Scotch

written by: Graham Culpepper

If you are like most people, you will initially be repulsed by the taste of scotch. Keep at it. You will thank me later. I will admit that there is an outside chance of addiction but the odds are slim. As Winston Churchill once wrote, "Always remember that I have taken more out of alcohol than alcohol has taken out of me." And this comes from a man who recognized the danger posed by Hitler long before any of his peers, survived several strokes and battled what he called the "black dog" of depression for much of the 90 years he managed to avoid sobriety.

I know some people, especially those in the medical profession, have argued that Churchill's fondness for Johnnie Walker Red was, at least partly, to blame for the strokes and depression, but they are wrong. I spent two years studying the chemistry of alcohol and the perceived negative effects on human biology at the University of Ingolstadt under the guidance of Dr. Caroline Beaufort and it was our conclusion that the science remains inconclusive. On a personal note, some of my best friends are problem social drinkers, although I must admit that if I don’t like you I am more apt to throw around the term, alcoholic. Definitions, like the sciences, are often subjective.

As senior travel writer for the Verde Home webzine, I had hoped to fly to Scotland to tour its fine distilleries but my expense account necessitated that I settle for a flight of Scotch as a substitute. In addition, I had anticipated a panel of enthusiasts with whom I could elicit all manner of brown liquor erudition but was instead saddled with the Verde Home editorial staff. Not to mention, I had requested the proceedings be videotaped. Taking notes and organizing thoughts into written words can be difficult. In an attempt to be of assistance, one of the proprietors of Verde Home, known to the editorial staff as, “The Luggage”, handed me a tape recorder and a basket full of cassette recordings of Widespread Panic concerts. I was instructed to tape over the summer of 95’ shows first.

I decided on a geographic progression for the evening, beginning with the lowlands of Scotland. Fortunately, this also allowed me to start off the relative novices with an excellent “starter” scotch called Glenkinchie. It is one of only three distilleries still operating in the lowlands and traditionally lowland scotches are triple distilled, which gives them a lighter taste.

Pressley Boudreaux, Editor-in-Chief, having enough knowledge of scotch whiskey to be dangerous, recognized the grassy notes in the nose. Then he made some remark about how it reminded him of playing the sport of bowls on the pristinely manicured bowling greens of southern Scotland. Taken at its face value this seems informative and certainly innocuous but was somehow made unnervingly creepy by his facial gestures and repeated use of the term “kitty.” Additionally, it managed to sidetrack the entire proceedings while everyone argued the merits of bocce as compared to lawn bowling. There was no focus.

Once I managed to direct everyone back to the task at hand, Patrick “Fitzy” Fitsimmons, Verde Home Senior Culinary Correspondent, passed over any preamble concerning the color or bouquet of the beverage before him, and violently snapped back his highball glass. For someone whose profession requires a reasonable amount of reflection, Fitzy exhibits a profound lack of curiosity. It took a few moments, but as his breathing returned to normal, he complained of scalding his tonsils and of possibly needing medical attention. I assured him that considering my previous studies, I was practically a doctor and that in my quasi-professional opinion, he should recover.

“The Luggage” offered up the opinion that his glass smelled like a horse barn and after tasting its contents he likened it to a can of ginger ale under some type of demonic possession.

We were off to an inauspicious start.

The next tasting was from a distillery called Springbank in the Campeltown region of Scotland; an area just west of the lowlands on the Kintyre peninsula, which juts out into the Firth of Clyde. A Firth is what we would refer to in America as a Bay. A Firth, even one named after some guy named Clyde, seems more regal then if the term Bay was used. Jerry’s Bay sounds like a local fishing hole, however, the Firth of Jerry; now that gives the impression of substance.

The first thing I noted about Springbank was the dark amber color of this scotch as opposed to the lighter straw color of the previous pour. This was due to being aged in a sherry cask and I commented that it should have some of the sweetness of sherry, as well.

Pressely used the term well rounded. Well-rounded is what people say when they have run out of things to say. He agreed that there was a hint of sweetness on the palate and then opined that it was the finish that was truly remarkable. In what appeared to be a poetic gesture, he concluded that it was as if one was standing on the shore of the Firth of Clyde.

Fitzy likened the encounter to being caught in the surf of the Firth of Clyde, by a giant, merciless undertow. It was, he remarked, what he imagined drowning tasted like. In response I posed the idea that perhaps what he was experiencing was the physical sensation behind the expression, "drown your sorrows."

And then Pressely felt it necessary to break into song. Some of you may know the Kintyre peninsula from the song written by Paul McCartney while he was with Wings, called the Mull of Kintyre.

"Mull of Kintyre

Oh mist rolling in from the sea,

My desire Is always to be here Oh Mull of Kintyre"

This is quintessential Pressely. Unwilling to admit that anyone could possibly know more on a subject then he, Pressely offers up distractions and minutia rather then risk being exposed. He has certain facts and comprehensions soaked into his brain and no matter what the subject or query, he wrings out this information and inundates the conversation with useless babble. This is his one true gift.

And the truth is that many coastal distilleries produce whiskey that is salty in nature and often this can be due as much to the maritime locale as it is to the refill casks that are prevalently used to age the whiskey.

Keeping with the salty theme, “The Luggage” alleged that the entire experience had thus far been about as enjoyable as a saline enema.

Sensing a growing lack of motivation to continue, I quickly brought out the next tasting. I knew if I could get them through another round, everyone should start to numb, in both mind and palate. As George Bernard Shaw once wrote, “Alcohol is the anesthesia by which we endure the operation of life.” And in a certain way, I felt like I was performing an operation, but rather then removing something infected I was injecting my patients with something beneficial. And they would become better for it and thank me later.

