A different glass for this pour, a glass that I discussed in an earlier entry and related that while it is a crowd favorite in our house, it is not the best glass for nosing a whiskey in my experience. Despite this shortcoming, the first sniff of this pour brought an immediate smile and 'ohhh sweet honeycomb' exclamation. My goodness, tonight's pour is sweet sweet sweet. Near zero alcohol burn on the nose. This almost smells like a liqueur. After some time, the vanilla comes back out to my nose.
When I was fourteen years old, I asked my father for a raise in allowance. Without flinching, he reached into the local paper sitting on the end table next to his recliner and tossed me the help wanted classified ads. My dad was, as the kids would say today, old school. He was not one to celebrate life's wins all that much nor would he lament life's losses all that much either. If I brought home a report card with a 'C', he would, in no uncertain terms, tell me that result was unacceptable. When I raised that 'C' to a 'B', he would again tell me in no uncertain terms that that result was unacceptable. When I raised that 'B' to an 'A', he would simply nod his head. Exasperated, I would prod him for a celebratory high-five to which he would in all seriousness tell me 'achieving the result you should have achieved in the first place is not a cause for celebration'.
Zero sweetness on the first taste with a wallop of alcohol. Of course that impression I know is deceiving as my tongue cannot be trusted with that initial ethanol blast. Let's add some water, I'd say about half a teaspoon into this one ounce pour.
This is not to say that my dad's parenting style is the gold standard. I've always felt that it takes two to tango in regard to parenting. If by adolescence the child does not agree with the parent's core philosophies, then I don't think it matters all that much how the parent parents (within common-sense reason of course, I'm not talking Lord of the Flies parenting is acceptable here). Two of my brothers didn't exactly see eye-to-eye with my dad in many regards, one of them did the bare minimum in terms of compliance with my father's rules and regulations, the other openly defied him most of the time. I on the other hand, seemingly from my earliest memories, totally agreed with my dad's philosophy which meant my compliance took near-zero effort.
The water has seemingly unleashed the vanilla on the nose. That or my nose is looking for and only finding the vanilla. Interestingly, I just now noticed that fresh-cut green grass smell that is so prevalent in Single Pot Still Irish Whiskey; usually that is the very first smell I detect from an Emerald Isle malt. Subsequent tastes and the alcohol burn/punch is still strong after the water. Stronger than I expected to be honest. I'll give it a few more minutes.
My father handing the me help wanted ads did in fact lead to a rather important moment in my life. Not too long after that incident, I landed my first job and started to earn a legitimate paycheck. Two folks originally from Boston came down to Florida and purchased a two-building business smack-dab on A1A directly on Florida's Atlantic Ocean shoreline. They converted the building from office space into a twelve-table restaurant in one building and a seafood market in the other. The restaurant proved quite popular and when full, those awaiting an open table put their name on a list and waited in and around the seafood market portion of the business. One such night, my mother and I were awaiting a table when I noticed a women behind the seafood case struggling to shuck oysters. I was practically raised on seafood, in fact, my family is adamant my first spoken word was 'lobster'; virtually all our recreation time as a family was spent in, on, or around Florida's waterways and ocean. We used to harvest our own oysters and clams, as well as actively fish and as such, I was shucking shellfish and cleaning fish around the time most kids learn how to tie their own shoes. I was a shy kid but for some odd reason, I spoke up and asked the woman shucking oysters if I could come around and show her how to shuck properly. She looked up, smiled and said 'if your mother is okay with it, come on back kid'. My mom nodded and back I went. A few moments later, three dozen oysters were shucked, placed on ice-laden serving platters adorned with lemon and cocktail sauce and whisked away to the dining room. The woman thanked me for my help and said 'if you ever need a job, come talk to me'. A week later, my mom was dropping me off after school to begin my shift as the seafood market clerk and prep-cook cleaning fish, peeling and deveining shrimp, picking crab, etc. Of course, this was all totally off the books, the restaurant was a cash-only business, payroll was always in cash, and I highly doubt the state of Florida had any idea that a fourteen year old boy was working there, but let's leave the rest of that story for pour three.
After adding even more water, we are up to just over a teaspoon for this pour, the alcohol punch is calmed, but still stronger than I remembered from my first pour. This is still a tasty malt, just more prickly than I remember from a few nights ago. Barley sugar, more apricot, and the vanilla returns to the palate, definitely a sweet dram, but not as sweet as the nose would have you anticipate. Tonight's pour is a perfect reminder how one's experience with any whiskey can change. I have no doubt that the difference in tonight's experience lies not so much in the whiskey itself but with my physical and mental state tonight. Perfect justification not to judge a whiskey off just one experience.
Pour three in the coming days!
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