State of the Blog

Following the State of the Blog(ger), I think it's time to talk about the state of the blog. I'm sure most of you have noticed that I've done...well...fuck all about the decor in this joint. Sorry folks, I'm not very good at making things pretty. I'm an engineer. I destroy pretty things.

Especially whisk(e)y. I destroy a lot of pretty whisk(e)y.

However, I am dedicated as all hell to bringing good content. I figure that decent content sorta makes up for the lack of eye-catching icons, suavely styled headers, and general spiffiness. Well, not makes up for, really. More like "helps you forget". The look of the blog has been on my mind and I may actually drop some cash into sprucing it up. First and foremost would be getting a signature representation of Bacchus, drawn by one of the coolest illustrators, Dr. Bamboo. I really enjoy his style of art and I think it would fit in with the cheeky air of the blog. So that's first and foremost.

But what I'm writing to you today is mainly about the content. I am in the motherland of booze. Everywhere I go, I could huck a rock at some sort of beverage. Beer, wine, cider. Hard liquor. It's all for the taking. I've got a few things packed away in the "things I'd like to do for the blog" annals but I'd like your feedback. What do you want to see me cover? Here's a short list of things that I'm planning on covering but it's not complete and far from finished:


UK Rumfest 2010: Mid-October (16th and 17th). This one is on the ropes but I may go. Mutineer Magazine wants me to cover it but it's gonna be a pretty penny to get to London. Unless I can learn to fly in a few weeks. Progress is slow but scientists feel that I might be able to gain flight in the next couple of years and sans a few (hundred) pounds. It is exactly as the name suggests: a pig's trough of rum. Its a toss-up between having money or acting like a pirate for a weekend. I'm thinking acting like a pirate is winning at this point.

Edinburgh Boutique Bar Show: At the end of the month (October 26th). A pretty comprehensive show with talks and lots of tastings. Not specifically whisky centered but rather a broad range of spirits, ciders, and beers. Should be a wonderful time and, best of all, I don't have to go far for it. Cheers to that.

Glasgow Whisky Festival: Mid November (Nov. 13th). I'm actually really excited about this one. They won't know but I've known them for awhile (Mark Connelly, specifically). I was on the Whisky Magazine boards when a whole bunch of them split off and formed the WhiskyWhiskyWhisky.com forums. From my interaction with Mark online, he is a great chap. I'm really happy to see that he's been able to put together a whisky festival. It is a serious festival to pull no punches. His exhibitor list reads like a who's who of fantastic whisk(e)y. Amrut will be pouring. That's really all I have to say about that.

The Coup De Grace: I have been entertaining doing the unthinkable. The nigh legendary. I'm thinking about going to Westvletern brewery. It would be difficult to pull off for one reason: you need the license plate number of the car you're picking the beer up in but I'd have to rent a car. There are overnight ferries from Rosyth (close to Edinburgh) to Zeebrugge, Belgium. From there, I'd have to rent a car to get there (luckily, they drive on the correct side of the road there). The problem is I'd never know the license plate number until I rented the car. I'd probably get a case of all 3 expressions (which would end up being about 100 euro total, plus deposit). Once I got them, I'd bring them back to Scotland. I would have a bottle of each etched with "In With Bacchus"...and then I'd give them away on the blog. I'd get them etched not for vanity, but to prevent people from selling them. The monks don't want you to sell 'em and if the beer's as good as people say...then I'll abide by that. But yeah, this is at this stage a pipe dream. It would cost a lot and be difficult to organize so it's staying on the back-burner until I can get a job over here.

So that's the short list. I'd highly encourage you to share what you want me to cover (as far as distilleries, breweries, etc.). I'm open to ideas. I'd also appreciate it if you'd spread this around as best you can. I really would like some feedback (past attempts have been weak). So, if you could do that, I'll FedEx you a hug. A huge, drunken, whiskey smelling hug.

State of the Blog(ger)

The radio silence is deafening these days. When once my lyrically drunken mouth spewed gobs of random information, the past few weeks have been quiet. The culture shock, monetary shock, and booze shock have taken their toll on me; grounding me down into a sort of stunned, irreverent stupor. Things are, to say the least, quite different here. Since I promised I'd chronicle my journey over here, I will enlighten you on the past few weeks. Plus this helps to prove to my parents that I'm not a) dead or b) dead drunk.

