Not on network news: Live with Rye

Spirits came up in a conversation last night. Not only the ones who haunt but those poured into a glass.

And rye popped up. Rye whiskey, I had to conclude, since we were discussing spirits, not breads or the state of farming in the Midwest.

Now, when it comes to spirits, I'm a gin girl. I adore Bombay Sapphire and the occasional martini, shaken not stirred, and dirty martini. And in either case, three olives please.

On rare occasion, though, I get a hankering for whiskey while professing that I know effectively nothing about the spirit other than Jack Daniels sucks, IMHO. So I googled rye whiskey last night and found it an interesting, illuminating, enriching, at times fascinating educational pursuit.

This article, a well-written and snappy introduction to rye whiskey, caught my fancy; perhaps it will yours too, as we proceed.

For, you see, the stage is now set for this moment entitled Live with Rye, a dorky spinoff from the newscasts entitled Live at 5 dotting the country. At my side sits a freshly opened, untapped bottle of Old Overholt, described by informed sources as a quality long-termer. Mine's identical to the picture except its cap is black rather than red, the latter evidently indicating that the product's been aged years exceeding150.

To my knowledge, I've not tasted rye whiskey. If I have, I was too drunk to remember. I am kidding.

Forging virginal territory is an adventure made more enjoyable with a party exceeding one. The same could be said about a good many virginal experiences, I reckon.

So grab a cyberspace container of your choice — my 3D item is a sky-blue camping mug with white speckles — and join me in play-by-play action on Live with Rye:

Aroma: Like straight whiskey but tangier, spicier. Image: A dog romping and bounding through thick snow outside a rural home where a crackling blaze fills the fireplace

Upon meeting the mouth: An immediate, intense and pleasurable heat. Followed instantly by an aromatic, fragrant sensation warming upward through the nostrils. Image: The tug at the end of your pole when you are ice fishing through a 4-foot circle cut into a sparkly, glassy white field of ice. Aha! meets fulfillment.

Down the throat: Smooooooth. No burn of kerosene or gasoline. Sooooothing. Thought: They should bottle this in throat lozenges.

Finish: Not as broadly and rapidly inflaming as other spirits tried. More a gentle expanding heat. Image: A helium balloon slowly expanding as it's filled.

Verdict: I could get used to this. Indeed, I believe I already have …

 

 

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