Well shite, that didn’t take long. I told you last week I wanted to learn to appreciate Irish whiskey in 2018. It’s official. I’m now a fan.
Oh Ireland, ye blessed emerald isle, I love you. I love your flag, your wee people, your little pubs tucked into the corners of villages, your Blarney Stone, all of it. I get it. I totally fucking get Irish whiskey now.
And you won’t believe how it happened.
Guy in San Antonio, name of Seamus, came up to me in a bar downtown. Seriously, that is his name. And yes, he’s from Ireland. He saw me, recognized my eye patch, had READ THIS BLOG BECAUSE HE SAW IT MENTIONED ON THE WHISKEY VAULT CHANNEL, and wanted to express his displeasure with my opinions regarding his beloved whiskey.
We had words. Yes sir, we did. Have you ever traded words with an Irishman? I don’t recommend it. But he’s about my age and before those words could come to blows, he pulled a battered flask from his rear pocket and poured me a dram of something called Dunville’s Single Malt.
We finished that flask and I’ll be damned if he didn’t pull a second one from another pocket and commence to pouring more. And yea, we did drink together and verily the days became accomplished that I should be delivered from my wicked and heathenish ways.
Dunville Irish Whiskey is amazing. Oh Jeezus. Full of light, fruity notes and barley complexity, it goes down with a gentle kiss of a boosh and whispers like a beautiful woman in your ear before it leaves.
“Now you didn’t really mean all those terrible things you said about our whiskey, did you?”
Apparently not, spooky Irish dream maiden, because I repented on the spot.
Look, I’m a crusty bastard and wont to shout my expletive-laden opinions from the rooftops. And that there is both a virtue and a fault. But goddamit, when I’m wrong I stand up and say so.
So what do you need to like Irish whiskey? You need some heart. You need a little patience. And you’ve got to let go of your anger and stop wanting to hurt everyone and have your whiskey hurt you. And you know I like whiskey that hurts. But now I have room for something that doesn’t hurt me. Because after all, there is nothing wrong with a gentle kiss.
And it doesn’t hurt to find a new friend who carries a second flask with him at all times.
Boosh
