Funniest Whisky Moment

I have a friend named Ron. We're both chronic peat heads. So about a year ago, Ron and I worked out a texting code word. If one of us happened to come across a great deal on scotch, then he would text the other guy with one simple word: "nectar."

That was the signal for one of us to call the other to find out just what in the hell justified texting the holy word "nectar." So far, neither of us had let the other down. We hadn't abused the "nectar" code word in about six months. It was reserved for rare and wondrous scotches to be purchased at absurdly low prices before the supply ran out.

So, anyhow, it's a Saturday morning around 11:00. Ron texts "nectar." I wasn't in the room at the time, and my wife was. So naturally, she picks up my cell phone, inveterate snoop that she is.

When I walk back into the room, she says, "What in the hell is 'nectar'?"

The cell phone was back on the table right where I left it, so I didn't piece together what had happened. I said, "Umm, something honey bees make?"

Wrong answer. My wife winces, and then she says, "Well, some Italian honey bee from the East Coast just texted you, and he wants you to make 'nectar' for him. Either that, or he wants to make some nectar for you. And, now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to throw up."

When my wife went on to explain that Ron had texted me, I wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea of telling her what "nectar" meant because she was already quite upset at how much money I'd been dropping on scotch over the past few months. (Actually, the situation had gotten bad enough that she had resorted to checking our bank statements online with her eagle eyes to spot the names of liquor stores; if she found one, then I was in deep trouble.)

So, there I am standing in the living room, holding my cell phone. I've got a decision to make: should I tell the wife what "nectar" means, or should I lie and come up with another explanation?

I couldn't think very fast under so much pressure. Plus, I've never been a very good liar, at least not to my wife, who knows how to look for tell-tale signs of treachery.

As soon as I spilled the beans, the wife says, "No way. You are NOT calling Ron." She even went so far as to snatch the cell phone out of my hand, as if that would make a difference.

Incidentally, the reason that Ron had texted "nectar" was because he had located a case of Bruichladdich PC7 in a beverage store out in the wilds of Newark, New Jersey, where he was from originally.

Long story short, despite my wife's wrath, a few weeks later, after the bottles arrived in Oregon, I sure as hell did buy the PC7 from Ron. Two bottles, in fact! Did you think I wouldn't? Are you kidding? Those two bottles would have been worth a divorce.

Speaking of which, I decided to patch things up with the wife by taking her on a little shopping spree of her own. We both drove out to her favorite place, a little hippy shop called "Bee Thinking" in Southeast Portland. I kid you not. Scout's honor. I'm absolutely telling the truth.

Bee Thinking sells all sorts of products made from . . . you guessed it: honey bees. We're talking about candles, soaps, honey . . . and really expensive bottles of mead. These days, my wife is on a mead kick. She can't get enough of the stuff.

Actually, it's not as bad as you might think. I actually do appreciate some of the drier meads that she drinks, but I must say that I find very idea of liquor distilled from the rear end of honey bees kind of humorous. I am reminded of my distant ancestors drinking the stuff.

My dad's side hails from Iceland. It's kind of amusing to picture big tough Vikings drinking skulls brimming with fermented honey. To me, the drink seems like such a sweet tasting dainty sort of liquor . . . but then again, I love PC7 straight up with no ice, no water, and served at room temperature.

Cask strength PC7 can put hair on your chest, whether you happen to be a man, a woman, a Viking warrior, or even a werewolf sitting at the bar in Trader Vic's.

And that, friends, is my funniest whisky moment to share.

Part II:

The saga continues . . . about a month after I bought the PC7 from Ron, he was over at my house drinking, you guessed it, scotch whisky.

My other friend, Guy, was also visiting. Guy pretends to appreciate fine whisky, but he is a heathen at heart who would prefer to drink gin and tonics.

There's nothing worse than serving good scotch to a heathen like Guy who insists he likes the whisky because everyone else is drinking it, and also the fact that he knows it's expensive. To make matters worse, with every sip he takes of my prized scotches, Guy winces dramatically and often groans.

