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Before I went back to my parents’ house a few weeks ago to celebrate Christmas, I could count on two fingers the number of times that I’d had scotch. The first time I had scotch was at the ripe old age of 17. It was at this age that I began my illustrious drinking career, and the only reason I was drinking it at that age was that it was all we could find in one of my friends’ parents liquor cabinet.
We stole about half a bottle of Chivas Regal and sat in a basement, taking turns with a bottle of Ice Mountain that we had poured the scotch into. Why we didn’t just pour it into highball glasses is beyond me – in high school and college everyone poured liquor into empty water bottles and that’s just the way it was. I spent the rest of that night, with a belly full of Chivas Regal, throwing up in my friends’ basement and I swore scotch off for the rest of time.
The second time I tried to get into the world of scotch was my sophomore year of college. I was a freshly minted 21-year-old and I was very much into How I Met Your Mother. Barney Stinson and Robin Scherbatsky always ordered scotch and soda at the bar in that show, and so as many 21-year-old males in college will do, I started going into bars and ordering scotch and soda not because I liked the taste, but because I thought that this was what cool adults did.
I was also under the impression that if I ordered scotch and soda in front of attractive women, they would be more likely to fellate me because I was sophisticated or something stupid like that. This scotch and soda phase in my second year of undergrad lasted for something like one weekend.
My tastebuds were simply not ready for scotch yet. I craved cheap domestic beer, rum and coke, and whiskey gingers. I think I probably choked down three or four glasses of scotch and soda before I once again swore the stuff off forever.
But this last Christmas I was once again introduced to scotch, this time during my parents holiday party which was attended by 15 or 20 people. As the night began, I noticed people gravitating towards a half gallon of Dewars that sat innocently at the makeshift bar that was set up. They throw in a few ice cubes, a lemon wedge, two fingers of Dewars and be on their way. I walked up curiously and decided to give it a shot.
The first glass went down smoother than I can ever remember scotch being, and I attribute this to my tastebuds dying. By the middle of my second glass, I was all in on scotch, more specifically Dewars. Since that time, I’ve been drinking the stuff religiously on the weekends. Pregames, evenings out at any bar or party – I’m opting for scotch every time.
The issue is that I know what ordering scotch looks like to a lot of people. I’m fully aware that a twenty-something in a t-shirt, navy blue blazer, and 501 jeans waltzing up to the bar and ordering a Dewars-rocks is incredibly douchey. But this isn’t like college where I’m ordering scotch to try and elicit a response from my peers.
I genuinely enjoy the smokey notes and smooth taste of a scotch on the rocks. I love the fact that I can drink three and then just switch to water or Bud Light for the rest of the evening because I’m three sheets to the wind by the end of my third.
Now I realize that this isn’t going to completely get me off the hook. But I’m all about scotch right now and I’m not going to change just because it makes me look a certain way.
I don’t care who you are, if you’re under the age of 40, ordering a scotch at the bar is going to get you some unsavory looks.
It’s an old man’s drink and I totally understand anyone who thinks I’m some pretentious douchebag for getting into scotch. I am, in a lot of ways, a pretentious douchebag, but the fact that I’m self-aware about it has to get me a couple brownie points, right? .
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Respond
jduda@grandex.co
Johnny boy, trust us, you were an insufferable douchebag before liking scotch
Tough, but fair.
*queue every scotch snob raining hate onto duda for dewars takes*
there’s a time and a place for Dewars. you can’t drink that high dollar stuff all the time.
It’s well deserved. Dewars is well scotch. You might as well order McCormicks Vodka on the rocks.
If you want a blended Scotch on the rocks at least order black label. If you want to get into single malts try a variety of 12 year varieties and see what you prefer before dropping coin on any higher end stuff.
But don’t order Dewars on the rocks and call yourself a “scotch guy”. Respect the brotherhood.
First time long time, big fan of Monkey Shoulder for a good introductory scotch. At around $30 a bottle, it won’t break the bank either.
A little sweet for my taste, but I agree with this. Plus it’s got a dope name.
My first scotch was Lagavulin, neat. I am ruined.
Anyone who judges someone else on what they drink is the real douchebag.
That statement is how they should start all AA meetings
If drinking scotch is wrong, I don’t want to be right.
I’ve moved to bourbon recently
I like scotch but that smoky peat flavor makes me feel like I’m sucking on a log
That’s because scotch is “dirt whiskey”, or at least that’s what the local distillery owner keeps telling me.
Yeah, nobody cares what the local bathtub whiskey distributer says about Scotch.
Also, “dirt whiskey” sounds like something a poor would say.
Perfect Johnny D counter trolling. The O Henry of PGP.
“I’m getting really into scotch” – You brace for 2000 words on malts and peat and lagavulin and macwhatever…
Then, BAM, he hits you with his Dewars on the rocks with lemon.
Dewars is shit. If you’re going to order good scotch, get Balvenie or Macallan or at least Glenfidditch.
Also, pretty sure it’s the socks and sandals, not the scotch, that make you look like an insufferable douchebag.
Agreed, came here to say the same thing
Dewars is the socks n ‘stocks of the scotch world
If drinking the shit out of Scotch whiskey is wrong, I don’t want to be right.
I’m here to be a bit of a devils advocate. I love a good glass of scotch (and dewars barely qualifies here) but it has a time and place. Why? No good night out has ever been had with scotch. It’s a great drink if you’re shooting the shit with a friend. But if you’re planning a night out, aside from possibly looking like you read GQ too literally, you’re not gonna get a happy party buzz going.