, so it can only be assumed that the Fighting Cock Distillery didn’t start making this batch until recently. It says it’s aged six years, which is a hell of a lot better than most cheap shit out there. (You can get a fifth of this demon juice for $17.99.)


Don’t toy with this stuff. If you’re going to get fucked up, fine, this is your bird. But be careful. It has a habit of sneaking up on you long after you thought you’d defeated it. As the name suggests, this is a fightin’ whiskey. Do not turn your back on it.

Enjoy at your own risk.

FLEISCHMANN'S: AN AMERICAN TRADITION (a whiskey review)

That’s what it says on the bottle: “an American tradition.” It also says that they’ve been making Fleischmann’s since 1870, which makes it almost as old as the Civil War. Finally, it says that it’s a preferred blended whiskey. “Premium taste throughout the years.”

The first part sounds like the typical hubris that comes with just about every American whiskey on the market, regardless of quality. The second part is undoubtedly true. The last part? Well, that’s the most outlandish claim of them all. It’s not smooth, the smell is atrocious, and the taste makes one wonder where the “premium” is hiding.

But this alcoholic beverage has one thing to recommend it: IT’S CHEAP. One can acquire a handle for $15, generally speaking. There are some places that sell it even cheaper (the bottle in the picture above was purchased for $13). Not only that, but despite its customary 80 proof, it will fuck you up. This whiskey will lead to hook-ups you’ll later regret. It will turn you into the life of the party (at least until you cross the black-out line). People will flock to you, eager to be your friend because you will be the funniest person in the room. It will lead to grand stories that you will tell for the rest of your life.


Don’t let the lack of quality get in your way. Fleischmann’s makes up for this by being your ticket to glory. Hm. Maybe that part about American tradition wasn’t hubris after all . . . .

OLD FORESTER DOESN'T FUCK AROUND: A whiskey review

“What America needs now is a drink.” --FDR upon the repeal of Prohibition

Did you know that whiskey wasn’t always bottled? Before 1870, you could only buy it by the barrel, and it wasn’t until a pharmaceutical salesman from Louisville came along with a brilliant plan to bottle the stuff that it was. George Garvin Brown, in an attempt to ensure that the customer received a quality product (because retailers sometimes screwed around with the barrels), decided to sell his Kentucky Bourbon in sealed bottles. On the label of each bottle, he hand-penned his promise of quality to his customer, and so Old Forester was born.

Ah, but 1870 was definitely before Prohibition, right? Old Forester, like all the other booze in the nation, had to take a 13 year break from production, right? Wrong. Mr. Brown, ever the forward-thinking individual, applied for a government license so he could continue selling his wares during that dark, ugly period of American history. Only six distilleries were granted such permission, and it was only on the grounds of medicinal purposes.

That’s right. Old Forester is one of the only Bourbons to have continuously been sold in America, despite Prohibition. It is a matter of pride with them, and on December 5, 2008, they released a special batch to commemorate the 75th anniversary of the repeal of Prohibition. For a mere $6.99, you can buy this package. Within, you will receive a commemorative glass with the Old Forester logo on it, a pint bottle of 90-proof Old Forester with a reproduction of Mr. Brown’s famed label (complete with the archaic spelling of whiskey, “whisky”), and a scroll containing a reproduction of the heroic 21st Amendment signed by the Speaker of the House of Representatives and the Vice President of the United States at the time.

But what good is such an august history without a quality taste? As far as 90-proof Bourbons go, the taste of this one is smooth, but there is enough edge behind it to remind a customer that this is, indeed, potent stuff. And as with others of its ilk, the scent is strong enough to make a corpse grimace, which is the perfect indication of a good, clean intoxication to come. There is very little doubt as to why a fan club has sprouted up from this fine alcoholic beverage, the 1870 Society. If you think you are a fan of whiskey, and you have not tried Old Forester yet, then you need to reevaluate your position on life.

Happy drinking!