Wantin' Ain't Gettin'

After my last tasting, when I visited the Alley Light, I was hopeful to come back soon and try the Laphroaig 18. So that weekend my housemate and I went to Salsa for a short while, and then over to the bar. I was very excited to meet the older brother of one of my favorite lads. Part of me did wonder if it was worth it, though...  Should I bother trying a Scotch that I know is no longer available? Is it just setting myself up for failure? What if Laphroaig 18 ends up being perfect in every way? How would that feel to know I would most likely never see him again?

I realized quickly though, that my new understanding on the nature of life reminds me that there are no guarantees, regardless. We never know which meeting will be our last with someone, and to avoid a potential wonderful experience because you know it may never happen again, well...that just seems like a very unwise way to life one's life.

On the way downtown that night, I heard Esmé Patterson on the radio. I had never heard of her before, but was loving the sound of her music. One of her songs that seemed fitting for this evening is Wantin' Ain't Gettin'. Take a listen to her sultry sweet voice sing about this simple truth of life:

When we arrived at the bar, I scanned the shelf and realized that all my wondering and anticipating of the tasting of Laphroaig 18 was in vain - the bottle was gone. There were two bartenders there that night who I've never met, but I explained to them the situation and was hoping that perhaps the bottle was only temporarily off the shelf? 

I had asked Matt to hide it for me, and although he declined, my last hope was that perhaps he had a change of heart, and I would be able to taste it after all. The two bartenders, Steve and McCraigan, shook their heads, but called over the off-duty Matt who happened to be there at the moment.

Matt was in a good mood, and came over to say hello. He was surprised the Laphroaig was gone, but did have an "I told you so" moment. He did tell me to try it that first evening. I think he felt sorry for me, though, and obligingly put on a regretful expression to empathize with my "wantin' ain't gettin'" experience...


I sighed wistfully, but moved on quickly. There were no other Islays there that I haven't tried except the Lagavulin 8. On that first night at Alley Light though, I met someone who works at another restaurant in town, and promised that I'd go there to try the young Lagavulin. 

Scanning the options, I decided to go with Balvenie Carribean Cask 14 year. He's one of the lads I met at Scotchtoberfest several months back, and I remember getting along with him very well, despite the lack of smokiness. 


This whisky is one of McCraigan's favorite, and he did me the honor of posing with the bottle; Steve hadn't tried it before, so decided to taste a wee dram along with my housemate and I, but he declined to getting his picture taken.


Balvenie is a Speyside whisky, and this particular one is aged in oak, but then finished in old rum casks. Rum has always been one of my favorite spirits (before my love of Scotch was born) and it always makes me think of pirates and adventures.

The nose at first was sweet, peppery and briney, while the first taste seemed mild to me, but at the same time spicy with a bit of sharpness to the tongue. 

After adding a small bit of water, the nose turned sweeter, and notes of vanilla and peach drifted in. I sipped slowly as his personality changed a little throughout the night. I would test with nose and tongue alternately, and noticed several different flavors. At first there was salt and a softness, alongside a hint of bitter and the presence of oak.

Later on I thought of nutmeg in the spice, and banana and more sea on the nose. He became silky smooth as the time passed, with a velvet feel, and a bit of citrus in the mix. Towards the end, a sudden scent of peanut butter appeared, and I was surprised by that. 

The bar was closing soon, so we had to finish up our drams and carry on with our evening. Overall, for a non-smoky Scotch, I really do like this Balvenie. This lad wasn't too complex, but still interesting. He brought a light and fun quality to the evening, that I'm sure I'll look for again sometime. I am getting quite impatient to try a new Islay, however, and am much looking forward to the Lagavulin 8. And to be honest, it's been far too long since I've had an evening with Talisker Storm; as many Scotches as I've tried in these months, I still find myself longing for the Storm...but I'm still on the journey, for now.

Caol Ila 15

I had a tip from a friend, that the Alley Light had a good selection of Scotches, so I ventured there to see if there was a new one to try. On my walk over to the bar, I happened upon a man pushing a bicycle, loaded with things, very slowly down the road; I wondered if he might be homeless...

As I walked past him, I called "have a good night!" His response was kind and humbling, as he offered to share some fruit with me (strawberries or bananas) and when I declined, he said, "as long as you're not hungry." I assured him I was fine, and he proceeded to tell me that he often donates food to a local center whenever he is able. We chatted briefly, and quickly went on our separate ways, wishing each other well. I am thankful that I've learned to always question my assumptions about people.

