Column: A FRIDAY NIGHT

I was in a local pub with friends on a Friday night. I was standing by the bar to order something to drink. An old friend, that I hadn’t seen for several years, came up and started talking. He’d had more than what is usually recommended by the health department to drink, and was talktaive, to say the least.
At that time, I’d been drinking malts for some years and this pal from the past had somehow heard that I knew a thing or two about whisky. He always struck me as the kind of guy who’d go to a wedding in a t-shirt, jeans and sneakers, and who’d take a girl to McDonalds on a first date. He asked me about whiskys, not malts or Scotches in particular, but brands that he’d seen or more or less accidentally tasted. As the bartender served him his usual light lager, he asked me which whisky is the best. “I don’t think it can be determined which is the best”, I answered much to his dismay. “Then why do some people pay 150 000 SEK for one bottle?”
He’d obviously read the articles Glenfiddich 1937 that went on the market a while back, and had understandably concluded that the higher the price-tag, the better the whisky. “It may sound odd but the fact is that that bottle of old malt whisky, may not taste as good to me as that one over there”. I pointed at a Famous Grouse behind the bar man.

    The conversation continued for some half an hour and mostly on the subject of whiskies I thought he’d like. The light lager in his glass, his affection for cheeseburgers and casual taste in clothes, suggested he’d do best with something light, mundane and as challenging as a glass of stale Foster’s and as apetising as a mug of amniotic fluid. I mentioned the Irish Tyrconell. A single malt that sells for the same price as a decent blend. That would suit his wallet as well as palate.
    We raised a few more glasses and chatted about days of yore, all in good spirits. The evening passed and we all went home and, come the morning, presumably faced with the same headaches. Some weeks later I was told by a friend of his that he’d started drinking whisky. Not just the Famous Grouse and Tyrconell, he’d taken a keen interest and had picked up a few things on regional differencies. “Boy, how did he get turned on to whisky when I recommended Tyrconell?” I thought with escalating embarrasment over my recommendation. Perhaps I should not have let my prejudices dictate the sort of whisky he would appreciate?
    The last I heard he’s a big fan of the 12 year old Old Pulteney. Not a mass market whisky but a damn fine malt that usually takes some time for a beginner to seek out unless he’s very lucky. I wonder where he’d be on his whisky journey if I’d suggested my usual beginners tip Highland Park instead. So much for “judge the book by its cover” when it comes to Scotch.
    For all I know, he could be taking a bath in Macallan at this very minute.

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