November was a long month. I took a break from meeting any new Scotches for a little while. Now, with the holiday season beginning it seems that my return home has partnered with the winds of change in the air to bring a refreshing gust of the familiar comforts back into my life. Thankfully, I return to my single malt muse.
I revisited Deks in Rocky Point the other night. None of my friends in the area were able to join me, but I heard there would be good music, and I knew they'd have a Scotch I hadn't met. When I arrived, I saw that Rory was bartending again, and I met a man at the bar named Will. He had been there for a while that evening, and wasn't sure what to make of me and my mission. The band had yet to start, but the radio played a powerful version of The Sound of Silence by Disturbed. As I waited to order, I listened to the music as Will sang along to the well-known lyrics: "...and no one dared... disturb the sound of silence..."
As I ordered, Will offered to buy the Scotch for me. I thanked him and decided randomly on a fairly nice looking bottle in the middle of the selection - Glendronach 12 Year.
The cork was dry and fought with Rory as she tried to pour my dram. I guessed the bottle had probably been there for a while. Perhaps this Scotch had gone unnoticed for a while. His nose was a little sharp, and the first taste reflected the same - a bit astringent. There was a strong reserved quality to this Glen, and there wasn't much change after adding a bit of water. A few more sips and I was noticing more spice, and a slight scent of banana. This fellow was from the Highlands. All in all, he was fine, but mostly unremarkable. I finished with him fairly quickly with nothing else standing out about him, and turned my attention to the band who had begun to play.
The band was named Deal - A Jerry Garcia tribute band with Matt Levine and Lou Guisto. They kept the vibe of the evening alive and inspired with all sorts of songs ranging from "How Sweet It Is" to "Fire On The Mountain" to "Teenage Wasteland." I couldn't find recordings of themselves playing any of the songs they performed that evening, but here is a recording of an older show of theirs with some extra folks.
Will was watching me as I took notes and tasted the Glendronach. He kept shaking his head, and asked me what I was doing. When I told him, he just shook his head more, perplexed. Finally, he asked very directly, "why would anyone want to see those pictures, or be interested in what you have to say about Scotch?" I laughed in response. It was a fair question to be sure, and I'm fairly certain I couldn't have given him an answer that would satisfy. So I simply replied, "Why not?"
Despite his disbelief-bordering-on-dismay at my process, he offered to buy me another Scotch and join me in the tasting. This time he chose, and we ended up with Wasmund's single malt. I had never heard of it, and neither had he. We both drank and noticed the strength of the whisky immediately. It had a very different flavor, and I wasn't exactly sure what to make of it. I kept looking at the bottle, and recognized the distillery name of Copper Fox, but didn't figure out until later that this was not a Scotch at all. A single malt whisky, but actually distilled in the very state I live in - Virginia.
The flavor was very floral, or perfumey. The only word I kept returning to that would identify what I was experiencing was - weird. It made me think of paint, or gin - something semi-familiar, but not usual in the flavor of Scotch. As I sipped and listened to the music, I realized if nothing else, Wasmund had a solid personality going for him.
He's the type of fellow that I may not necessarily seek out, but I wouldn't forget. In some ways it felt as if he was trying too hard - like he wanted me to like him. He came on strong and distinctive - as if knowing he wouldn't leave the most favorable impression, he at least would contend for most memorable. He reminded me of someone who might keep showing up in a circle of friends, with a slightly abrasive demeanor and full off-color jokes, but who would become such an expected presence, that one would miss him when he wasn't there.
It was a fairly busy night, being the Friday after Thanksgiving. I watched as Rory interacted with the other patrons, remembering my days as a bartender. There are three topics you're never supposed to bring up at a bar: family, religion, and politics - the three topics that for sure were blended for many in a challenging mix at Thanksgiving dinners the night before. But bars exist outside of these topics. They are the havens of music, emotions, good friends, good stories, and good spirits. November culminates in reconnections with family, and in this month there was an added element of a religious and political tension that has become quite palpable in our country. As I sipped my Scotch next to a stranger, watching folks of various places in life dance and move to the music, I was humbled to be reminded of the humanity that underlies it all - and which may well be the only thing that will help us rise above it.
At the end of any day, at the end of any month, and especially at the end of a November in an emotionally charged election year - at the end of it all, we are all just products of our upbringing, our lives, and our experiences. Perhaps a bit of our own true selves gets into the mix as well, if we're lucky. We make do with what we've got. I truly believe that if each person was able to live safely and securely, with a loving community, and a chance to explore their dreams and creativity, there would be no place for hate to take root. Although this belief may be naive, my innocence only goes so far - I know this type of world is the furthest-thing-from-easy to achieve.
There are battles that must be fought, but it is important to remember that our humanity is a mottled mix of things, and these thoughts and shades of passion run through our days alongside the struggles of survival. I still see, in so much of what I witness - an ever present, pervasive and powerful - desire of people to connect with others. I wonder if there's any way to foster strong connections and feelings of belonging without inherently creating disconnect and exclusion in their shadow? They may be two sides of the same coin. Maybe the best thing to do would be to just keep flipping the coin, and learn to celebrate the joy in anticipation, instead of basing our decisions and our fate on how it lands...and which side is facing up when the spinning finally stops.