If you've never taken an international flight...don't. If you must, don't travel economy/coach. If you are desperate to encase yourself in tens of thousands of pounds of steel, jet fuel, and people's crap, don't cheap out. Economy flights are just terrible. Everyone says "Sleep on the plane to feel rested when you get there". That's complete bullshit. It is inevitable that there will be at least one baby that decides to play "Human Landmine" and explode with shrill screams when someone gets too close. There will always be that person with a snore that threatens to vibrate the plane at its resonance frequency. If you can afford it, go business or first class. If you can't, buy a raft and leave really early. The Aer Lingus flight I took was, for the most part, cramped and boring. While I did manage to watch an episode of The Pacific, I also had to suffer through Cop Out. I like Kevin Smith movies. I liked Cop Out. But let's be honest here, a Kevin Smith movie isn't a Kevin Smith movie if it's the airline edit. Hearing Tracy Morgan and Bruce Willis trade in "Fuck you" for "Forget you" (when it's part of the gag) made me seriously contemplate trying to choke myself with those tiny little pretzel nubbins they gave us. The meal, blissfully, was a few steps above "hog trough". Mine included what I can only pray were piece of real beef in real beef gravy. The highlight of that flight was the Magners Pear I had. It was good. Everything else was not. It also brought up the ever-present concept that I am a fat-ass. It is not a pleasant experience to pour myself into those seats and pray to the gods above that the seat-belt will buckle. Then, spending 7 hours wedged into my mom (sorry Ma) did absolutely nothing for my self-confidence. I got off the plane scared, sad, and sleepy. A piss-poor combo.

The connecting flight in Dublin (in which we had to run to the gate because we didn't have enough time) was better. We were flying on my worst fear: a prop plane. I've explained why before (I think) so I won't go through it again. But the flight itself was smooth. The best part about this flight was the fact that it was light out and that it was raining in Dublin. It is a magical experience to burst through the clouds in sheer defiance of gravity. To hurdle at untold speeds through the rainclouds only to rupture through into the clear blue sky like a breaching whale. Staring down at the cloud cover and watching it lazily drift by like some sort of higher up, fluffier ocean. It was actually quite beautiful. I might be able to see why people get pilot's licenses for fun.

We landed in Edinburgh on a slightly chilly but increasingly sunny day. We were fortunate enough to stay close to the airport (and, subsequently, close to a shuttle from the airport to campus) at the Hilton. Folks, as classy as Hiltons are made out to be...this place sucked. While the room itself was nice, you (not surprisingly in Scotland) got nickle and dimed at every damn chance. The bottle of water they provided wasn't free, it was 3 quid. The breakfast was £12  for continental, £17  for full Scottish. Internet cost £17  a day. Movies: £15. Hell, I was legitimately surprised the small tea service they provided was free. Since they kept refreshing the tea packets each day, I decided to help myself to several of them. I now have a very small stash of Twinings. And soap. Yeah, I'm that guy. Get used to it. College is expensive.

The rest of the week was spent gathering the metric fuckton (tonne now, actually) of stuff that I wasn't able to bring with me. General home goods, pots and pans, etc. I managed to outfit my room splendidly for £77 (towels, pots, pans, general groceries). Pretty proud of myself on that one. The most expensive thing, though, was the mattress topper. Since having my spine fused six years ago, I kinda need a soft mattress. My spine doesn't bend now. At all. Almost the entire thoracic section of my spine is deadlocked in a fierce battle with almost $20,000 worth of titanium and, thankfully, the titanium is winning. Thus, I need a bed that will mold to me instead of me to the bed. And the mattress provided sure as shit wasn't doing that. It wasn't a bed, it was a concrete foundation with a cloth covering. It was like sleeping on The Rack. Luckily, I was able to get one along with a phone as well. Phones over here are funny. They're not bound to just one provider. You buy a phone and you can choose from a range of providers simply by replacing a small microchip behind the battery. Pretty damn interesting, I must admit. Besides, their phones are nicer. Well...most of 'em. The one I got is an internet capable beastie called the LG Viewty. It's pretty great, aside from the relatively shitty speaker and the fact my fingers are too fat to use the on-screen keyboard.

Finally, last week was the first week of classes. Due to the fact that its early in the semester the class schedule is pretty light these days but I'm still scrambling to get things done on my time off. My days consist of four classes: barley lab, project studies, wort manufacture, and intro to biochem. Most are pretty self-explanatory aside from project studies, which is basically an intro course on how not to plagarize and how to write a paper like a civil human being. We write a 3000 word literature review which should be easy, considering we get to choose our own topics. I'm thinking I may do mine on the microdistilling boom or the no age statement / young whisky boom.

Ok, now the important stuff. First off, you can get booze delivered here. No joke. You can get groceries delivered to your door for £3, which is almost as much as it would be to take the bus out there (I save £.60 by taking the bus). Anything they have in-store you can get delivered to your room. A huge, refrigerated truck will pull up and drop your groceries off. Which brings me to my next point.

You can buy booze in grocery stores.

