It’s 2am and I need to be asleep, not helplessly giggling at a YouTube video. Too bad, sucka. Paste/Sauce.
My friend just sent me a note saying “This made me think of you” and a link to this video:
I’m not sure what to think. I’m probably pretty flattered. Thanks, Amber.
Macallan Scotch invited me to a tasting last week, and before they’d even finished the question I was like YES YES OK YES PLEASE.
The event was held in a tastefully-lit room filled with an assortment of delectable cheese and my friend Steve.
The above photo depicts Steve, not cheese.
Although I see how that could be confusing.
All varieties of this scotch are aged for years, which is funny when you think of the time in terms of pop culture.
A twelve-year old scotch was first distilled while There’s Something About Mary was out in theatres and Celine Dion’s My Heart Will Go On was causing headaches everywhere.
An eight-year old scotch remembers the first Spider-Man movie.
An eighteen year old scotch was just a wee babby when Kris Kross was makin’ us all Jump-Jump and Whitney Houston promised to Always Love Me (she totally has not followed through on that, though. Just saying).
Some things I learned:
Macallan ages its scotch in casks that originally held Spanish sherry. Using second-hand barrels isn’t a budget-cutting tactic; the sherry residue actually adds complexity to the scotch, and in fact Macallan subsidizes the production of Spanish sherry well beyond its real-world market demand, simply because the byproduct of sherry production is ideal scotch-casks.
The best way to sniff scotch is to inhale through your nose, but with your mouth slightly open. While having a slack jaw might make you look a little simple-minded, it also allows you to taste the aromatics instead of just blowtorching your sinuses with volatile aclohol.
Old scotch tastes reeeallly good with dark chocolate.
I took horrible photos of everything. Exhibit A:
According to my photographic record, the event was held on top of a jackhammer during a laser show and also all the people were melting.
All the good-looking photos used in this post were grabbed from the professional photos on the Macallan Canada Facebook page.
Not really something I learned, but bears mentioning.
After tasting five kinds of scotch, I care waaay less if it’s cold outside.
Finally, I dropped by the Tuesday Night Special comedy show at the Drake after the tasting, where I learned that scotch tastings can make comedy shows extra-hilarious as well.
Thanks to Matchstick and the Macallan Canada for a fun night.
Here’s a 5-click survey which doesn’t ask for any personal info. For each completed survey, $2 will be donated to the Red Cross.
Rachael Ray posted a “recipe” explaining how to make bacon on paper towels in the microwave. (um. bacon. paper towels. microwave.)
The comments are really funny:
Hi Rach, read this and right away I wanted to try it but I didnt have paper towels so I figured Id just hold it while I microwave it, its only a couple minutes and I figured I would be eating it right away any how. My hand kinda hurt and then I didnt feel much like eating after. Im sure its fantastic. Got to go now typing webmd.com with one hand is pretty tricky. I think pictures would have helpful. Bye.
I tried a variation of this recipe, I put the whole pig in a brown paper bag and the results were equally stunning.
I made this in my EZ bake oven. It took nine days. On the fourth day, the bulb burnt out so I replaced it with one from a tanning bed. Five days later, out came Snooki.
How do I get her to leave?
Go here for more.
PS, everyone knows the proper way to make bacon is to cover it in sugar.
So, um, yeah. I don’t really know what to say about this. This is really a thing.
I watched the video and I had to check the link to make sure it wasn’t a SNL fake ad, but, nope.
I mean, I can get really, truly, excessively, excited about people eating vegetables. Some of my best friends eat vegetables. I was even into it back in university. But is this the best way to promote veggies? Shopping-cart-cliff-jumping through machine gun fire? Explosions?
Does this really make you want a carrot?
Oh, sorry, marketing execs and focus groups, you were saying— it does? Okay, carrots, you win. I’m just gonna go over into this corner and shrivel up and rock for awhile. Pay me no mind.
Cognac, you guys. A regionally-named brandy distilled from white wine, traditionally served in bubble glasses. I used to think brandies were basically medicines for dog-loving skiiers, lovingly fetched in tiny neck barrels post-avalanche, but last week after attending a Courvoisier Exclusif tasting event, I learned the error of my ways.
