I know, right? It’s not like I have to. I’m not being forced to write these reviews. I’m most certainly not getting paid to do what I do here.
I like to think that I’m doing my readers a favor, but hey, after a few “I do it so you don’t have to” rendezvous with some really hideous whiskies, I’m less inclined to put myself in front of that bullet.
So, again, why do I do this to myself? I mean, this was a voluntary action, right? I can’t blame this on anyone else. No one gifted it. No one. I reached for the bottle myself. I took it in my own hand and I carried it to the cashier. I gave the bedraggled party store attendant $16 from my own wallet.
Okay, so, I’m here now. You, Cutty Sark, are here now, too. Whaddya say we just get this over with, huh? You go ahead and be crappy. I’ll twist your cheap cap and taste the crappiness. And then I’ll try to write something witty about how Cutty Sark, while its namesake ship may have been a worthwhile import vessel bringing Asia’s teas to the English, the whisky itself should be met out on the midwaters by pirates and dashed to the ocean depths.
Okay, here goes…
Hmm. I smell… is that… is that ginger ale? And apples. What the…? The nose of this whisky is almost like a Redd’s Apple Ale. Not my favorite beverage, but also not medicinally horrible as I expected.
This is weird.
Okay, let’s give it a sip.
Light. A little bit of malt. No, wait. The malt is coming around a bit more strongly. It’s carrying a low tide of something sweet. It’s the ginger. And a very sweet apple.
What the heck is going on here?! This is supposed to be appalling – chemical – terrible! I don’t necessarily like whiskies this sweet, but c’mon, this is, well, thirst-quenching. Oh my. Cutty Sark, a cheap blend, is… drinkably acceptable! What the heck?!
And the finish is light, too. There’s not much too it, although I’m sensing something like caramel and peaches, or maybe it’s the syrup in the peach can. I can’t tell. It was gone too quickly.
Okay, okay. Keep the $16 and I’ll keep the Cutty Sark.
No, I’ll probably never consider it a go-to whisky. As I said, it’s awfully sweet. I almost feel like I need to get one of those little foo-foo umbrellas for my glass before I wash this down.
In the end, I guess I will say that if I’m ever miles away from my own cabinet of whisky treasures and I’m in a pinch for cash, the Cutty Sark won’t be out of the question. I’ll be shooting for something better, of course. But if as I am picking my pockets clean, looking through the seats of my car, scouring the sidewalks for extra change, and maybe even playing my guitar for alms on the street corner and I only make it to $16, I guess I’ll be okay.
Do me a favor, will you? Keep this to yourself.