The Manhattan

I come from a long line of whiskey drinkers. My dad loves his whiskey, as did my grandfather before him. My grandmother drank whiskey, too, hiding hers in an empty syrup bottle in the kitchen, in her words, to keep my grandfather from drinking too much.

Grandpap favored whiskey and soda, and was known to drink it with his brothers late at night straight from the bottle. Like the rest of my family, he had no preference for brands. Whiskey was whiskey. When times were hard, he drank some pretty rough stuff. One time as a joke my dad replaced some of Grandpap’s nasty whiskey with the brown sulfur water that came from the faucet at their camp. Grandpap didn’t know the difference.

Perhaps our family's tastes have become more discerning with each generation. My mom says that my dad discovered Manhattans when he was in grad school, at a party where he consumed seven Manhattans and a Rob Roy and then “got the flu” the next day. I learned to appreciate Manhattans a little later in life, with a splash of cherry juice to smooth the rough edges. Though I have never met a whiskey that I didn’t like, nowadays I fancy a Manhattan with Knob Creek or Woodford Reserve bourbon. On occasion, though, you still might catch me passing the bottle with friends.

Photo by Leah Houghtaling of Groove Woodworking. Top Ten Ways to Get Your Blog Read: the latest post on Amelia's other blog, Drink My Words.