Jp Wisers last barrels
The 24 hour canadian whisky enthusiast challenge!!
For a few hours every week I get a little over caffeinated and sit down at a pressboard desk in front of an old, obsolete computer. The computer barely functions when I try to run Microsoft word and I type away about some gibberish including whisky and I candidly fantasize morbid mutilation and disembowelment of the innocent and unwilling. It seems that I take on a different personality when I write for the Canadian whisky enthusiast, because there is no way a person like the cwe should be able to hold a job or be in possession of a dependent. Sure, an hour or two later I’m good ol’ gary again, heading off to work, or walking the dog, but for that little space of time, somebody different seems to take over my mind.
After running out of ideas to write about, I figured it was time to create a little challenge for myself to keep things interesting. I decided that I must take on my own adventure and do my own little challenge, so I can document some exciting content. So, I’ve decided to live out the life of the Canadian whisky enthusiast for not one or two hours, but for a continuous 24 hours straight.
In short, I would enter the realm of the cwe for realsies. The cwe stands half an inch taller, he’s an extrovert and a confident charmer. I would eat and drink where the cwe does, I would consume what he does, react to things how I imagine he would, interact with people the way he does and try to cover as much ground in chippawa as the cwe has in past articles. The cwe would run my life for a full rotation of the sun. First, I, gary, had to inform my wife of my plan. I found my wife sipping coffee in the kitchen when I sprung the plan on her. Her eyebrows raised a bit before my wife had pressed the tip of a paring knife across my chest saying that if I did anything stupid or got arrested she would cut my ‘fucking face’, which is odd, because she’s a devout catholic who passes the collection plate at church and has denounced swearing.
I’ve decided that on the weekend that my wife and kid are away at the cottage, I can transform myself into the cwe himself. When they left early in the morning, I ran to the kitchen and started brewing myself up a pot of extra strong coffee, then made my way upstairs to start rummaging around for my daytime cold medication, for the ephedrine of course. I would need massive stimulation to make this challenge possible. Also, staying a bit numb would help too.
I would start to gather things for my trip in another man’s mindset: a portable hash oil vaporizer, loaded with purple kush oil, three joints of jean guy sativa weed, a good chunk of Jamaican sativa hashish and a glass pipe, bic lighter, $200 in 20’s, 6 am cold medicine capsules, a couple handfuls of chocolate covered coffee beans, a bag of dried blueberries, some 70% alcohol in a 50 ml bottle, my phone, keys, asthma inhaler, a pen and pad of paper. I put on my favourite agoraphobic nosebleed t-shirt on, the one that reads ‘anti-christian’ on the back with a picture of a demonic 5-eyed goat, a pair of khakis and I put on one of my many Hartford whalers hats. After drinking one cup of thick, sludgy coffee, I’m already starting to sweat and tremor.
As I chomp away on handfuls of coffee beans and flush them down with gulps of coffee, I pack all my things into separate pockets, put on my shoes and hit the town, starting out by walking to dinner at the savory and sweet. After sitting alone in a small taupe coloured dining room, I suddenly smell old fabric and cigarettes. before I even look up I already know my server has arrived. After a short domestic disturbance in the kitchen I receive a healthy meal of beef goulash with braised potatoes, cucumber salad, chicken livers on rye toast and a warm coca cola with one ice cube. I slam back a shot of Hungarian mead and I’m on my way to the patio of the riverside.
After a dram of glenfiddich 18 and 20-something bucks later I start knocking back some rickards red and I really start hitting this Jamaican hash. wow! does it ever taste like earth and perfume, with some lemon peel, the high sends my mind soaring. coupled with caffeine and ephedrine, I start feeling a bit goofy. About now, I’m getting some odd looks from passerby’s who notice the demonic goat devil on my shirt with a proudly atheist statement cresting it, which reminds me of how inappropriately dressed I am for being in an upscale establishment, or maybe because I’m billowing hash fumes like a train’s smokestack, without leaving the establishments patio. I should probably leave; the cops are more than likely being called. I’ll head over the bridge to the unwiped asshole of chippawa, called the village restaurant.
Hopping up the stairs that barely support my weight, I make it inside the bar. God, it reeks of piss and bleach and the first person I make eye contact with is quite elderly and looks like he’s ready to die from alcohol poisoning. Naturally, I pull up a seat next to THAT guy at the bar. First things first, order two exports and chug one, while fishing around in my pockets for some grass. I step outside and light up two joints, one after another while slamming down the other beer. Right about now, the five people in the bar are staring through the window at me, wondering just what the fuck is happening. It doesn’t help that the doors are wide open and the jean guy smoke is wafting straight into the bar, effectively hotboxing the occupants. I hear a barfly cough.
I stroll back inside and order another two beers. While the bartender(who absolutely in no way should be serving me) is pulling my beers out of the fridge, I reach around for a steak knife and start stabbing away at these orange cold medicine capsules and start snorting the liquid into my nose for immediate absorption and rub the remnants on my gums. The drunkard next to me is staring at me with his jaw dropped.
‘jessusss chrissst.’ The drunkard slurs. ‘tthhatsss the most fucked upp thing ibe ever ssseen.’
‘ha! That’s nothing.’ I retort. ‘I watched a woman walk in here, ask to use the phone, and then strip herself naked and ask to have cocaine delivered. Right here.’ I point to my seat.
I make sure to order a couple shots of jack daniels for my friend and I, which are boiling hot because the condenser fan is blowing directly on to the bottles of liquor.
The bartender looks at me and decides to make conversation. She asks, ‘so, what do you do?’
‘huh, me? Im a writer for Canadian whisky enthusiast, we’re kind of a big deal around here.’
