O
kay, so I do get invited to bushelfuls ofbook launches. I also get a few invites for art openings and film showings and avery few for theatre and music performances accompanied by ‘refreshments’ or‘cocktails’. And every time I wake up the next morning and see on Page 3that some embassy or wine marketeer had had a ‘gala dinner’ to promote suchand such a firangi liquor or wine, I feel as if I’ve been at the wrong partythe night before. I may not know a lot about wine, I tell myself, but I’veread enough of my Jancis Robinson and that Parker guy to be able to pretend realgood; and as for the harder liquors I have drunk enough to know my Glenmorangiefrom my ganjee or my Starka from my parka. So, why is that not me in thatsnapshot, standing there rubbing shoulders with his excellency the Spanishambassador, discussing fine Riojas and jamon?Scotch Free
Knowing how keenly I feel this lack in my life, a kind friend took me along to a carded launch for a Single Malt whisky. "How come, me?" I asked my pal. "She wasn't free," he said tersely, "she hates whisky."
Knowing how keenly I feel this lack in my life, a kind friend took me along to acarded launch for a Single Malt whisky. "How come, me?" I asked my pal."She wasn’t free," he said tersely, "she hates whisky."
And so I found myself at a usual-suspect 5-star, rubbing shoulders with Englishmarketing geezers trying to speak in a Scots accent, surrounded by brown waiterslooking very unhappy in standard-issue Scotland Tourism Board kilts, with myears assailed by a wandering straggle of BSF bagpipers, queuing while trying tolook like I wasn’t, all to taste the offerings from the distillery at GlenNochtooguid. "Aye, we want you to start with the 12-year old and work your wayup to our 28-year old very rare bottling," said the Marketing Geezer. "Naewukking fay, laddie," muttered my pal and led me and another friend straightover the little moat to the island bar. "Arre bhaiya, jaraa woh 18-year oldNochtooguid dikhana." The barman put the bottle before us without arguing.We peeled off the wax, poured and tasted. "Nochtoo...," said pal,"...guid." We finished.
We decided to give each bottling a two-dram taste test; in a couple of hours, wemade our way to the ‘legendary’ 28-year-old. We had trained the barkeep inthe correct way of constructing a single malt drink: about a finger and a halfof the whisky and a tiny drip of cold water to open up the taste. He was justgetting the hang of it when a bunch of suits crowded around the bar. "Is thatthe 28-year wala?" said one, snatching the bottle from thebartender’s hand. "Yes, sir." The suit poured himself a huge drink,grabbed two fistfuls of ice and dunked it on top of the whisky and then toppedthe whole thing up with a soda. Then he took a swig, before turning to us anddemanding: "Haw’rr yu finding this 28-year’s?"
We looked at each other, took a decent mouthful and replied with the unison ofHighland Flingers. "Too good!"
This article originally appeared in Delhi City Limits, January 15,2006
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