I feel like I’ve been sucked into a star-consuming black hole and have ended up in some sort of alternate universe.

Here I am again with a dram of Canadian whisky in hand and I’m not disappointed. What the heck?

Seriously, what’s going on? The second coming of Christ has to be near, and with that, the fabric of space and time is beginning to fray. And although Christ said that the day and hour is unknown and indiscernible to all, that it would come upon the whole world as a thief in the night, still, I thought I knew the end time signs pretty well—wars and rumors of wars, the moon turning to blood, earthquakes. I don’t remember reading anything in the Scriptures about Canadian whisky suddenly becoming good.

Well, it takes courage to do any number of things in this world, but in my opinion, it takes a much more powerful courage to admit when one is wrong. So here goes…

Canada, you were wrong for hiding these things from us—at least us folks in Michigan.

Okay, that wasn’t much of an apology, was it? Let me try that again.

Hey, you. Yeah, you, the Michigan State Liquor Control Commission, why aren’t you jerks letting this stuff through? You’re wrong for doing this to us. It’s another one of your ungodly displays of fascist ignorance. Well, the truth always manages to find the light of day, doesn’t it? You should be ashamed.

Yeah, missed it again.

One more try.

I was wrong. Indeed, there are good Canadian whiskies out there.

But not Crown Royal. Sorry. I don’t care what the infamous whiskey authors say. Crown Royal—in any of its forms—is most appropriately served with a formaldehyde chaser, some Vicodin, and a teetering desire to go on. The same goes for Canadian Club. I just haven’t been able to find joy in that black bottle of drain leavings. I suppose I might at some point. My experience with Canadian Club has been extremely limited.

Perhaps I’ll get a few samples and be forced to choke down the need for another apology. We’ll see.

In the meantime, I can’t thank my friend George enough for sending these little gems to me. He has opened my mind to one fact in particular—that J.P. Wiser’s is picking up the slack for the mass producers and is actively working to convert guys like me to the possibility that there may be better things just over the national border which lies only a few clicks north of my home. The Legacy edition is certainly a perfect example of their diligent evangelism.

An easy sniff from the glass draws up and into one’s mind an early morning scene in no significant bakery in Quebec, just before sunrise, as the rye breads are being taken from the oven, set on the preparation table, and given a slight glazing of butter and a dash of cinnamon. And just to test the worthiness of one, the artisan behind these splendid loaves takes a quick nibble and discovers that the barely-singed oak boards used for letting the dough rise before baking has crept into the recipe, and it has brought along with it other fanciful aspects from previous designs, delicacies such as almond cakes and crème brulee.

The medium finish burns the tongue, but only a little. A drop or two of water and the bread cools enough to highlight the sweeter contours of the almond cakes.

Now, don’t get your hopes up. I’m listening, trying, and considering, but I’m not a convert to Canadian whiskies just yet. The only image that comes to mind to describe it is that I’m sort of like C.S. Lewis walking along with J.R.R. Tolkien to the zoo. All along the way, Tolkien used that time to talk with the atheistic Lewis. He didn’t become the world-renowned apologist and well-beloved author instantaneously. Instead, after a great many conversations, Lewis simply noted one day that he began his walk to the zoo with his friend as an unbeliever and by the time they arrived at the gates, he was a Christian.

I’m now quite interested, and with that, I’ll continue to walk with you. I can promise you that.