Americans of a certain age first learned of Prohibition by watching the TV show, "The Untouchables", back in the late 1950's, if I recall correctly.
My most vivid memories of that show are those in which a grimly smug Robert Stack (a former world champion trap and skeet shooter, BTW), as Elliot Ness, led his men on an ax-swinging assault on rows of innocent barrels of whiskey in some mobster's warehouse. The axes swung, barrels were rent, and whiskey burst forth in a veritable river. It flowed out the door, into the steet, and down the gutter. (At least one might take consolation today in the fact that much of it was Canadian or scotch.)
Although I had yet to take my first sip of alcohol at that time, it still struck me as a terrible waste. After all, someone had (I assumed) put a lot of effort into making that whiskey, and it would bring enjoyment to someone, somewhere, if given a chance. It wasn't the whiskey's fault that it ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Well, I feel somewhat the same way about my bottle of present-day Old Fitzgerald BIB, whose objectionable qualities I have detailed in an earlier post. The difference is that this bourbon is not going to bring me enjoyment; maybe it deserves to flow into the gutter.
I gave it a second chance today. The nose is intriquing in its caramel oiliness. The taste carries on and is not altogether unpleasant. The finish explodes into a flaming horror that becomes a lingering bitterness, makes the roof of my mouth instantly dry and parched, and screams for a chaser of just about anything to relieve the displeasure. In contrast, a bottle of Old Forrester 86 that I opened today for comparison purposes is a decent drink, even if it did cost a mere $12.99. It's nose is not as appealing as the Old Fitz, but it has a unique character on the tongue, it goes down smoothly, and it has a pleasant finish.
Not only will I not drink any more of my particular bottle of Old Fitz, I've decided that I wouldn't even risk using it in bourbon balls. Neveretheless, I can't quite bring myself to dump it. Maybe its my basically thrifty nature (this from someone who has bought Blanton's, Kentucky Spirit, and Rock Hill Farms in the last few months). Maybe it's my memory of Dad's many cautionary tales that began, "Back during The Great Depression, we used to..." ("Eat bread fried in yesterday's bacon drippings" was one of his favorites.) Maybe it's my memory of 'ol Elliot, having just a bit too much fun himself as he spoiled the fun for other people.
When was the last time you dumped a bottle of bourbon? Did you agonize over the decision? And while we're at it, what brand and bottling was it?