The Alley Light is an all-but-hidden restaurant on a side alley of downtown Charlottesville. It hearkens to the speakeasys of old, and I half expected them to require a password or handshake at the door. The entrance is entirely unassuming, and I wasn't the only one who wasn't quite sure if this was actually the right location.

I had tried to visit the weekend before, but there was no room at the bar, so I decided to come back on a weekday. That first night, on my drive downtown, I heard a song on the radio that caught my ear, and I was surprised to find out it was by Trey Anastasio of Phish.

I first heard of the band many many years ago, when someone explained their music as having a great upbeat melody, but with darker or sad lyrics. I was intrigued by the idea, but I never did feel an affinity for their songs. It's been years since I've actually even heard them, so I was surprised when I learned who was performing the song that night. They were sad lyrics, and if you're in a melancholy mood, get yourself a dram for comfort, and ponder on wonderful things that end too soon with I Miss You:

When I finally made my way up to the bar, I was not disappointed by their selection:

I saw quite a few lads on the shelves who I've yet to have the pleasure of meeting, and was excited about the possibilities. I ended up deciding to go with Caol Ila 15, as I had really enjoyed meeting his younger brother, the 12. I was really looking forward to the strong, smoky peat flavor. 

I was served my dram in an elegant, stemmed tasting glass. Bringing the vessel to my nose, my first impressions were of fog - thick and heavy...and only a bare hint of smoke. I was confused by this at first because I expected the familiar burst of bonfire or smokehouse...and then I looked at the bottle again.

In small, unassuming writing, the words "Unpeated Style" were whispered to me from the label. I could almost hear the stifled laughter of the Scotch gods to my muse. I felt mildly betrayed, but shook my head and joined in the laughter as I remembered that this is often the way of things. The irony was that I felt so safe and confident in ordering an Islay - so certain that any Scotch from this region would have a strong presence of smoky goodness. I sighed to myself, humbled again; I still have much to learn about this spirit. It's a good thing I'm loving this journey.

I was somewhat comforted by the words right below the mocking betrayal, because this lad was natural cask strength; if nothing else, he'd be strong. The first taste proved that true, and I also found him sweet and smooth, with a warm spice.

There were two bartenders there that evening; I didn't get to meet the woman officially as she was busy, but I recognized Matt, from a previous tasting at the Whisky Jar. He and I chatted for a bit about the Scotches. I mentioned looking forward to coming back to meet the Laphroaig 18 that I saw on the shelf.

He told me that it actually is no longer sold, and when I inquired to how much was left in the bottle, we discovered that there was only one single lonely dram. I wished I had ordered that one instead but I promised to be back soon; hopefully I will get a chance to meet him.


He also pointed out that they carried Lagavulin's younger brother, the 8 year. That was good news indeed; I didn't think I'd get a chance to meet that one. So very quickly my options for meeting new lads were plentiful again.

I turned back to my strong, unpeated Islay and added a bit of water. With this adjustment, I tested the nose again and immediately thought of ice cream. Quickly after, the specific note I was sensing settled down into caramel, then dulce de leche, and finally caramel sauce. Mmm...delightful!

The flavor was still strong, with a peppery note, and I also noticed dry finish. As I continued the conversation with this Islay-not-Islay Scotch, I wondered to myself, why would you not peat an Islay? I mean, that's what they're known for - so why remove that element? The obvious thought is that the distillery is trying to appeal to a wider audience. In the Scotch world it does seem you're either a peat lover or you're absolutely not. The articles I read on this particular gentlemen seemed to offer a different angle - that they were trying to present a more true expression of the actual whisky, without the peat smoke. I'm fairly certain I don't buy it.

The way I see it, an Islay without it's peat is like a song without it's lyrics. Sure, the melodies and harmonies may be beautiful in themselves, and perhaps there is something more pure in this experience, but the synergy of the two together *is* the song. Thinking of Phish, if you separate the lyrics from the music, you're definitely missing an important aspect of the song.

Caol Ila 15 was pleasant enough, but if I'm wanting to spend the night with a Scotch that's not smoky, there are plenty of lovely Highland or Speyside lads I would turn to. I'll keep my Islays peated, thank you very much; and next time I'll make sure to read the label before I order, to catch any whispered truths I may need to know about.

Blind Love

A friend has been telling me of this Whisky Bar out his way, so the other night I ventured out to meet him and his wife and a coworker of ours at Jimmy Madison's Southern Kitchen & Whisky Bar. It was a cold night, and we haven't had too many of those this winter, so it seemed surprising. Inside the bar it was warm and welcoming, however, and there was a great lively feel in the air.

