Glenfiddich Special Reserve

Now that I am a full-fledged adult (having been Bar Mitzvahed following six weeks of correspondence Hebrew courses), I've decided that it's time to dispense with the immature beverages of youth and sip the from the chalice of manhood (this is not to be confused with my historical romance novel, The Chalice of Manhood). So good riddance to cola and beer – pour me four fingers of Scotch, my good man!

I like going into a bar, or better yet, a lounge, or a supper club – nay, a country club – and whilst my friends inevitably content themselves with flavoured martinis or Cosmopolitans, I quietly and confidently summon up a Scotch on the rocks. Sure, it tastes a little like gasoline, but fuck it – I'm a man. No, no … I'm the man.

Sadly, though, I am no rich man, and therefore can nae afford a truly exquisite single malt Scotch, so until that day comes, and I can keep my wetbar well-stocked with some criminally expensive bottles, it's been Glenfiddich Special Reserve. At $25 a bottle, it's not cheap, but it's certainly a good buy – a standard-bearing Scotch whisky that no one would think to criticize, and no blackout-seeking homeless guy could afford. Smooth, palatable, a tiny bit fruity … it's a solid choice all around.

Now, of course, drinking straight Scotch isn't for everyone—it requires patience, sophistication, maturity, a sensible demeanor, and good taste; all the hallmarks of adulthood. So, kids out there, you may want to stick with huffing Scotchgard until your time comes and you're ready to parry with the elders. Life is not all about an instantly-gratified buzz, you know. As you get older, you realize that it's about spending real money on a slower and more lucid buzz. We may end up puking in an alley together, you and I, but in the end, the valet will be fetching my car, while you wait for public trains to take you home to your mammy.

Do I know what I'm talking about? Fuck no, I've just had several glasses of Scotch, and can only, as Robert Plant would say, ramble on.

Review by Timothy Hay