Review – Anchor Distilling, A.H. Hirsch, Small Batch Reserve, 4 to 6 Years Old, 46%
I’m fairly certain that every person has those moments when the
reactive thoughts that exist in the furthest reaches of the mind have complete
access to the thoroughfare of his or her mouth. I know I do. They don’t happen
every day, but they happen enough to keep things interesting.
“What can I get for you, sweetie?” an unfamiliar voice
buzzed sexily through the drive-through speaker, its friendliness causing the
one occupying the front passenger seat, my youngest daughter, Evelyn, to lend a
look of surprise.
“I just need a medium black coffee,” I replied, slowly turning
away from the microphone to Evelyn with a wide-eyed expression that met her
own.
“Did she just call you ‘sweetie’?” Evelyn whispered, her
hands barely covering a staggered smile.
“She sure did,” I said, giving her a grin of uncertainty.
“Do you know her?”
“Nope.”
“That’ll be a dollar thirty-seven at the first window,
honey,” the voice said in the same alluring tone. Evelyn’s eyes grew wider. I
didn’t respond, but rolled forward.
With a few cars between us and the drive-through lady who my
daughter was certain was trying to seduce me (and I say this not so much
because of what the woman said, but rather how she said it), I explained to Evelyn
that some folks just talk to others this way. They don’t mean anything by it.
It’s just their peculiar way of being friendly.
“I don’t like it,” Evelyn said. “It’s inappropriate.”
“Yeah, it’s weird.”
“And Momma wouldn’t like it, either.”
“I don’t think Momma would care all that much,” I offered as
we rolled up to the window, “but either way, let’s just keep our cool and get
out of here.”
“Hey, sweetie!” came the overly friendly greeting through
the window.
“Good morning,” I returned, stale faced. My daughter leaned
forward, her weird grin having become a stare.
“That’ll be a dollar thirty-seven, hun.”
And then, even after I’d just instructed my daughter that we
were to keep our cool—and as I’d warned at the beginning of this little adventure—my
unspoken thoughts suddenly engaged with my mouth and I took the conversation to
an extreme degree in the opposite direction.
“Alas, kind lady,” I said animatedly, exchanging exact payment for the cup of coffee, “’twas a score ago that many acquaintances would respectfully call me ‘hun,’ but even so, only when rightly preceded by ‘Attila the.’”
I heard Evelyn gasp.
“Have a nice day, sweetie,” the woman said as the window
closed, maintaining her pace and completely unaffected.
Rolling away, we both laughed. And I suppose that’s why I did it, because I wanted to give Evelyn a good story to tell at school. I’m guessing that the words coming from the drive-through window were meant for the same. And by them I realized two things. First, that people are people, and taking them in stride is a better bet; and second, if my marriage were ever to dissolve, no matter how friendly the woman was at the McDonald’s drive-through, she’s not all that interested in me and probably wouldn’t be a rebound possibility. She spoke as she did to sell me coffee. That’s it.
When it comes to whisky, I’ve learned similar things over the years.
First, whiskey is whiskey. No matter the distillery, region, or whatever, taking each edition in stride is always the better bet.
As it meets the second point, I say these things revealing a somewhat penitent heart. In my earlier days with Bourbons, there were some distilleries, both big and small, that I’d been less inclined to appreciate because they seemed to be speaking a drawn and sensual word, but in the end, were really just exchanging my money for a business-as-usual bit of booze in a unique bottle with a decorative label. I’ll admit to having had that sense when I bought the Hirsch Small Batch Reserve Straight Bourbon, which is eloquently presented by Hotaling & Company and Anchor Distilling as having a connection to A.H. Hirsch and the moth-balled Schaefferstown Distillery in Pennsylvania. Admittedly, there’s some magic to this chronicle. But when you read that the whiskey is merely a celebration of “the Hirsch heritage through a range of sourced selections,” the intrigue dissipates into the realization that there’s not much about the whiskey itself that’s connected to the story. They needed a name for some whiskey they contracted from MGP in Lawrenceburg, Indiana—just like a billion other American whiskey labels on the market have done.
Having said all of this, I liked this whiskey. It’s really quite good.
The nose is a little stringent at first, suggesting
something chemical in nature. A few minutes to sit, the chemical scent fades
and becomes something along the lines of simple syrup in its cooling stage
poured over tangerines.
The palate is similar. There’s a decent bit of souring
citrus. But along the way, a heavier barrel flavor is introduced. I’d say it
translates into the simple syrup being overheated, some of it having been
scorched in the pan. I think this works well, personally. It adds some depth to
something that could’ve been thin.
The finish is a medium draw of straight cinnamon and what
seems a bit like over-toasted bread, not burnt, but real crispy. This may sound
bad, but with ever-present lapping of the citrus, it puts flavor and texture
together successfully.
Now a word of clarification. As you can see, a sourced
whisky does not mean a bad whiskey. Read my stuff. You’ll discover that I’ve
had many sourced whiskies that were good. It’s just the in-between sales pitch
that bugs me. It feels wrong to make a connection with something or someone where
no real connection exists.
In other words, don’t call me sweetie unless you mean it.
The post Review – Anchor Distilling, A.H. Hirsch, Small Batch Reserve, 4 to 6 Years Old, 46% appeared first on angelsportion.
