Mastersons straight rye – 10 year
My wife is my best friend. We are an exclusive team that only allows one or two additions(dog and kid). 3/4 of our team packed up our stuff and we headed to the metropolis of Mississauga to attend a show for my son. At around 11:30 I left my wife to herself and my boy and I walked around the mall looking for some cool shit. After some searching, I returned my boy to continue my venture for discount clothes. I found an attractive 30 something mother type and decided to walk behind her, so I had some decent scenery, other than the morbidly obese human trash with purple lipstick and a giant gap in her front teeth, who has found her way to contently walk beside me. After listening to the lady I was following verbally berate her life partner on her cell phone, I broke away from her to purchase a couple shirts at a marked down price and promptly returned to find my wife huddling my son in a cross leg position on the floor in front of a stage. We’re about to watch a live performance for him. About half an hour left until the show starts and there were already 200 people crowded into a small corner, with another 200 filing in behind them. Tensions are starting to become hostile as the crowd in the back can’t see the stage over the people who decided to show up early. Me, I found myself in the middle of the crowd, standing, so I can keep a close eye on my wife, so my kid can enjoy the show, undisturbed by any parental riff raff. I overhear people behind me demanding the people in front sit down so they too can enjoy the show and are met with hostile refusal. Alas, they end up propping their children on their shoulders.
It’s getting hot in this crowd, I’m sweating and I can feel the restlessness in the bundle of 200 parents trying to get THEIR kid the best seat in house, godammit. There are 4 security guards armed with polyester vests and dim wit. The security guards are forcing the crowd to tighten up and get closer together, which only adds to thetension. If this crowd decides to turn violent, in a fit of anticipation and personal space invasion, security will be overrun and trampled in the ensuing torrential child/parent riot.
The show starts and on the 3 foot high stage a hyperactive lady dressed as a cartoon train engineer is talking on a microphone that cuts out at inappropriate times, making it sound like she’s swearing at the audience. The technical errors and the security forcing everybody to get closer and not block the walkways fuels the anger brewing inside this tense crowd. My eyes do not leave my wife’s back. With the sound of the microphone not reaching the back of the crowd, people are really getting ramped up. I can hear angry shouts from the back ‘speak up!’ they cry, distracting the people already straining to hear the poor audio. Somebody has spilled a bottle of soda and refuses to clean it. Parents are arguing with other parents, while their neglected children cry and scream. This crowd may very quickly turn to a mob. Personally, I’ve sized up my scenario: if one person throws a water bottle in anger, I will plant my right knee in the spine of the Slavic man front of me, grab his jaw and rip his head back, snapping his neck, disabling him. My left elbow will find the ribs of the tall Asian man next to me, while I punch down with the same arm and find his testicles. With a firm grasp and squeeze, I will feel one of his balls turn to mush in the forceful grip of my hand as he falls screaming. After headbutting his wife’s face into a bloody pulp, I plunge my hand into their son’s eye sockets with my middle and index fingers and jab my thumb in his mouth, gripping him like a bowling ball and I will use his skull as a boxing glove, to punch my way through the group of rioting 20 something year old yoga pant wearing moms until I can secure my son and use my body as a human shield to protect my wife as she will place a palm on my back and push me through the crowd, like a battering ram, stampeding toddlers and crushing minuscule skulls under my 250 pound frame. My shoes are size 15 and difficult to find in the brand I like, so if shattered bone fragments puncture my sole, I will become quite furious. The security guards will not have stood a chance as they are pinned under strollers and trampled by the furious attendants. They will be decapitated and have their skulls placed on shopping racks to mark this day of the children’s riot. My mind screams for bloodshed. I too am becoming angry with the tensions around me. I’m about to make a preemptive attack and bite out a chunk of a man’s face and lunge for another man’s throat, when I hear the engineer starting to finish her set, indicating the show is done. My wife turns to lay eyes on me. I splay my palm to her, indicating to ‘stay there’ until the disappointed crowd around her disperses. She’s already indicating with her hands that she will stay and wait. We’re a good team, we understand and anticipate each other’s thoughts without speaking. My boy is the water of our team, the fluid. My wife is the barrel, the protection that smoothes out. And me, I’m the grain, the grit, the edge. Together, all three of us put together are a fantastic team. just like mastersons straight rye whisky, water, grain and barrel join to become a great team.
Tall lamp like bottle. Plastic covered cork. The label is an old prohibition era newspaper with the profile of the late bat masterson.
dry, dusty, musty. very much like a hockey bag closet, old sweater or camping sack. burlap. fresh golden fruits and tell-tale virgin wood hints like red licorice, coconut.
Spicy and sweet start, peppery middle and end. Smooth exit with a long refreshing citrus peel undertones. hard spiral candies, aggressive spice with sweet background of fluffed sweets; marshmallow, nougat, pulled toffee, keeping the spice from going right through your tongue. Pleasant red fruit.
Although it receives very high regards from most writers, I did not see the appeal in this whisky. at the 75$ price point, I was further turned off.
This is a straight rye whisky crafted at the Alberta premium distillery, which is our Canadian rye powerhouse.
The whisky is aged for at least ten years in virgin oak barrels and shipped to California to be blended and bottled and sold by 35 maple street, which owns the mastersons name.