If you know me, you know that I am a man loyal to my vices. One such vice is my drink of choice; Jack Daniel's Whiskey over ice. I do not care for the phrase “on the rocksâ€, it cheapens the drink to a catch phrase, and I do not like my whiskey tampered with. Not with soda, not with sour mix, and not with cliché.
I have tried other beverages to fill this vice, but none have been able. I discovered I have an allergy to barley and hops that limits me to less than one beer. Malts are okay on the medical front, but often leave my mouth dry and carry a bad after taste. That, and Zima jokes get old.
Jack Daniel's however doesn't carry the after taste of a malt, nor does it contain any allergens. Over the years, I've become quite fond of old number 7. The flavor and texture of the standard black label Jack is perfect. For me, there is no other; or at least, until last night there wasn't.
If you hadn't guessed from the red hair, high level of arrogance, and love of whiskey, I am descendant of the Irish. Saint Patrick's day was upon us, and I felt I owed it to my ancestors, on this day especially, to set the Jack aside in favor of a true Irish whiskey. I did not know what I was getting myself into.
I confess, it wasn't even what would be considered a good brand of Irish whiskey, correction whisky. However, something was clearly different in this whisky; more than the spelling. Some deep heritage connection, perhaps genetic awakened by the first sip, took over. I was instantly in the mother land. I heard a jig and felt the need to dance with fast motions of the feet. I hated my British heritage. I wanted to sing songs so loud and slow you could not make out the words. Most importantly, I wanted another whisky.
As I embark upon this journey to acquaint myself with my Irish roots and discover a name that will proceed “over iceâ€, I owe an explanation to an old friend.
Dear Jack,You have helped me though some of my darkest moments, and you have been there for some of my greatest. You will forever be known to me as a close friend, and never will I forget our time together. It is however, time for me to return home. Your ties to Tennessee will hold you here and you cannot leave them to come with me. So many here count on you to help them as you helped me. We will still see each other, you are the only one who can make hot wings on Superbowl Sunday.I hope you will take this well, and understand it's nothing you have done. I need to be true to myself, and my roots.Sincerely,Mike
Posted By Mike On Friday, March 18, 2005
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