Thus, we had come to a critical juncture in my experiment and it was time to truly shock their systems. Nothing would ever be the same for these three once they experienced Lagavulin. It epitomizes an Islay scotch. Like Springbank, there are hints of brine, but what makes an Islay scotch truly unique, and Lagavulin an exemplary model, is the strong influence of peat on the nose and in the finish. Some distilleries, especially ones found in Islay, use peat fires to dry the malted barley and this endows them with a smoky, earthen quality. Another interesting note is that Lagavulin is found almost solely in a 16-year old version, unlike most other Scotch Whiskeys that come in 10, 12, 15 or 18 year old versions.

Pressely muttered something about peatiness being the smoky remnants of the ancient norse spirits who settled Scotland. Then, like a hypnotist directing his patient I calmly, yet firmly, asked him to refrain from speaking for the rest of the evening.

Fitzy physically convulsed and said it was like sucking on a piece of sod that happened to also be on fire. I took this opportunity to relay the story of Prometheus, who stole fire from Zues and gave it to humanity. Like Prometheus, whose liver was removed by Zues’s eagle, as punishment for his thievery, I explained that I was willing to sacrifice my own liver to give to them, mere mortals, the gift of Scotch appreciation. And as I chugged directly from the bottle I could feel their zeal building.

And only then as I brought the bottle back down and “The Luggage” zeroed in on the one price tag I had forgotten to remove, grumbling aloud about the bottle being $74.99 worth of liquid dirt, did I recognize the potential ugliness within the scotch monsters I was creating.

My initial reaction was to flee. But I saw something in their eyes that stopped me in my tracks. A dullness the likes of which both frightened and amazed. They had acquired the taste. Like Dr. Frankenstein lamenting his wretched monster, “the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart." I excused myself, telling them I needed to use the bathroom, but I really just needed a moment to regain my composure.

When I returned, I found my creations tearing into a Glenmorangie Scotch gift set. The greatest of all Highland Scotches in my opinion, Glenmorangie also offers the best of all discovery packs. In one, elegantly designed box you get a full 750 ml bottle of the original and then three 50ml bottles of their Sherry Finish, Port Finish, and Sauternes Finish. It makes an excellent Christmas gift. However, on this occasion the three fiends were each guzzling back one of the 50ml bottles like it was water at a desert oasis, simultaneously taking the larger bottle and passing it around to each other in between gasps for breath.

The rest of the evening was too horrible to go into in any real detail. While bottles of Speyside scotches such as Balvenie, Glenlivet and Macallan were torn open and emptied with shocking rapidity; a wide variety of contests took place. There was something they referred to as “Feats of Strength”, which involved going into the backyard and seeing how far they could throw a log or how long they could hold a tree limb above their heads. Then they proceeded to engage one another in the board game, Risk, which ended in actual violence after a heated dispute over Kamchatka.

The last thing I remember was imploring them to just sip the 18-year-old Talisker and experience its unique depth. The only distillery still in operation on the Isle of Skye, Talisker is a distinctive Scotch not to be trifled with. Its power is breathtaking. It is at once both smoky and sweet with hints of pepper. It is, simply, a perfect scotch. Realizing they were in a frenzy and beyond the ability to appreciate anything but violence and debauchery, I distracted them by tossing out an array of Johnnie Walker bottles. There was a red, black and green bottle for each of them to share. There would be no Blue. Even when it comes to Scotch, I have a line of expense that I will not cross.

As I retreated to the living room floor and rolled over on my back clutching the bottle of Talisker to my chest, I felt myself drifting to sleep. Just before floating out of consciousness, I peered up to see the three monsters kneeling over my body with expressions of fear and remorse. What would happen to these fallen beings when I was no longer there to protect them from what they had become? I had tried to create the perfect Scotch cohorts and instead the creation had destroyed the creator. And then all went dark, like the flip of a switch.

I have no recollection of anything beyond this point of the evening. I awoke in the morning still on the floor with a throbbing, hollow feeling in my skull and a keen awareness of my own tongue. A cursory review of the police report would shed sufficient light on what I had missed. Verde Home has retained counsel for the accused and all options are being weighed; however it is becoming increasingly apparent that the decision will come down to either "not guilty by reason of insanity" or "guilty but insane/mentally ill". Either way, I am anticipating a delay in the release of our next issue.

The charges and timeline are as follows:

Code 594: Malicious Mischief

Code 451: Arson

Code 647: Disorderly Conduct

Code 647F: Public intoxication

Code 23122: Possession of Open Container

Code 203: Mayhem

Code 415: Disturbing the Peace

Code 417: Brandishing a Weapon

Code 246: Shooting at a Dwelling

Code 537: Defrauding an Innkeeper

Code 653M: Obscene Phone Calls

Code 31: False Information to Officer

Code 148: Resisting Arrest

At 4:36 AM a BOLO (Be On The Look Out) was sent to all mobile units.

At 5:13 AM a K-9 unit was dispatched to the Morningside Nature Preserve to track the three suspects who were believed to be on foot.

At 5:43 AM a HMERT (Hazardous Materials Emergency Response Team) was requested after the three suspects were seen running down Cheshire Bridge Road with what a witness described as breakaway gas pump hoses. A Washdown procedure was prepared but then ultimately deemed unnecessary.

At 7:25 AM a CIT (Crisis Intervention Team) arrived on scene at the Country Inn & Suites on Sidney Marcus Blvd to assess a possible OBS -- Organic Brain Syndrome (Dementia/Delirium) - sometimes used with the modifier 'extreme' as in "subject is extremely OBS" or "violent OBS."

After a Bat Van (Breath Alcohol Testing Unit) was performed on the three subjects it was determined that their delirium was due to acute alcohol poisoning and Atlanta City Police took the suspects into custody.