We sat down and were greeted by our server, Becca. Looking at the whisky menu, I was disappointed to see that there wasn't a large Scotch selection, but at least Talisker was at the top of the list; not the storm, but the 10 year. I stopped for a minute and realized that he was actually the one who made me fall in love with Scotch. Although I give Storm the credit of being "the one that started it all," it was the sweet and bonfire-smoke taste of Talisker 10 that led me to Storm in the first place. Talisker 10 was the one who initiated me into this wonderful world and opened the door to the journey that has introduced me to so many more intriguing and delicious whiskies. 


When we first arrived, we weren't sure if a band was playing, but soon folks arrived to start setting up the stage. The group was Hard Swimmin' Fish, a classy blues band with old radio-show look. They were all dressed in shirts, ties, and hats. The stand microphones were retro style, and there was an antique radio set up as a speaker to an old-style telephone converted into a microphone. The lead singer would alternate between these mics, and the telephone gave such a cool sound to his voice or the harmonica. The whole setup was just very well done, and full of class and creativity.

One of the original songs they performed right before we left was called Blind Love. It's apparently the first part of a story that continues in a later song of theirs. One of the lyrics especially struck me: "It's those little imperfections, that are so often times, just a mirror reflection.." So think back to the first Scotch you ever loved, pour a dram if you have one nearby, and ponder on the different kinds of love...

It's been quite some time since I've had any of the Taliskers, so I was glad to see his brother at the bar.  I actually forgot to take a picture of the bottle while I was there, since we were sitting at a table for dinner, but here is one I found to show you what he looks like.  I was surprised when I saw him, because I forgot how reserved and classic his style is compared to the bright blue and image-filled trappings of Storm. He looks more like the older brother, the 18. Very refined.


Our lovely server, Becca was very helpful in helping us all figure out what we wanted off the menu. The rest of my party was drinking Bourbon, and the selection of that whisky style was quite long and varied. I think everyone was happy with their selection. For dinner I ordered a beet salad that was delicious, and the greens looked like a bunch of mini shamrocks to me - fitting for March I suppose.

The topic of synchronicity came up in our conversation, and that's a topic I've talked about over Scotch sipping before. It's an idea that fascinates and excites me, but many skeptical people would say that synchronicity is nothing more than coincidence - you notice what you pay attention to. The argument for this, I believe, is supported by the phenomenon that happens to many when they buy a new car, or something of the sort - suddenly everywhere they go they start seeing cars of that very same make, model, and color.

After we all took turns passing our glasses around the table to test out the nose of all the different whiskies, I turned my attention to Talisker. His nose had the perfect smokiness I expected, yet was softer than Storm's - not having that strong meat association. It was more bonfire than smokehouse, and I actually prefer that. All of the flavors I love showed up in the first sip - sweet, smokey, and a touch of brine. There's a reason why this whisky made me go all in when I first met him.

The thing about synchronicity, is that sometimes it's easy to recognize that it's just our attention heightened for a certain thing, but sometimes it truly seems out-of-the-blue and much more than just coincidence. Could it all be just what we're attuned to though? And maybe the difference is that sometimes the awareness is just so below our consciousness that it seems unconnected?

Usually when people talk about synchronicity, there's a positive connotation. But folks can become hyper-senstitive to things they don't like as well. Sometimes especially if they try to ignore it. This starts crossing into the territory of the Shadow - the idea that what we hate most in others is what we don't like about ourselves; as the lyric says: "those little imperfections...just a mirror reflection."

The real question, though, is - does it matter? If there is an explanation for why we're noticing something, does that make it less important? Our brains are wired to notice things that are helpful to us - that's how evolution and survival work. The best things and the worst things - we're designed to notice what will best enable us to live the life we want. 

On a deep level, whether mystical or not, there has to be some knowledge of the path that would best fit with who we want to be in this world. It's the connection to that knowledge that can wax and wane. I think that's why people so often enjoy synchronicity - it helps them feel connected to something that is at the same time deeper, but also more vast. We like to look back and find connections between events and decisions and find a path that leads us to a better place.

Nine months ago I met Talisker 10 for the first time - enough time ago to grow a whole new life. In some ways this journey has created a new life for me; I've met many new Scotches, and had many new experiences that I never would have if it were not for that first sweet, smoky sip of Talisker. And the journey continues...

