sophisticationing

okay, so, remember how a few months ago i would occasionally lament my lack of palate for some of the more urbane liqueur? well, i talked about it a lot. everybody cared.

anyway, i find myself worrying about the potential pain and isolation that i could experience in the future if i'm not able to enjoy a nice brandy with the boys at the yacht club. this keeps me up nights.

and after months of intending to embark on a journey to cultivate my own taste for worldly, refined spirits, i've finally done something about it.

on my way home from the gym last night, i stopped in at my local state-run drunk emporium to take my first step toward being a more sophisticated alcoholic. i perused the shelves, making sure to keep my head up at eye level and above: i figure it will be easier to enjoy something that tastes like hell if i buy the best of the worst.

i finally settled on Chivas scotch, for several reasons, not the least of which is that Kelly Clarkson's last album included a hidden track entitled "Chivas," in which she explains she would prefer drinking whiskey rather than having her ex-boyfriend back.

also, this particular brand of liquid evil was in a pretty box and on the second-from-top shelf, which i felt was sufficiently high to be respectable, yet not so high up that i would be drinking beyond my means.

for $25, you can get a bottle that's about the size of a Softsoap dispenser, but in a much fancier container, which put up quite a fight when i tried to open it back at home. there were several layers of encasement, plastic and foil seals. i felt as though i were about to ingest liquid gold.


nope!


still tasted like hades on ice, gross to the last drop. it embarrasses me to admit that i didn't find the good stuff to be all that different from a glass of Jack.

i guess i have a long way to go.

next up: cognac.