My wife and I don’t use credit cards. But we refrain from using them for slightly different reasons. Let me attempt to explain it this way.

My thirsty wife knows that I am always more than happy to run out to the liquor store to buy wine coolers for her, but she also knows that such an errand will almost certainly carry a hefty “transporter” tax. I say this because I’m the kind of guy who cannot carry those wine coolers through the store to the register without feeling as though the eyes of all the beer or whisky-toting good fellows are upon me. It kind of feels like I’m walking the Green Mile. Yes, I admit it. There’s a “manly” urge that kicks in as I reach for the fruit-flavored candy water. This urge causes me to retrieve the wine coolers with one hand, but then to either grab a six pack of stout lager with the other (whether I really want it or not), or to transverse the store aisles toward the whisky shelves with a swiftness that can only communicate that I absolutely will not be drinking these girly beverages because I have plans for something more suitably machismo. Being more of a whisky drinker than a beer drinker, it is almost always the latter.

This meets the previous discussion regarding credit cards in a precise way. My wife knows that I rarely carry cash, and unless I remembered to access my squirrel fund before the liquor store outing, the little cash that I do carry is typically for gas. She knows that the best way to keep a manly man from using the plastic in order to levy the transporter tax is to be sure that the plastic is bright, beautiful, and femininely glittered with a Disney “Tinkerbell” theme.

Realizing that I had forgotten to visit my squirrel fund, spying the credit card in my empty wallet, I searched my pockets for enough to buy something, anything. Sigh.

“Just the wine coolers, then?” the chortling clerk announces rather loudly.

“Yeah. Just the wine coolers,” I say looking off into the distance to avoid eye contact.

Check and mate.

Now, in relation to the whisky review at hand, if you want to be certain that a manly Scotch drinker will keep your bottle hidden in the rear of his cabinet, be sure that the bottle color is, in comparison to all of the other whisky bottles in the world, very feminine – say, maybe, a bright turquoise that would contain and accent a nice bouquet of flowers as it sits on a shelf decked in shabby chic décor. That’s the Bruichladdich Scottish Barley edition.

I should add to this that after having sampled the whisky bottle’s contents, whether the container was pretty or brutish, I will most likely be keeping this edition in the back of the cabinet until it is finished. I just wasn’t all that impressed.

The nose, while not necessarily uninviting, was as dainty as the bottle, offering the fruity innuendo of citrus and the suggestion of the flowers previously imagined. Since the ABV of this edition is feasibly near to cask strength at 50%, I was surprised that the palate seemed only a little bit heftier. The sweetened barley malt was present, but it was almost too distant and it was fast fleeting. What did remain was distinctly white wine-like. The finish was briefly crisp, leaving behind only the dehydrated memory of the fruit presented in the nosing. Interesting, but not necessarily all that enjoyable.

To conclude, I suppose I should admit that I probably won’t be buying another of this particular edition anytime in the near future, but it won’t be for the reason that I may have led you to believe. In fact, I should recant some of what I said before. I do tend to be pretty comfortable in my own skin and not overly concerned about what folks may or may not be thinking with regard to my beverage selections. That just goes with the territory as a pastor. Even further, I should add that I have, on occasion, unabashedly sent Tinkerbell out in front of all to fetch a bottle of Scotch for me. I don’t do it often, but that’s only because I believe that credit cards are of the devil.

And so, you, the reader, may rest assured that the only reason I won’t be purchasing this particular edition ever again is not because of an issue related to my self-esteem, but rather because, well, it just wasn’t all that great.

(P.s. – Not to worry. While the credit card in the above picture is nearly the same design as the one I carry in my wallet, it is merely a stock photo from a Disney source and not my card — so don’t go getting any ideas. Cheers!)