‘the Canadian whisky enthusiast?!’ a large tattooed man yells out across the dining room. ‘the same guy who wrote that article about here?!’ I nod in response. ‘the same guy who said everybody in here is a pile of shit?!’
‘I said the regulars are just piles of shit manifested into a human form…’
The large man has an angry red face and his tattooed biceps are bulging out of his dirty t-shirt. He starts heading right at me with an aggressive look in his eyes and a pool cue in his hands. Without second thought, I grab my beer bottle by the neck and smash it on the bar and hold the broken bottle neck straight out in front of me, pointing at my potential attacker. I reach inside my front pocket and pull out that high proof moonshine and take a big mouthful. While still pointing the broken beer bottle out I spit the alcohol in the air and flick my handy bic lighter. The lighter is instantly extinguished as the liquid simply splashes on my hand. The large aggressive man has dove to the ground in anticipation of a fire tempest and is covering his head, while the bartender is hammering numbers on the telephone; I should leave.
Running down the stairs, I make my way on to the chippawa bridge. Oh god, I think I swallowed some of that booze. My stomach is churning. Without missing my stride, I turn my head to the right and vomit out a perfect rainbow stream of multicoloured chicken liver and cucumber puke into the chippawa crick as I keep moving. Two cop cars fly past me at phenomenal speed as I reach the other side of the bridge. I was going to fish around in the crick for crawfish and make them fight to the death on dry land before they suffocate, but I should probably avoid being arrested, the cwe would. I keep walking.
I’m about a five minute stroll from my home, which means sanctuary. This is when the pain in my stomach starts. Oh dear, I think to myself. Does the cwe suffer from irritable bowel syndrome too, or does my gut not know that I’m role playing right now? Aah, geez, it must have been all that coffee, chicken liver, hard alcohol, 9 beers, black hash and cold medicine I’ve ingested. Oh dear, I’m in trouble. My mind races as I stare helplessly down the street. I can see my house as I clasp my buttcheeks together like a steel trap. It’s not helping. I can’t move because I’ll lose my grip on my sphincter, which is housing a potential toilet bowl full of half digested drugs and chicken offal and I can’t stand here because there’s 40 pounds of intestinal pressure trying to force it out of my body. I search frantically; I look to my right; oh god! There’s my favourite bar; the y’not. Fuck! It’s closed! Why the fuck does this fucking place always close at 11pm? But, wait! While I’m here, ill just nip this one in the bud…
Where to drink and dine in chippawa
Y’not again pub and eatery
May or may not again
In the article deen the deer, I wrote about the deer having a nice little outdoor pad behind a strip mall where he decided to run after he had to dump a dead human body. The little field next to the strip mall that y’nots is situated in is what I was picturing when I wrote that part of the article. And what else about this place….
JESUS CHRIST!!! NO!! There’s no time! I can’t tinker around with a restaurant review! Where do these insane tangents come from? Does this cwe guy have the attention span of a goddamn goldfish?! I’m 8 seconds away from public humiliation. I have to empty my ass. Now.
Jesus! Ok, there’s the field right next to the bar with some trees, so that should provide some cover. I shimmy myself out into the middle of the dark field and drop my drawers. Spicy diarrhea is projecting like a beam out of my butt as I squat down and the hot liquid excrement is splashing like piss hitting a flat rock. What a fucking mess. I watch from afar as a cop car cruises down the road, flashing a light on some houses; no doubt they’re looking for some shiv wielding maniac who’s unwittingly shitting in a field. Kudos, ibs, you saved me. I take off my anti religious shirt and start wiping my burning rectum with a clean white undershirt I always wear. Geez, didn’t see the need for that.
After I dress one of the trees with my poo and blood smeared undershirt, I safely waddle home and lock the door. Being a Canadian whisky enthusiast is hard work. I kick off my shoes and slouch my posture as I break character. I take off my clothes and head into the shower, where I pick two ticks off my legs. After showering I head to bed and recall the night in my thoughts as I recoil in the realization that I taste regurgitated chicken livers.
In short, I failed my own challenge. I can’t keep doing this, and, furthermore, did I even do what I was supposed to? I really tried my best to imitate this freak. The cwe knows 47 testicular attacks and gary schroeder struggles to remember the 2 he does know. all in all, I failed at being a Canadian whisky enthusiast for even a few hours, let alone 24. I’m kinda like jp wisers last barrels; they too fail at being a bourbon, but they do a pretty good job at imitating one.
p.s. if you’re reading this, be careful, there’s a lot of weirdos out there.
This is a heavy, square decanter that sports wisers 18 and legacy. There is an unassuming white and grey boxy label with red ink scribbling.
Bourbon impressions immediately. corn oil, laquer, foamy bananas and cherries, just a little bit lighter on the nose than bourbon. Beneath the typical bourbon features are scents of wheat cereal, white chocolate, decaying flowers, fresh overturned clay and boiled candies. This smells just like a bourbon, but is not as bold on the nose. Green herbs.
Corn, sweet vanilla, werthers originals and butter rum lifesavers turn into hot pepper, char, nutmeg and cinnamon with fresh garden mint. Some sourness in the end. A very good oily texture with a very nutty finish.
Very good. As of 2016, wisers is undoubtedly canadas best house.
This bottle is a limited release exclusive to the lcbo in Ontario Canada, only. The 2,000 cases that were released were pounced on, with many customers scrambling to attempt pre-orders. There are still bottles available in the lcbo.
This bottle in particular is almost completely bourbon; 80% corn, 11% rye and 9% barley distilled together in a mash bill and started fermentation with a sour mash technique, just like a Kentucky bourbon. The key difference is that this whisky in particular was aged in first fill ex bourbon barrels, as opposed to virgin barrels, which bourbon is aged in, by law. Bourbon is also protected as an American only product under a strict protection of territory.