I'm not talking about just beer. Sure, you can get beer at a grocery store. And cider, which they handily pack in 2 liter bottles and sell for £1.37. But no...you can buy liquor in grocery stores. And get it delivered to your room. They also have a much larger selection of pre-mixed drinks. I had the opportunity to pick up a premixed can of Bulleit bourbon and coke. It was really, really good. I think it was about a quid a pop and it was the "double serving", which meant a double of bourbon and coke. That put the can at about 8% ABV. And it was the perfect ratio too. The bourbon wasn't watered down; it was pronounced over the coke. And the cola was delicious. BECAUSE THEY ONLY USE SUGAR IN THEIR SODA. It's seriously the promised land of beverages up in this bitch. No high-fructose corn syrup in soda, liquor in grocery stores, and booze delivered to my door. Hells yes.

So yeah, stick around. I've got some pretty exciting things lined up (including some tours). A few things are in the works for my dear readers (especially those in NYC). So keep up with things here. It's gonna start getting sweet.

Bacchus out.

Whisky Live Glasgow

Alright, brief post here. No, I'm not dead despite the most earnest wishes of my arch-nemeses. I've just been really, really busy. Busy with the whole "get my life sorted out in 4 days" kinda thing. That includes buying bedding, cutlery, clothing, food, a phone, a mattress topper for my poor back, and a variety of other sundries (and by sundries, I mean the UK version which is booze). Now that life is slowly getting back to normal (yet again, another clause: by normal I mean a masters in drinking), you'll be seeing some more posts from me. I'll do a summary of what I've garnered from my trip over and time here so far and I've got a lot of reviews down the pipe.

However, I write to you today to inform you of momentous import. I will, at the behest of Whyte and Mackay (y'know...Jura, Dalmore, Whyte and Mackay blends), be covering the Whisky Live Glasgow tomorrow. Live. Yup, you read that right. I will be Tweeting my sherry butt off (tee-hee, distilling joke!), courtesy of the Whyte and Mackay company (who, in full disclosure, are paying for my standard ticket and 20 quid train fare). I'll be a motherlovin typhoon of Tweeting tomorrow as I heartily engage in the Scots most celebrated liquid: whisky. I promise that I'll stay as sober as possible, which won't be too hard considering my tolerance these days. So, pay close attention to my Twitter, InWithBacchus, or the live coverage page here for even more informative tid-bits from my far more qualified compatriots.

Critics

A critic, as defined by the Merriam-Webster dictionary, is as follows:

1.  a:  one who expresses a reasoned opinion on any matter especially involving a judgment of its value, truth, righteousness, beauty, or technique
    b:  one who engages often professionally in the analysis, evaluation, or appreciation of works of art or artistic performances 

2. :  one given to harsh or captious judgment 

I put that there to remind us all what exactly a critic is. It was, some time ago, only relevant to the newspapers or magazines. You had your wine critics, your food critics, your movie critics, and your "insert noun here" critic. With the invention of the internet, many of these established critics have gone on to flex their opinions in the digital world. However, with the advent of the internet, it was quickly surmised that anyone could be a critic as long as they were willing to shell out a couple of bucks a month for a domain / hosting and a couple hours dedicated to writing. 


Critics have always bothered me. I have been in conversations with people about what my website is about and, during which, they ask "are you a critic?" I politely tell them no. I am rather an opinionated and curious journalist. This distinction is important. The reason why I refuse to dub myself under the "critic" moniker is because of #2 above in the definition of critic. To be a critic once meant exactly what #1 states: to give a reasoned opinion on a matter. It was done with courtesy and respect on both parties. Today, being a critic means the license to kill version of being a complete fucking asshole. And, in this two part rant, I'll explain why.


In the field that I'm in (beverages and cigars), there are so many out there that will absolutely lambaste products with absolutely no regard to anyone or anything. This breaks my goddamn heart. As you may already know by now (thanks to my gratuitious ranting), I'm going for my masters in Brewing and Distilling Science. In less than a week, actually. With the rough and cursory knowledge I've garnered from talking to people in the industry (both beverage and cigar), as well as visiting distilleries and shops, I know how much work goes into making the products we take for granted. That cigar you're smoking? That tobacco isn't a week old. It's not a month old. Not a year old. No. The tobacco in that cigar is probably older than your car. That tobacco was planted when Katrina first hit New Orleans. It was a wee babe when Pope John Paul II died. That tobacco is probably 5 years old. Someone, 5 years ago, had the foresight to plant the leaf that you're burning. The one that's burning.


Right. Now.


That cigar you're furiously typing up a scathing review of? The tobacco in it is older than some people. It is older than entire maternity wards. A generation may have been born during that cigar's lifetime. But you decide to be a dick.


