acetone, bloat, blood, broken glass, lauder's, lutheran, review, root canal, rotting carcass, scotch, thoma, Whiskey, whisky
No need for narratives here. This will be short.
“Laud” and “honor” and “praise” are words that go together. “Loud” and “obnoxious” and “rude” dwell together as well. I have an idea for the makers of Lauder’s Scotch Whisky: Let’s start spelling it “LOUDer’s.” In fact, while they’re at it, maybe they could offer a new subtitle on the giant plastic bottle using that fancy cursive font. It could read something like: “Obnoxiously rude.”
But that’s just an idea.
Anyway, let’s get to the review. I told you this would be short.
The nose is reminiscent of a roadside deer carcass on a scorching August day. It’s been laying there a while in the hot sun – scavengers feasting, flies nesting, breezes carrying the scent for miles – and the intense heat has caused such a bloating that a phenomenal bursting is imminent.
The palate stings. It’s as if you poured acetone into a glass, but before taking a sip, you decided you were going to bite off a piece of the glass and chew it into razored shards, being sure to dice all corners of the mouth with fresh wounds ready to receive the beverage. And then you take a sip. Crying, you jot in your little whisky tasting journal that the palate stings.
The finish, well, it’s long… and a bit harder to describe. Imagine you are getting a root canal with no sedation. Or perhaps, more accurately, imagine that someone has been punching you in the face for an hour, and then just when you thought they were done, they decided to give you a root canal.
In summary, it will take a little more than a few days to recover from or forget a rendezvous with Lauder’s.
Can I assume that Lauder’s wasn’t on your Christmas list?
It’s funny you mentioned Lauder’s because I ran across it at the store , but I am always suspicious when a product is on a shelf at the same level as my big toe!
…And in a giant plastic bottle.
You are a brave lad, my friend! I suppose someone had to try the stuff in the big, green plastic bottle, and you stepped up the plate. Many years ago when I was a broke and desperate university student in Stirling, I shared a bottle of Tesco brand single malt with a friend. (Hmmm, didn’t know that Tesco ran a distillery, did you?) The only thing worse than the taste of the stuff was the hangover the next day. For cheap whisky, I now stand by the McClellands line — good for mixed drinks and not bad for drinking on its own.
While I appreciate such a commendation for my willful submission to Lauder’s that you, dear doctor, would not need offer yourself at such an altar, I am bolstered to offer that my sacrifice may have been in vain if you have given yourself over to the McClelland fellowship. Shall I visit you with a cost-effective and yet better “regular” than what is squeegeed into such a line? I am your servant. Call upon me as needed.