Yum! By “yum,” I mean my esophagus is burning. The Macallan Scotch Whiskey I drank may have dissolved my liver or one of my lungs. I would probably do a better job of identifying the physiological what’s what (and the ensuing liver and lung problems) if I could put out the flames in my throat and chest.
I can’t believe people drink this stuff straight. I’m apparently the equivalent of a twelve year old tasting beer for the first time.
To be fair, last night’s Macallan Scotch Whiskey tasting at Denver’s Brown Palace Hotel started off strong. The waiter gave Jen, Michelle, and me a delightful bowl of mixed nuts, and the emcee told some jokes at the front of the room. They were bad jokes, but, hey, entertainment’s entertainment. Then the waiter began serving samplers of scotch whiskey.
That’s when everything went off the rails.
We sipped our drinks. People at the surrounding tables oohed and ah-ed. Ah-mahzing, the people at the surrounding tables cried. Jen, in turn, coughed hers up, and Michelle screamed “ew.” I would just as soon have downed an entire bottle of Vicks cough syrup. Jen compared Macallan whiskey to rubbing alcohol. Michelle was scared straight and vowed to never drink again.
Michelle: Waiter, we would like to order ginger ale. Lots of it. Turns out everyone in our group is a designated driver and real thirsty.
Carolyn: Also, please tell the emcee he isn’t funny.
Jen: And bring us more bowls of these delightful mixed nuts. A lot more bowls. We haven’t eaten dinner.
Michelle: We also need a bag to hold the whiskey glasses we’re taking with us. They’re real nice.
Carolyn: I wonder if we’d appreciate the emcee’s humor if we drank more Macallan Single Malt.
Jen: I think the emcee’s hysterically funny. Also, I think I’m about to have a heart attack.
Michelle: That’s it. I’m cutting you off. No more Macallan’s.
Jen: Thank God.