After all three of us had consumed more than our share of whisky over the course of the evening, and Guy had winced a few dozen times, things got a little out of control.

I accused Ron of flirting with my wife.

It had all started a few months earlier when Ron had picked a rose from his garden and given it to me to give to her. This was after we'd both consumed heroic amounts of scotch whisky. Ron was just messing with me at the time. I didn't take his gesture seriously.

In fact, I ended up passing the rose on to my wife, thorns and all, as a gift from Ron. The whole thing was rather amusing, aside from the fact that, confidentially, I feel bad for Ron. His wife divorced him several years ago and, to my knowledge, he hasn't gone on even one date. He sits, night after night, mostly alone, in his big suburban house with his big fluffy white cat, a truly astonishing array of bottles (mostly scotch whisky), and a record collection with some very rare vinyl from the 1970's.

Despite these sad facts, tonight, I was comfortably numb with a little help from my Scottish friends. It was my turn to poke a little fun at Ron when I really shouldn't have done. So, yes, I accused the man of "harboring clandestine affection" for my wife.

Because Ron holds an advanced degree in psychology, his next move was to threaten to psycho-analyze me. In a very professional tone, he insinuated that I needed "professional help." This was enough to send Guy into hysterics.

Because I was so drunk, my reaction was quite simple: I got up off the couch, took a few steps forward, and farted loudly in Ron's general direction.

After about an hour, and a big glass of water to sober up, Ron drove home, across town. Guy stayed longer and eventually went for the gin. He ended up crashing on the couch.

That was the last time I ever spoke to Ron. I texted him "nectar" a few weeks later, but he never responded. It seems that we aren't friends any longer.

And why did I text "nectar?"

Ron's favorite whisky of all time had just gone on sale at Binny's: Ardbeg Supernova.

Well, so be it. Incidentally, I bought two bottles of the Supernova: one for me, and the other for . . . me.

Please don't tell my wife. And, no, Guy will not be tasting any of the Committee Release SN14. But my best gin is his gin, of course.

Mine is a little shorter, but here goes. A friend of mine dropped by and he had a surprise he said. What he took out of the bag was a 2002 Bruichladdich 18yo that used to mature on some expensive wine casks. I took out my best Copita glass to ensure optimal enlightenment while he was boasting his whisky was better than mine and that is was so expensive and he searched a while for it. So in a room full of people he poured some in but when he wanted to take the first sip he knocked the dram allover the table wasting his expensive Scotch and breaking my favorite glass. So for me it wasnt so funny but the other people totally cracked :p

Mine is short as well. A friend and I indulged in a flight of cask/high strength whiskies, including Glenfarclas 105, Springbank 12, Ardbeg Ugy, Miltonduff 24, Bruichladdich 22, and a 17 yo Mortlach. After this fine, sobriety-shattering assortment of malts I stumbled outside and murdered a hooker....

You Just Can't Make Up Shit Like This!

Perhaps not the funniest whisky moment, but very amusing. This happened to me during the summer of 2013.

After reading @talexander's review of the Glenora Battle of the Glen, I had my mind made up to get my hands on a bottle of this stuff. At lunchtime I went outside to enjoy the beautiful day as I was working on surface today ( as opposed to underground).

I plucked the phone number for Glenora Distillery from their website and made a call on my blackberry. Keep in mind that today I was at an industrial site with large trucks rumbling about and the typical symphony of mechanical chaos echoing in the background...I may not have been in an ideal environment for making a phone call.

Stay with me, because you have to believe that I'm about to negotiate the purchase of a bottle of GLENORA, Battle of the Glen Canadian Malt Whisky, over the phone and directly from the distillery.

The call goes through and amidst the back-up sirens of a tandem hauler and the hissing of air-brakes a voice at the other end answers ..."Something _ _ _ _ ery", indistinguishable vocals, "Susan speaking."

In my best attempt at a confident tone, I introduce myself and indicate that I'm calling from Northern Ontario (that should get me the hard-luck discount right off the top). I indicate that I'm trying to locate some GLENORA, Battle of the Glen Malt Whisky and could she possibly help me?

