|
About This Author
Come closer.
|
Complex Numbers #966808 added September 26, 2019 at 10:37am
Restrictions: None
Pappy? Happy!
PROMPT September 26th
A prompt from Jaelynn  !
Write about a special place where you might go to meditate, unwind, de-stress, relax, or just be.
It's generally known a bar.
Some people go to bars to meet other people. That's not for me - dealing with people is the opposite of relaxing. Which is not to say that I don't like to do it; I'm pretty social for an introvert. But I like bars that are mostly empty and I don't have to deal with the noise and crowds. That's why it's best to go at like 8 am.
No, I use bars for their gods-intended purpose: drinking.
Let me give you a recent example.
Just the other night, I was, as I mentioned here a few days ago, in Washington, DC. On the last night of the conference, Tuesday, the organizers had arranged for the opportunity to go see a Washington Nationals game. Turns out that's something called "baseball." Okay, no, I'll just do what I always do when I travel, which is find the local craft breweries and sample their wares.
So I did, with a little help from Uber.
First place I went was a nice little wood-decor pub, not too crowded. There's a mural on the wall featuring a fox with laser eyes, two pandas fighting, and a squirrel with a flamethrower, all kaiju-sized and rampaging around DC. Sat down at the bar, ordered samples of their various beers... and became disappointed. They weren't bad beers, exactly, just not to my taste. That's okay - plenty of styles for everyone, and the world doesn't exist to cater to me.
So I Ubered the hell over to the next place on my list, which turned out to be a) not a brewpub but a taphouse (fuck you, Google) and b) crowded as the Beltway on a weekday morning. Pass. (I should clarify here that I enjoy taphouses as well; I was just looking for local beer.)
The next place was only a short walk from the crowded taphouse. It looked promising. Just a few blocks from the Capitol, so I was afraid I'd run into gods-be-damned politicians, but the crowd looked more like politicians' flunkies trying to deal with the stress of having to work with politicians. That's fine. And I say "crowd," but it wasn't full enough to keep me from finding a nice comfortable barstool. But the place turned out to have only two of their own beers, and it was unclear where said beers were actually brewed because there's more than one location for this particular business. Not bad beer, mind you, but still not the experience I was looking for.
So I walked back to my conference hotel. Yes, walked, not staggered; the reason I took Uber in the first place was not because I planned on becoming too drunk to drive, but because it was motherhumping DC on a motherhumping Tuesday evening, and where does one park?. The good news is that I did a mile and a half at a brisk pace without getting in the least bit winded; I guess all the exercise is paying off.
I sat at the bar in the hotel, which also wasn't crowded because the bulk of the conference attendees were either at the sportsball game or had already left. Told the bartender, "I'm disappointed by the breweries around here. I want a positive drinking experience before I leave."
"What can I get you?"
I pointed out a fine 18-year-old scotch I saw standing lonely and dusty behind the bar. "That. Neat."
A lady came in and sat next to me, and I immediately felt myself tense up. What am I supposed to do? I don't go to bars to pick up women; I go to enjoy fine libations. I hear that in such situations, it's customary to buy the lady a drink, but I also hear that's a social signal that shows interest in such activity. So I basically just concentrated on my scotch, which, I will have to note, was indeed a very good scotch.
We ended up talking, anyway, and within two sentences she'd made it clear she was there with her husband, who had gone to the game. Whew. No pressure, then; I don't mess with married women. But there's no rule I'm aware of about not carrying on an ordinary conversation with one while in a public place. Maybe there is such a rule, and I just don't know it. Anyway, she said I looked like The Dude, and if you're going to compliment me like that, I'm happy to talk to you.
I had another scotch during the conversation, and then I noted to the bartender that I was surprised that a fancy place like this doesn't have Pappy van Winkle.
Allow me to digress for a brief time to explain that for non-whiskey folks. There are dozens of bourbon distilleries in Kentucky; it's kind of what they're known for, along with horses, bluegrass, and intolerant politicians. Many of them make fine bourbon. (The distilleries, that is, not the horses. Maybe some of the politicians; I don't know.) But the Holy Grail of bourbon in the last few years has been a label called Pappy van Winkle, after the old white guy who developed it.
Bourbon has particular requirements in order to be called "bourbon;" one of these is that it has to be made from at least 51% corn (that's maize for my British friends, not barleycorn). Now, to save money, most places use cheaper grains like barley or rye to make up the remainder of what's called the "grain bill." There is absolutely nothing wrong with this, but it does impart to bourbon its characteristic "bite," and I tend to prefer other whiskeys (or whiskys or whiskies, whatever).
Pappy, I'm told, makes up the rest of its grain bill with wheat. My understanding is that because wheat is in high demand due to its use in this thing called "bread," it tends to cost more per unit weight. And it's aged for various times in magic barrels that give the flavors time to mellow. Pappy - which I've only encountered once before, in California of all places - is, as a result, smooth as silk. No burn, no bite. It is also not cheap. As with all whiskey, as a general rule, the longer it's aged, the more mellow it becomes, and the more expensive it tends to be.
"Oh," says the bartender, "We have some in the safe."
"You have a safe?!"
"Indeed. But the only Pappy van Winkle we have are the 20 year and 23 year."
"Okay. Sounds great. But believe it or not, I'm going to need to know the price first."
So he told me, and I'm not going to relate it here; suffice it to say that it's not cheap, but it also wasn't going to send me into bankruptcy. I ordered the 20 year, and it was glorious.
After, he took me to the safe and opened it and holy mother of suck, there were some impressive distilled spirits in there. Also rare and expensive ones, even pricier than Pappy. I was not tempted - well, not too much - but it sure was pretty to look at.
So there it was, a positive drinking experience. Fully de-stressed, relaxed, and serene. A fine ending to a crowded conference.
I guess what I'm trying to say with all these words is: I like bars. |
© Copyright 2019 Robert Waltz (UN: cathartes02 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Robert Waltz has granted InkSpot.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |
