“Know what, daddy…”
“What’s that, Evelyn?”
“If dere was a zombie tacolips, I know where we should doe.”
“A zombie apocalypse? Really? Where’s that?”
“I would doe to Wainforest Tafé.”
“Really? Rainforest Café? Why’s that?”
“Betuz zombies don’t wike wobot gwillas.”
“They don’t like robot gorillas, eh? Why not?”
“Betuz they’re stary. Zombies wun away fwum wobot animals. But I don’t. I like them. Dere’s food dere. We tood bwing books and our favwit stuff. I would bwing my wolf. Maddy tood bwing her barbies. Harry tood bwing his wadio. Josh tood bwing… I don’t know, but Josh tood bwing sumpin, too. Momma tood bwing her tamera. I wike Wainforest Tafé.”
“Sounds like fun. And momma sure loves her camera. She could take pictures of the zombies running away from the robot animals. What should I bring?”
“Oh daddy, you know…”
She didn’t even need to say it. I’d bring my stotch… um… I mean, Scotch.
I’m not sure what stirred my five year old daughter to this conversation while we were driving home from school, and I’m not really sure what made her think that zombies would be fearful of lumbering through a mall and into a trendy jungle-themed restaurant full of animatronic animals. On the contrary, every time I’ve visited that particular mall, I’ve seen teenage zombies pretty much everywhere. They’re not afraid of the robot gorillas, but they do appear to be afraid of their phone batteries dying. Nevertheless, since I was now engaged in contemplating end-of-days preparation, I most certainly would need to be cognizant of the Scotch bottles I would prefer to protect from classless scavengers in the post-apocalyptic world. I know one in particular that I would not leave behind: The Macallan Rare Cask Edition.
Michael Jonna so kindly tuned me to this fine edition during my last visit to his wonderfully exquisite establishment. Michael is the proprietor of “Jonna’s Market” in Howell, Michigan, and I should add that he has one of the best Scotch whisky selections in the tri-county area. I do try to stop in anytime I am in the area, and having said that, I should also add that if the living dead one day do descend upon society, I would be more inclined to take my family to Jonna’s Market rather than Rainforest Café. The food is definitely better, and I don’t remember seeing a liquor store in or near the mall that houses Evelyn’s hydraulic zoo, however I do remember seeing some pretty crappy whiskies on the shelf at the tiki bar near the restaurant’s entrance. In my humble opinion, those particular whiskies would only be good for Molotov cocktails, or perhaps for cleaning a wound. That’s about it.
As of late, The Macallan Rare Cask is by far one of the better whiskies I’ve enjoyed. I’m glad that Mr. Jonna recommended it. The nose is aggressively sweet with sherry and carmeled citrus, quite literally pushing up and out of the bottle like a ghoul scrambling from its casket intent upon enjoying you and not the other way around. No wonder the cork is fixed to a weighty metal topper. The palate carries the richness of the sherry-drenched Spanish oak casks that held it in keep, unquestionably offering chocolate and strawberries. The finish is long. I mean really long. After I finished the dram, I took a few pictures of the beautiful presentation box, typed a few notes, and by the time I was done, I could still taste the chocolate, but the strawberries had become spiced with cinnamon and were slowly becoming something more like kiwi.
As you can see, during a zombie plague, this edition is certainly worthy of keeping safe until society once again regains control of herself. You would be well served by its loving embrace in the hours of darkened solitude, ever reminding you of what life once was and what it could be again. And so, again, I urge that it would serve the generations to come if you just hunkered down to shelter the Mona Lisa, a good stack of classic literature, a huge stash of toilet paper, and The Macallan Rare Cask – all very, very important to preserve. In the sunrise of better days, your children’s children would thank you, almost certainly fashioning a monument in your likeness and raising a toast in your honor.