Uigeadail

The other evening I met a friend to catch up and have a wee dram. I hadn't intended to meet a new lad that evening, but as things unfolded, it turned out that I would...

One of the Ardbeg boys, Uigeadail was sitting unassumingly on the shelf; when I spotted him, I knew I had to meet him. The two other brothers I had met, Corry and the 10 year, also had the same alluring green bottle with celtic designs on the label. Each enticed me in their own way with the smoky sweetness I look for. The word among those who know them, is that Uigeadail is the best of the three.


In speaking with our bartender, Codi, I noticed a spectacular tattoo in progress on her arm. I didn't get a picture of it, but it was an outline of an impressive pirate ship. Codi explained to us that it was her own spin on a representation of her astrological sign of Pisces - related to the water, but not the typical waves or fish symbol. 
 

Ugigeadail means "Dark and Mysterious Place", and as such would probably have been well paired with the Black Water song from last time. However, sometimes even though things seem like they would fit together, life doesn't arrange them to be so.


In honor of our bartender's adventurous spirit, I share with you a song about Gráinne O'Malley, a fierce, legendary pirate queen from Ireland.  Find a spicy dram to dare and drink as you listen to this exciting version of  Óró, Sé do Bheatha 'Bhaile.

 

Uigeadail's nose was smoky and strong, but all bonfire and wood, none of the meat smoke scent that some of the others have. I savored the smell for some time before I ventured a first taste, relishing the delicious peatiness. When I finally sipped a small bit, it was clear that Uige was strong, but the sweet spiciness rose up to match the smoky flavor in a wonderful dance of flavors.


A bit of water softened the peat to his nose, but only made the taste of him stronger. As he opened further, more flavors were revealed. I sensed a bit of salty sea in his nose, and tasted flits of peach and butterscotch on my tongue. He was quite a pleasure to be with.


My friend and I chatted about different things, and spent a good bit of time discussing the choices we make in life with regard to how we spend our short time here on this earth. So many get caught in the net of others' judgements and ideas, and waste so much precious time chasing things they don't even want. It can be hard to keep a steady course in this world when everywhere you turn people are telling you their own version of the truth.

The pirate ship on our bartender's arm is a perfect example of navigating the waters of other people's expectations. She took a common theme, but made it her own. That kind of thing is what we all need to do. Take the world in, and then put our own spin on things; listen to our own deepest truths, and then express them back into the world as best we can. It's something that seems to be harder and harder to do in this world, but is crucial for the health of our souls.

Even though the three Ardbegs all have similarities, and all come from the same distillery, they all have their distinct differences, strengths and weaknesses. As I got to know Uige better as the evening progressed I did notice a tinge of dry bitterness in the finish, but it wasn't harsh or unpleasant. He's a warm lad, peppery notes pervading the sweetness and the smoke. He's one I want to have alongside Talisker one day to see how close my affections for them are.

Uigeadail is a strong, spirited Scotch. I imagine it's the sort that a Pirate Queen would prefer, or any person fighting their way in the world, to stay true to herself.

Sláinte!

Black Water

I heard an interview with Paul Auster on the radio the other day discussing his newest book. He related a story from when he was 14 years old - where another boy was struck and killed by lightning, just inches away from him. Understandably, this has affected him his entire life. An event like this - where chance cherry picks one person over another for some extreme event - inevitably causes a person to question: what if?, why them?, why not me?, and ultimately, what now? For the human mind, which seems wired for finding patterns and creating order, the constant chaos of our experiences certainly give us a lot to work with. Life has a steadfast commitment to unpredictability.

On my tasting outing this week, I discovered Red & The Romantics playing at The Whisky Jar. It's a regular Monday night gig for them, apparently, although it was my first time. This song of theirs is the most fitting to share, about the river of time - Black Water:

Before the whisky tasting, I met a friend for dinner at Revolutionary Soup on the downtown mall. We had a lovely meal of soup, salad, and a wrap. Always delicious, with often local and organic ingredients, this is one of my favorite dining spots in Cville.

I discovered a fun thing there that I hadn't noticed before: one of the tables is an old chess board with a small drawer built in. There is a little note inviting patrons to write a few words to leave in the drawer for future folks to discover. I've seen this sort of thing in coffee shops before, and I love the idea, in theory.

I shuffled through the pile of napkins, bottlecaps, and scraps of paper, reading snippets of strangers' days. Some were silly, some were sad, some poetic, hopeful, and/or mysterious. While I was mildly interested or intrigued by a few, for the most part they seemed wholly inconsequential. And of course, why wouldn't they be? Such an open invitation for connection between total strangers seems a bit like a shot in the dark. But there is something in such contrived randomness, isn't there? It leaves us hoping...even expecting, to discover something profound.

