My own experience has been that the tools I need for my trade are paper, tobacco, food, and a little whisky.
It is said that F. Scott Fitzgerald used to drink gin because it was harder to detect on the breathe and by all accounts, Hemingway pretty much just raided the liquor cabinet. But if I had to invoke a personal patron saint of writing and drinking, I’d probably go with Faulkner. While it’s true that he was probably drinking “whiskey”, instead of “whisky”, he was at least in the ball-park and had a hell of a batting average.
By tradition, “whisky” is the Scottish version of fermented and distilled grain mash, usually “smoked” over a bed of smoldering peat. It is said that, for a time, the Scots’ version of this drink was so bad that the English and Irish changed their “whisky” to “whiskey” to create a distinction in the markets. Over time, that reputation has been repudiated and now, years later, we have…Tomatin.
Imagine a thin caramel running into your glass. If you swirl it, it clings lightly to the edges and quickly settles. It has a light antiseptic and smokey aroma to it, but not in an unpleasant way. In fact, once you begin to really enjoy this “uisge beatha” (Scottish for “breathe of life”), you begin to subtly associate it with flavor and being to salivate a little in anticipation. You tilt the glass to your lips and breathe it in. In through the mouth, out through the nose…slowly. It calls to you. Like a forgotten love. Full of smoke and fire and passion and richness. You tilt the glass…ever…so…slightly and a drop hits your tongue. At the very first, the split second after you imbibe, it sits like cool water. Then it twists away from you and suddenly seems to grow heavy in you mouth. The tip of your tongue feels slightly numb and as you roll the whisky around your mouth it is peppered with a pleasant tingle and smokiness. Then you swallow. Again the sensation of merely drinking water is quickly followed by the warm glow of a whisky ember flowing towards your stomach. A small part of you is sad to leave the previous moment…until you realize there is more in your glass…and the bottle beyond.
It would be fair to call me a bit melodramatic in this post, but only if you’ve tried Tomatin and know what I am talking about. For the price ($24), I would dare say that you could not find a better bottle of 12-year single malt Scotch anywhere and I’ll curse the man who says otherwise, unless he’s buying.
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