For me, sipping Scotch is like slipping into a time machine, setting the controls back to the 30’s and reliving the golden age of art deco and Bogie and Bacall or more accurately, Bogie and Bergman in Casablanca. Scotch transports me back to what I imagine was a more laid back time, a more elegant time, a time of tagging along with Indiana Jones, a time when every man was a seedy detective and every woman was a slinky dame and everyone smoked unfiltered Lucky Strikes all the time.

Back then all of life’s scenes were played out in smoke filled joints just around the corner from the Empire State Building or not far from the jewel like glass crowns and glass wrapped corners of the Chrysler Building. Men always wore suits and ties outside, while inside they donned smoking jackets, and if you were lucky enough to be Hugh Hefner, you wore lounging pajamas. Women wore long flowing dresses and the highest of high heels accented by black stockings with those sexy seams running up the back. They slipped on hats that covered part of their faces obscuring at least one eye and creating an air of intrigue that was accented by netting that made them seem that much more mysterious and inaccessible. Everyone spoke unhurriedly, while spilling double entendres and leaving every sentence open to numerous interpretations as they languorously sipped their Scotches and sexily blew smoke in each other’s faces.

Even Fay Wray, at the peak of her panic, in King Kong’s gargantuan gorilla grip atop the Empire State Building, torpidly stretched out her lithe limbs and allowed her flowing pink nightgown to slide sexily around her body while she kicked her high heeled feet. And who can ever forget Ingrid Bergman imploring Sam to “play it again” in Rick’s joint in Casablanca or Bogie’s final line in that movie when he said, “Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship”.

That’s where good Scotch takes me, to a mythical and magical time that may have never existed but certainly should have. With every smoky sip, I seem to fly back to that time and end up staring into Lauren Bacall’s or Ingrid Bergman’s eyes while my hand rests languidly upon her thigh. If your Scotch doesn’t have the same effect on you I recommend you switch to this Scotch.

In 1886 William Grant took a break from getting his wife pregnant and with his seven sons and two daughters built their distillery by hand and called it Glenfiddich, meaning Valley of the Deer in Gaelic. In December of 1887, they produced their first dram of Scotch Whiskey and since then the family has been producing some pretty decent Scotch. This 12 year old Single Malt Scotch Whiskey is aged in Oloroso Sherry and Bourbon casks.

The Nose is certainly smoky and begins my journey back in time with its hints of light citrus and pear and notes of oak and vanilla. It’s just the way I prefer my dames to smell when they walk by me as I lean against the bar and eye them.

As it passes my lips it is unmistakably smooth scotch with a smoky mouth and hints of innocent vanilla not unlike a deep kiss from a beautiful 3rd cousin.

The finish is smooth and saucy warming my throat all the way down to my stomach. For the price this is very, very nice and now hovers around $25.00-30.00/750ml bottle. Amazingly enough, her 15 year old sister is available these days for just a few dollars more and is well worth looking into. I’ll look forward to meeting you at Rick’s Place this weekend for some Scotch.

By George Brozowski

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