After our meal, my friend and I wandered over to the Whisky Jar to see what we could find. The band was jamming, and a beautiful sound of lively music and Red's deep, soulful voice filled the room. We sat down at the bar and were greeted by the super chill bartenders.

Romaine and Matt, my kind and friendly bartenders. 

I scanned the long menu of Scotches and was intending to try a new Islay, when I saw the listing of another variety that I had heard of: from the Orkney Isles - Highland Park Dark Origins. The mysterious name hooked me, so I ordered a dram.

I had tried the HP before, but wasn't impressed. This one was much nicer than I remembered the 10 year being. Reading a bit up on his background, I learned the name Dark Origins is a tribute to the distillery's early years, being somewhat of a black market operation when it first began. Dark Origins is aged completely in Sherry casks, most of them first-fill. This lends much to his character.


The nose was sweet, and the first taste deliciously creamy. Adding water didn't change much, however. If anything his nose became softer and lighter. Dark Origins, although technically not from the Highland region, reminded me of my favorite Highland lads, perhaps with a richer and slighlty more vanilla flavor.


The founding of HP's distillery is credited to Magnus Eunson, who apparently had the respectable positions of butcher and church official during the day, but who would smuggle whisky in the darker hours. Of course, there are questions around the facts of it all, and much must be left to the imagination.

As the night continued, I got to know the Orkney lad a little more. He was quite enjoyable overall. At times I tasted a hint of banana, and at others a bit of lemon or citrus, or a hint of smoke or ash. There was a salty, briney aspect that I've come to associate with the Island Scotches, and through it all a buttery caramel taste that was delightful. I wondered what the original Highland Park whisky would have tasted like, and if Magnus Eunson ever considered what his illicit actions might lead to hundreds of years in the future.

Much like the influence of the unpredictable and chaotic aspects of life, there is a romanticizing of history that comes with the passage of time. Whatever begins simply as missing facts or holes in a story soon blooms into a a shroud of mystery, and that is very satisfying. For truly, we are all romantic creatures at heart - searching for meaning and inspiration in our daily lives, so that we, in turn, may provide that for others.

I'll leave you with the words of Red & The Romantics: "The black water flows where nobody knows, and disappears into the night, so take down the bottle and let's have toast - to love, to death, and to life!"

McClelland's Islay

The other night I went to a friend's party in honor of Burns' Night. This is a traditional celebration, usually held on January 25th, to celebrate the life and work of the national poet of Scotland, Robert Burns. The traditions include singing, reciting poetry, eating haggis, and (of course!) drinking Scotch. Here is a recording of one of the songs we sang, My Heart's in the Highlands. Take a listen and sip your sweetest, and let the Scotch and the Song transport you to the beautiful hills of Scotland...

The party was held at one of the houses in a local cooperative community called Twin Oaks. There were only a handful of people when we arrived, but the table was set for serving.

There was a lad there I had been planning to meet for some time now - McClelland's Islay. I had heard mixed things about him, but wanted to judge for myself. We waited for a few more guests to arrive, and then officially began the evening with the bringing in of the haggis.

As the dish was paraded around the room, a few of the folks took on important roles in this ritual such as the reading, the singing, and the stabbing.

While these things were happening, I joined in with my toast of McClelland. His nose was interesting. It had the elements of smokiness that I look for, but also had a more astringent quality that I have sensed before in some of the other ones I've met. At first taste, I noticed a couple of things I really enjoy in a Scotch - a peaty flavor, and a spicy nature. So I added a bit of water and kept sipping.

The conversation went along quickly enough, but I realized I wasn't that impressed. Something that I didn't find with this lad, was the sweetness that has been a companion element to smoke in most of the Islays I've tried. This made him seem a bit harsh, after all. He also didn't seem to have much depth - the peat and smoke were there, but that was about it. He was very forward and straight-laced - no mystery or complexities in McClelland. I ended my chat with him politely, and we went our separate ways.


The songs and poetry readings continued and I turned my attention to the handsome Laphroaig Select that I had brought to the party. His brother (the 10 year) was also there, but I have no doubts of my affections for him, so decided to focus on the Select.

In contrast to the McClelland, this Laphroaig was such a pleasure to be with. Very smooth, with the smoky and spice blending into the sweetness, creating a warm and comfortable welcome-home type of feeling.