That scotch you're drinking with it? That introductory level scotch you decided to try. Guess what? It was put into a barrel shortly after Microsoft 98 came out. It saw Google launch. The person that put it in a cask probably saw Saving Private Ryan the night before. That scotch, the one you're mulling over giving a 79 or an 80? It saw gas at $1.25 a gallon in the States. 


Critics, for the sake of objective review, ignore these things. They ignore the work, the planning. They refuse to take into effect the struggles it took to formulate the recipe or the blend. The work it took to get label approval. The fact that the whisk(e)y or cigar chosen was #126 of #334 blends or barrels. It's the equivalent of deeming a person moral or immoral just by looking at them. You are content to barely scratch the surface of a complex person; solely judging on face value. Many feel that this disassociation is necessary. I think that's bullshit. A critic can callously destroy years of work sitting in your office. With the swift stroke of a pen (or, realistically, a keyboard), a critic can annihilate years of work and planning. Entire lines of product can become financial disasters because a critic, say, smoked only an inch of the cigar (I'm looking at you, Cigar Aficionado), tossed it, and then gave it an 85. 


You probably don't believe me. You may think "give me proof". All in due time, my friends. All in due time. Check the next portion for some hard evidence. I'm bringing critics to trial.

Illusione Cuchillos Cubanos 40 - Friday, Aug. 20th

While I am a short and fat man, the cigars I generally go for aren't short and fat. I've got enough of that in every day life. I typically go for either long and thin (lancero!) or short and thin (corona!). It's rare that I pick up a cigar over, say, 52-54 ring gauge. Any more than that and it just gets awkward to smoke and difficult to keep in my mouth when I want to flip pages on the deck.

Also, being budget minded (read: I'm half Scottish), I'm a big fan of cheap cigars. Not bad cigars, which is a completely different category, but cheap cigars. So when I found out that Dion had put out the Chuchillos Cubanos line of mixed premium filler (long and medium instead of medium and short) in sizes that really are my huckleberry, I was stunned. How did I let a budget cigar by an awesome manufacturer in thinner ring gauges slip by? Why didn't my Scottish Radar go off? Damn thing must be broken. I found out about it pretty much a week before the IPCPR and I began calling/emailing places down in NOLA to pick some up to smoke. But Dion got my back.

When I ran into Dion at IPCPR, he told me to stop by the booth because he had a pack of Cuchillos Cubanos for me. I tried to pay for them (I always feel bad) but he wouldn't hear of it. I stopped by briefly to pick them up on the first day because I wanted to smoke them at the Cigar Press party with him. I felt bad nabbing them and jetting but I got to talk to him later on anyway so I didn't feel too bad. Also, I stopped by the booth several times. Dion was busy so it was mostly to take pictures but, hell...it soothed my aching integrity. Anyway, at the Cigar Press party I burned through four out of the five in the pack (2 for me, 2 for my mooching cameraman). I really liked them at the party but at that point I'd burned about four cigars already so I didn't want to do a write-up when I got back. So I decided I'd review the last one for you now. Alright alright, let's do dis. First, some pictures!

Sweet box. I want to add tildes to the title but the Blogger ones aren't spaced right.

We're gonna need a bigger box.

Oh...hello!

I really like the packaging on these. The box got kinda squished in my pocket but it kept the cigar(s) in good condition. And the graphic on the front is cool. Anyway, review:

First quarter: This cigar is what I refer to as a "ninja cigar". When you first light it up, it starts off pretty mild and mellow. It's easy-going with relatively light flavors of leather. Then, just as you get settled in to read and you're not paying attention....BAM! The Chuck Norris of spice roundhouse kicks your tongue into a previous epoch. Your tongue is bombarded with so much zesty spice it's tasting things in the 1800s. It's so delicious. It's all red pepper and black pepper. I make it sound super heavy on the spice but it's just right, really. It's not overbearing and it doesn't overwhelm. It's just the right amount...but sneaky.

Half-way: The spice fades a touch to make way for some delicious leather. It's like smoking a spicy chamois. How can you argue with that?

Third quarter: Spice has backed off in its intensity and fervor. It's now slowed down to a more leathery, creamy, and spicy beastie. It's starting to get another flavor too...

Fourth quarter: ...and that flavor is toast. I swear to the gods above, you get to the nub and the thing tastes like toast with jalapeno jelly and a glass of milk. In...y'know...smoking terms. Whatever, I tried. It's hard to explain smoking flavors without referencing food but it makes it sound awkward.

Yeah, these cigars are pretty sweet. My cameraman liked 'em too. The consensus we came up with is that they're an all day cigar: they're easy going enough to smoke them all day but they won't leave you bored. Oh..and the price? It's about $20 for 5. Yeah, this 5.25 x 40 shorty is a favorite now.