Go on, admit it, you never thought you’d see me review a drink that wasn’t scottish. Or that spelled ‘Whisky’ with an ‘E’.
Yes, this is Jack Daniel’s Old No7 Tennessee Whiskey. A drink beloved of those who want to pollute it with coke.
Why am I reviewing it? Surely I didn’t willingly sully the Monk’s Bench with an american brand? No, of course not, but I got some for Christmas. Clearly my sister hates me. What a truly passive aggressive way to show it. Buy me a bottle of whisky – Hurrah, spell it with an ‘e’ and make it American, not even Irish – Boo, hiss.
But it’d be rude not to try it. So I did. For the first time in 25 years since a long forgotten girlfriend insisted. Two things strike me. First, that there’s a reason people do their best to disguise it with coke. Second, there’s a reason I’ve not drunk any in 25 years (or thought about the girlfriend).
It has an oily smell, tempered with a very sweet, pine edge. Not unlike all purpose kitchen cleaner. The flavour has no subtlety. It is exactly what it is, assaulting your mouth, unchanging, un-nuanced.
There’s obviously a place for Jack Daniel’s. It sells in enviously high volumes. And it certainly isn’t the worst american whiskey. But nor is it the best, just one of the most prominent and consistent.
I’ve been trying to find a way of shoehorning in the obvious pun about something not meaning Jack. But my creativity escapes me. Hey ho.