"That's right" she says, "_ _ _468-6156". "Oh, thank you, so much" I blurted out - I didn't realize that she was patiently waiting for me to acknowledge that I had a firm grasp on the 10 digit Divinci Code...embarassing!

I dial the number, all 11 digits. The phone rings and on the second ring I hear "Hello, beep, beep, beep, hisssss, puff, screech."...tandem dumping another load.

I presume that I'm talking to someone at Corporate Office GLENORA, Somewhere, Nova Scotia.

I introduce myself and ask "is this GLENORA Distillery?" hissss, hisssss, thud, beep, beep, beep, another truck " I'm looking for Bob Scott."

"oh, no" she replies " we don't have anymore GLENORA, you'll have to speak with someone" ...hiss, beep, beep, beep, beep... "at Estate garble, garble"

BINGO - there's that estate thing again. Picking up on her comment, " we don't have anymore GLENORA" - I ask if they are the distributor for GLENORA Distillery.

She replies "no, we are not."

I ask "where are you located?"

She quickly replies, "Peller Estates, Niagara, AND WE HAVE NO MORE GLENORA"

I'm in a stupor...I'm thinking this chic is effing with me. "May I speak with Bob Scott please?"

She snaps back, "you'll have to speak with someone in the Estate"...beep, beep, beep...

"Thank you, I'll call back later." and I hang up.

WTF

I look at the number - 486-6156....19054686156...what?...905? 905? That's an Ontario number! I CALLED NOVA SCOTIA?!?... 905 IS ONTARIO. WTF? 902 IS NOVA SCOTIA!....OMG!

THE PHONE NUMBER FOR GLENORA CORPORAT OFFICE AND PELLER ESTATES WINERY ARE THE SAME!!! ONLY THE AREA CODES ARE DIFFERENT BY ONE DIGIT. Nova Scotia has an area code of 902 and Peller Estates is in the 905 area.

I did eventually speak with Bob Scott, and he said to call back Tuesday as they don't have any Battle of the Glen ready today. They are putting labels on it and it will be ready next week...there's more, but that is enough for now.

Second try...You Just Can't Make Up Shit Like This!...ignore previous post as it was compromised.

Perhaps not the funniest whisky moment, but very amusing. This happened to me during the summer of 2013.

After reading @talexander's review of the Glenora Battle of the Glen, I had my mind made up to get my hands on a bottle of this stuff. At lunchtime I went outside to enjoy the beautiful day as I was working on surface today ( as opposed to underground).

I plucked the phone number for Glenora Distillery from their website and made a call on my blackberry. Keep in mind that today I was at an industrial site with large trucks rumbling about and the typical symphony of mechanical chaos echoing in the background...I may not have been in an ideal environment for making a phone call.

Stay with me, because you have to believe that I'm about to negotiate the purchase of a bottle of GLENORA, Battle of the Glen Canadian Malt Whisky, over the phone and directly from the distillery.

The call goes through and amidst the back-up sirens of a tandem hauler and the hissing of air-brakes a voice at the other end answers ..."Something _ _ _ _ ery", indistinguishable vocals, "Susan speaking."

In my best attempt at a confident tone, I introduce myself and indicate that I'm calling from Northern Ontario (that should get me the hard-luck discount right off the top). I indicate that I'm trying to locate some GLENORA, Battle of the Glen Malt Whisky and could she possibly help me?

"That's right" she says, "_ _ _468-6156". "Oh, thank you, so much" I blurted out - I didn't realize that she was patiently waiting for me to acknowledge that I had a firm grasp on the 10 digit Divinci Code...embarassing!

I dial the number, all 11 digits. The phone rings and on the second ring I hear "Hello, beep, beep, beep, hisssss, puff, screech."...tandem dumping another load.

I presume that I'm talking to someone at Corporate Office GLENORA, Somewhere, Nova Scotia.

I introduce myself and ask "is this GLENORA Distillery?" hissss, hisssss, thud, beep, beep, beep, another truck " I'm looking for Bob Scott."

