Day 87: Ah, the Single Malt, I Knew it Would Wait for Me

I knew this day would come. I have been dancing around it for years, purposely keeping myself busy with other things so as to delay the inevitable. I don’t know what it is, but I have always known certain things about myself and this truth, this inescapable reality of who I am has been a long time coming. Tonight, I finally stopped running and stood, facing my personal destiny. I am a single malt scotch drinker.

Single malts are complicated. They are like a woman with baggage, but an older, more experienced woman. They exude stories and experiences, giving them layers of flavor and complexity. I am a single malt, but until recently was too young to fully embrace the years and seasoning experience has given me. I’ve danced with Dewars, sashayed with Chivas, I’ve even had a one night threesome with Johnny Walker’s Black and Red. But it has been a long time coming for me and the single malt.

I guess I knew that it I was destined for the expensive, exclusive road of Talisker, Oban, Glenfiddich, and Dalmore, etc., but my bank balance was not ready. I instinctively put it off, turning away from the siren song of the aged single malt in favor of the more economically palatable bourbons. For years, Jack has been my companion. He lifts my spirits for a fun night out and soothes me when I turn to him in the quiet hours of early morning when I cannot sleep or still my emotions. Yes, Jack has been a good friend, but our relationship is rooted in a mutually stagnant companionship. We do not grow, we simply console one another in our time of need.

Single malts, on the other hand, are organic. They live and breathe and change with every day, every wisp of air, every vessel in which it is contained. A single malt expects more of you, or rather, demands more of you as a companion. You do not simply switch from drinking Yuengling specials one day to Dalmore the next. A truly aged and full flavored single malt is patient, waiting on you to reach the level at which you can fully appreciate it’s complexity, but it will not tolerate imposters. You either understand its path to you, reveling in the journey that has bestowed such layers of flavor or you don’t. There is no in between, there is no sometimes.

I still do not posess the financial freedom to enjoy single malts comprehensively, but the day has come that I crave the smooth, smoky, sweet, salty goodness that a well aged single malt can impart. For now, I will indulge in a limited capacity, lingering over one or two lovingly poured glasses of a mid-priced Glenfiddich or Talisker 10 to 15 year. I will not go home drunk like the masses who consume ten or more PBR can specials, but I will go home richer and less alone for the experience of savoring the single malt. For the single malt remains with you, massaging your spirit with its richness and every developing flavor.