I know Lagavulin wants to be tough. The first whiff is like leathery shoes – hello, Pete! He comes on strong, lingers. I know what he’s going for. But – and he would hate me for saying this – he melts quickly. Imagine your favorite hug. Now put that hug inside your throat. There, ahhh. Warm. Happy. Sorry, tough guy, but the act doesn’t last - you just become more friendly and loveable the more I know you. There are certainly other Scotches to be had, but once I have switched to Lag for an evening, I just don’t want anyone else.
Lagavulin is a single malt scotch from the Island of Islay. It has the smoky smell of my grandpa - who, ironically, often smelled like Scotch - because it is not afraid of fire. It spends a long time drying over the peat fire in its early stage when it just barley dreaming of being Scotch. Peat (also called Pete in this blog) is a real divider. Some love him. Others can’t stand him. If you can’t stand him, Lag is not for you. Don’t even bother. Leave more for the rest of us.
I have dated many whiskies and I tend to use them interchangeably depending on my mood. They don’t mind being used; they are dependable, usually available, and I don’t care if they don’t love me as much as I love them. I can tell them my problems, cry with them, laugh with them…you get the picture. And so I refer to them by first names:
Jack is Jack Daniel’s, one of my first loves. Pictured to the right. Fine lookin' man.
James or Jamie is Jameson. He was a gift (from God!) on my 21st birthday.
Jim or Jimmy is actually Jim Beam. I knew him better in my youth; we’ve kind of grown apart, although I hear he has some older brothers – Devil’s Cut, let’s meet up – that I keep meaning to flirt with.
Mark – Maker’s Mark. I’m a sucker for that red wax.
Pete, a.k.a. Peat, is actually named after the ingredient that gives whiskey that smoky taste.
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