"oh, no" she replies " we don't have anymore GLENORA, you'll have to speak with someone" ...hiss, beep, beep, beep, beep... "at Estate garble, garble"

BINGO - there's that estate thing again. Picking up on her comment, " we don't have anymore GLENORA" - I ask if they are the distributor for GLENORA Distillery.

She replies "no, we are not."

I ask "where are you located?"

She quickly replies, "Peller Estates, Niagara, AND WE HAVE NO MORE GLENORA"

I'm in a stupor...I'm thinking this chic is effing with me. "May I speak with Bob Scott please?"

She snaps back, "you'll have to speak with someone in the Estate"...beep, beep, beep...

"Thank you, I'll call back later." and I hang up.

WTF

I look at the number - 486-6156....19054686156...what?...905? 905? That's an Ontario number! I CALLED NOVA SCOTIA?!?... 905 IS ONTARIO. WTF? 902 IS NOVA SCOTIA!....OMG!

THE PHONE NUMBER FOR GLENORA CORPORAT OFFICE AND PELLER ESTATES WINERY ARE THE SAME!!! ONLY THE AREA CODES ARE DIFFERENT BY ONE DIGIT. Nova Scotia has an area code of 902 and Peller Estates is in the 905 area.

I did eventually speak with Bob Scott, and he said to call back Tuesday as they don't have any Battle of the Glen ready today. They are putting labels on it and it will be ready next week...there's more, but that is enough for now.

I have exceeded the allowable capacity, something got bumped ..........if anyone is interested, the following was bumped from the story just above where the phone number appears for the first time ...

---

I indicate that I'm trying to locate some GLENORA, Battle of the Glen Malt Whisky and could she possibly help me?

One more try - You Just Can't Make Up Shit Like This!

Perhaps not the funniest whisky moment, but very amusing. This happened to me during the summer of 2013.

After reading @talexander's review of the Glenora Battle of the Glen, I had my mind made up to get my hands on a bottle of this stuff. At lunchtime I went outside to enjoy the beautiful day as I was working on surface today ( as opposed to underground).

I plucked the phone number for Glenora Distillery from their website and made a call on my blackberry. Keep in mind that today I was at an industrial site with large trucks rumbling about and the typical symphony of mechanical chaos echoing in the background...I may not have been in an ideal environment for making a phone call.

Stay with me, because you have to believe that I'm about to negotiate the purchase of a bottle of GLENORA, Battle of the Glen Canadian Malt Whisky, over the phone and directly from the distillery.

The call goes through and amidst the back-up sirens of a tandem hauler and the hissing of air-brakes a voice at the other end answers ..."Something _ _ _ _ ery", indistinguishable vocals, "Susan speaking."

In my best attempt at a confident tone, I introduce myself and indicate that I'm calling from Northern Ontario (that should get me the hard-luck discount right off the top). I indicate that I'm trying to locate some GLENORA, Battle of the Glen Malt Whisky and could she possibly help me?

With all the havoc, and now a heavy cloud of diesel exhaust and sulfurous dust smothering me, I'm hanging on her every word, or at least the ones that I can hear..."Bob Scott...Nova Scotia ... not here ..Estate Room...phone number...902-468-6156" I repeat the name Bob Scott and the last seven digits of the phone number, like an idiot savant (holy eff, call me Raymond!) in an attempt to keep these digits alive in my mind while I fumble through the breast pocket of my coveralls and clumsily extract a slightly larger than pocket size note pad, that is firmly lodged, and a Sharpie - blue Sharpie - now with no cap and a somewhat dry tip.....bob...scott......468...6156...scott,( imagine that, a fella named scott at a malt distillery, called GLENora).....468..6156.

"That's right" she says, "_ _ _468-6156". "Oh, thank you, so much" I blurted out - I didn't realize that she was patiently waiting for me to acknowledge that I had a firm grasp on the 10 digit Divinci Code...embarassing!

I dial the number, all 11 digits. The phone rings and on the second ring I hear "Hello, beep, beep, beep, hisssss, puff, screech."...tandem dumping another load.