That same feeling seemed to be present among the others as the evening transformed into a night of music with many sing-alongs. Singing in this way together speaks to something ancient and valuable in our souls. If you know the story and can laugh with others, or better yet, sing along to a chorus - a sense of community is born, even among strangers. This feeling of community forms a foundation for all sense of purpose in life. For without a group of others to feel connected to, to what end do any of our efforts ever strive towards?

The night was a success, as much fun was had by all. I believe we did the poet proud as a whole, even if I personally, did not partake in that "Great chieftan o' the pudding-race!"

Selfish Art

Today was a warm day for winter; a gentle, steady rain continued to fall from the overcast sky as it has had a wont for doing this week. It was perfect weather to meet a new Scotch, so I went downtown to meet a friend for a drink.

It's getting harder to find new places that have single malts I haven't tried, and especially since I've decided to stick with the peaty ones. Luck was on my side this evening though, as we decided to visit Commonwealth Restaurant and discovered a lovely collection of Scotches.

It was a quiet evening at the bar, and my friend and I basically had Erek the bartender entirely to ourselves. I was happy to learn that they usually carried Talisker, even if he wasn't there this evening.

There were some great songs playing on the radio at the bar, the volume just barely audible so the music almost seemed dream-like. This was fitting as several of the songs were versions we had never heard of otherwise familiar tunes, adding to the surreal effect.

It was a good night for music overall, as later that evening I discovered Noah Gundersen while listening to the radio on my way home. I was so captivated by his voice, lyrics, and melodies that I stayed in my car long after I parked, just to hear the show until the end and find out who it was.

The last song he played in the set, I thought fitting to share here. It's a song about songwriting, meaning, and doubt. If you find yourself in a rainy day sort of way, find a blanket, pour a dram, and learn of the sincerity of Selfish Art:

At Commonwealth, I noticed two bottles of Ardbeg right away; I recognized Corryvrecken who I had tasted months ago, but was unsure of the other. It turned out to be the 10 year; I had met that one briefly at the end of one night during Thanksgiving holiday, but I felt a proper meeting was due.

Erek the bartender

 

&

 

Ardbeg 10

The strong peaty nose was evident even before the glass reached my lips. It was a deep meaty smoke scent, that really I've only found in a few others thus far. First taste revealed a solid character. He was balanced with spice and smoke, and just strong enough.  Adding a bit of water softened the nose a bit, but the meatiness of the smoke was still there. The flavors blended some, but didn't really change his personality. A little more of the brine came forward, and I realized that he had all those qualities that I loved. As I sipped this Scotch and chatted with my friend, I realized I was going to have to put him side-by-side with Talisker sometime. Ardbeg 10 is that good.

Noah's lyrics in the song above ask "Am I giving all that I can give, Am I earning the right to live?" I often wonder this myself, and the sentiment has also visited conversations with this particular friend before. We talked of many things from politics to agave plants. We've each had our tough times in recent years, but have decided that 2017 is the official "Year to Make Shit Happen."  Solemn vows such as these - sworn while sipping whisky on rainy days in quiet bars with friends - these vows have a powerful momentum.


Erek's preference in Scotches falls on another part of the Island - the Highlands. I asked him what his current favorite was, and he offered me a wee sip of Glenmorange Quinta Ruban.


I love the sleek elegance of this bottle for its shape and it's classy black and gold label. The whisky has a pinkish hue, which reflects its name, as Ruban is Gaelic for ruby. He had an airy, light nose and flavor. Sweet for sure, and probably seemed more so in contrast to Ardbeg. There was a slight medicinal flavor and I suppose if I have time to converse with him longer I would discover many more subtleties to this handsome Highland.



Having worked up a hunger, we decided to go across the street for some dinner. Outside we we happened upon two lovely women looking striking against the shiny evening. It was a photo-op we had to take advantage of.

 

I had never been to Draft Taproom before and the food was suprisingly, amazingly delicious! I had the brussels sprouts with spicy aioli, and my friend had the pierogies. With a neat system of serve yourself taps and a wide selection of brews, it's truly a great spot that I will have to visit again.

Rain offers a great amount of poetic potential to an evening. What is dull can turn to shine; what is sharp may be softened; and on every surface from walls to ground - light is reflected, insipring reflection.


My friend and I said our goodbyes and headed off into the drizzle laden night. I walked to my car, serenaded by the rhythmic fall of raindrops on cobblestone, thinking on what lies ahead, but happy in the moment.