My new take-home: Courvoisier is tasty, and tasting events are super-fun.
A group of Toronto bloggers convened at the Hyatt, arrayed in our finest brandy-tasting outfits. Mine included moderately-sensible shoes and an ankle brace due to a dodgeball injury.
Upon arrival there were tiny lollipop lambchops and a charming bartender making tangy Courvoisier sidecar cocktails. I considered it my journalistic duty to sample both of these offerings. Rating: yes.
As we took our seats, the entertainment began. A dude dressed like Napoleon careened around on stilts with several lovely empire-waisted maidens house-dancing around him.
There was a ceiling bulkhead and a large chandelier, so this was even more exciting with the added element of danger (pronounced donJAY, of course; cognac’s French).
Then time for a nosing. I’d never nosed before. Nosing involves opening little bottles of essential fragrance, dabbing them on perfume strips, guessing their identities by smell, then identifying those same aromatic notes in sips of cognac.
Ginger cookie, dried plums, and coffee were the key notes in one variety; crème brûlée, candied orange peel and iris flower in another.
If you think I concluded this portion of the evening by dabbing crème brûlée essential oil all over my body and demanding that others “SNIFF ME I’M FRENCH!”, then you would be incorrect, and what do you take me for.
If you think I didn’t imagine doing such a thing, though, it’s like you don’t know me at all and why do you even read this site.
Okay. By this point I’d nosed and tasted Courvoisier, both neat and in a sidecar. I was pertty certin I cd make a decilious cognoc dirnk too. Luckily the fine folks at the Park Hyatt had planned for just such an eventuality, and had arrayed the table with a spread of interesting cocktail ingredients.
I muddled apricot preserves, chopped ginger, and lemon, then added Courvoisier Exclusif, vanilla Galiano, and soda, all served in a sugar-rimmed glass. It made for a strong, sweet, tea-coloured cocktail that I thought would taste particularly good with breathing.
Others at my table combined ingredients like fresh blueberries, mint, maple syrup, and even chili flakes.
It sort of felt like a really sophisticated version of the cookie bake-offs on Just Like Mom (I always told my mother that if we ever ended up on that show I was just going to make perfect cookies, so she could expect mine to be the delicious ones, the very valedictorians of biscuitry, and then off we’d go to DisneyLand).
Soon, for some reason, there wasn’t much Courvoisier left in the bottle, and so the evening came to a giddy close.
I was pleased to note that the reputation of my blog has apparently spread far and wide, as I was hailed on my way out by a couple of internet cat ladies who proudly whipped out their smartphones and waved photos of their cat-babies in my face.
I would prefer to be known as a witty and debonaire gad-about-town, a sort of enormously-coiffed and slightly less femme Oscar Wilde, if you will, but frankly I’ll take my notoriety where I can get it, and I suppose being embraced as Queen of the Internerd Cat Ladies by some charming and Courvoisier-filled bloggers will also suffice.
That said, it wouldn’t be my blog if I didn’t conclude by having a cat weigh in on all this. Helder’s cat Faustino was moderately interested in the Courvoisier I’d brought home, and extremely interested in sitting on the tissue paper that came inside my gift bag, so I think that counts as a pretty strong YES all around.
Thanks to Matchstick and Courvoisier for a lovely evening!
NEXT TIME YOU SEE ME, SMELL ME!
IT’S CRÈME BRÛLÉE AND DRIED PLUMMMMMS
Hey, if you fill out this very short survey, the promotions company who created the event will donate $2 to Redwood Women’s Shelter. It only takes 30 seconds, and it helps women! Women, you guys!
Just put the bottle into the heel of your shoe, hold it so the bottom is parallel to the wall, and give it a few firm taps against a hard wall. Here’s a demo video; it’s in French but the visuals makes sense.
Do you know the lengths I’ve gone to to find a corkscrew? Trying to befriend snotty neighbours, wandering into Greek restaurants at 1AM, poking around with knives… and all this time I was standing on the answer. I can’t wait to try this. If I show up with a giant purple splotch on my pants you’ll know it was a fail.