Whiskey Business

After sampling some of Colorado’s ol’ fashioned firewater, I’m afraid the South’s gonna have to try even harder to rise again.

It takes a lot for a die-hard Southerner like me to disparage whiskey from my neck of the woods. You need a smooth pour to contend with the Woodford Reserve I splash over rocks when I’m clocking out of the world at large. So when a buddy I made here — also from Georgia — swirled some curious brown at me in a shotglass and said, “This’ll change your life, I promise,” I cocked my head in amusement. “It’s called Stranahan’s,” he continued. “It’s better than anything you’ve had back home.”

Oh, well now it’s on, son.

I took a quick whiff and my brows shot up. That’s a good start. I toasted to no one in particular and down the hatch she went. Now, as anyone who loves a good swig of whiskey will tell you, the burn is something you winced at in your younger years, but came to adore as you matured. It’s an acquired pain, I should say. Then you exhale and, if you’re so inclined, you dissect the age and essence of the concoction, compartmentalizing oak and barley and the years they’ve been living together in a barrel.

There was a noticeable tameness to the drink. Not bad. Not bad at all, so I had to give it to my new buddy: I had some rethinking to do.

The night before I conceded to give props to Stranahan’s in the mag, I went to a Kimbra show. For the pregame, I thought it best to crack the bottle of Breckenridge that came highly recommended by a bartender who “appreciates a woman who likes bourbon up.” Comparably priced to the Stranahan’s, Breck Bourbon (in my most humble opinion) lets the rye do the singing upon exhale — and it’s a smooth exhale, lemme tell ya. (I like that in a drink.) What’s more, the next day was blissfully bereft of the mental thickness that usually accompanies a night of dancing with the devil.

Now before anyone lobs accusations that I’m being paid to say these things, rest assured I’m not. I’m new to town so I’m sure I’ll get around to sampling other varieties of the good stuff. But for now, I’m a fan of credit where it’s due. It ails me none that I can now raise a glass of Colorado whiskey with an added sense of pride in my new state and what she’s capable of when it comes to a household staple of mine.

Cheers, y’all.