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Grandfather's Whisky
The darkness of the night consumes all sight and the smell of whisky starts to linger in the air. My grandfather has always been a big fanatic of whisky and when it’s time for a get together, our good friend Johnnie Walker never misses the chance to make an appearance. Specifically Red Label Johnnie Walker whisky. The drink of the gods, as it is so called by many, presents it’s thundering self in the hand of my grandfather as he unhurriedly screws off the cap. Through it’s never ending threads, the glorious smell blooms and fills our faces with anticipation. As his pale fingertips hold the bottle, the ritual begins.
There’s not such thing as simplicity when it comes to satisfaction. It’s complex, but not complicated. And so it begins, the quest for the perfect drink of whisky. Cold and wet but crystal clear, the ice reflecting all sources of light and freezing my grandfathers fingertips as he meticulously observes it. “Ideal ice” is what he likes to call it. A good drink starts with good ice; you cannot enjoy your drink if you have cheap ice. Specially, if your using ice from a refrigerator door; you can ruin a man’s day if you give him that refrigerator ice.
Does mineral water actually come from rivers? Are they called mineral rivers? Excuse my ignorance but I just can’t imagine a bubbling river. So this bubbly mineral river water must be precisely the one he likes. Oh, and of course it must come from a glass bottle. Some times I wonder, does he count the exact amount of bubbles in the water?
What next? Sweet perfection, a perfect pour with an ideal proportion and a beautiful yellowish color. Like the historical poets and the controversial musicians, a sip of the heavens, a taste from the clouds, my lips burning and my tongue squirming with desire. My hands fervidly held at my sides as memories get engraved into my mind. History is being created through a bottle. The peaceful numbness acquaints with my fingers and the lower ends of my legs. Planets align and stars shine brighter, the universe is synchronized and this moment is perfect. Embrace these moments for they are mine, and the recall of this memory is all I will have. My ears are still ringing from the sound of the clattering glasses.