I presume that I'm talking to someone at Corporate Office GLENORA, Somewhere, Nova Scotia.

I introduce myself and ask "is this GLENORA Distillery?" hissss, hisssss, thud, beep, beep, beep, another truck " I'm looking for Bob Scott."

"oh, no" she replies " we don't have anymore GLENORA, you'll have to speak with someone" ...hiss, beep, beep, beep, beep... "at Estate garble, garble"

BINGO - there's that estate thing again. Picking up on her comment, " we don't have anymore GLENORA" - I ask if they are the distributor for GLENORA Distillery.

She replies "no, we are not."

I ask "where are you located?"

She quickly replies, "Peller Estates, Niagara, AND WE HAVE NO MORE GLENORA"

I'm in a stupor...I'm thinking this chic is effing with me. "May I speak with Bob Scott please?"

She snaps back, "you'll have to speak with someone in the Estate"...beep, beep, beep...

"Thank you, I'll call back later." and I hang up.

WTF

I look at the number - 486-6156....19054686156...what?...905? 905? That's an Ontario number! I CALLED NOVA SCOTIA?!?... 905 IS ONTARIO. WTF? 902 IS NOVA SCOTIA!....OMG!

THE PHONE NUMBER FOR GLENORA CORPORAT OFFICE AND PELLER ESTATES WINERY ARE THE SAME!!! ONLY THE AREA CODES ARE DIFFERENT BY ONE DIGIT. Nova Scotia has an area code of 902 and Peller Estates is in the 905 area.

I did eventually speak with Bob Scott, and he said to call back Tuesday as they don't have any Battle of the Glen ready today. They are putting labels on it and it will be ready next week...there's more, but that is enough for now.

I look back at this and have to admit now that it was funny. At the time, not so funny. My son, brought a couple of his 20 something friends over and they all ended up in front of my scotch cabinet. Thinking I was about to educate "we only drink beer" louts, I offered them a dram. "What's your most expensive malt" one said. First mistake. I picked it out. I poured them each a dram in the proper glass and thought now "I'll show them how to savour a fine malt", Second mistake, I turned around to return the bottle to the cabinet. In that nanosecond of time, as I turned back, their glass was empty. All I heard was the word shot. My wife looked at me a said "I could have predicted that and why in hell did you give them the expensive stuff" "You could have given them gasoline for all they cared about single malts" By the way, she wasn't finished she also said "come to think about it, it all tastes like gasoline. Big lesson learned. Now when they come to the house they get coors.

I've mentioned this elsewhere—maybe in a discussion about Longrow Red—but I'll toss it out again. It's just a little quip I heard once that tickled me enough to stick in that area of my head up behind where the whisky goes in.

I had decided that the secret whisky money accumulating in the recesses of my wallet would go toward a bottle of Longrow Red. Entered the store, found the bottle, chatted up the owner, settled the price, got rung up. As I extract the carefully folded twenties from my wallet's innermost slot, the owner looks me up and down, holds me in his steely gaze, and says, "Secret whisky money, eh? I used to do that too"—slight pause—"with my FIRST wife."

There's also every moment I've ever spent on whiskysponge.com. Satire written for such a small group of people who potentially get the jokes has no business being so well done.

Can a site administrator please clean up those multiple posts for paddockjudge?

@OlJas - selective editing

@OlJas - selective editing

@OlJas - is censorship

@paddockjudge, I'm confused by your reply. Would you not like your first two long posts taken down? You called them "compromised" and they appear to duplicate your third long one, except they don't have the "heavy cloud of diesel exhaust" part.

@OlJas It's different if HE asks for it or if YOU ask for it.

@OlJas - Yes, of course...all good and I appreciate your stewardship, thank you...it is a humor flavored thread, just having a bit of fun.

I recently attended a tasting about peated new makes. At one point I mistook my glencairn with water in it for a glencairn with new make Octomore in it. Drowned it in one quick shot. I was... shocked.

@hunggar

I would be shocked too, if I was expecting a shot of Octomore and all I got was water! Don't know where you got the octomore new make but I'd ask for a refund...