I’m not much of a bourbon drinker, preferring to imbibe the poteen of my forebears over ice from time to time. John Jameson, actually a Scot transplanted to Dublin in the late 1700s, was a truly great inventor, and I thank his genius each time I hoist a glass from his still.
The Jameson’s distillery employs such people as a “master of whiskey science” and a “master distiller.” No one ever mentioned such noble careers to me in my high school’s guidance office 35 years ago. WTF? Admittedly, my chemistry skills were a little lacking. But one can always overcome such limitations.
Now at the risk of sounding like an afternoon regular at the local saloon, I must offer the qualifier: I’m not much of a drinker. Having descended from a long line of successful alcoholics (successful in their alcoholism, not much else), I tend to err on the side of caution. I’m almost always the DD, and that’s how it’s been since the age of 16. I’ve never thrown up from drinking, although I did take down a towel rack in my parent’s house a long time ago (The room was whirling, and I needed something to hold on to). That good girl syndrome just never dies for some of us.
But when I find something worth praise, I like to acknowledge it: a song, a book, a movie, a recipe. Or an alcoholic libation.
KBB is served in a snifter (unless you come to my house, in which case you may get it in a juice glass, a martini glass or a coffee cup — whatever is clean and handiest). The alcohol content is about 2-3 times that of a regular beer, thanks to the remnants of bourbon that infiltrate the brew from the barrel it’s stored in. Smooth, rich and clean-tasting. Yum. If I’m going to waste the calories on something other than a hot fudge sundae or pasta, alcohol better be this good.
You won’t find it in the Budweiser price range, but unlike Starbucks, some things are just worth it.