grand grizzly (mexican export)

Grand grizzly (Mexican export)

 

A Canadian werewolf in mexico

 

I’m lying in a hammock under some palm trees, eyes closed as I listen to waves lap up on the shore right next to me. I can hear a bird chirp in the distance and the cool breeze shakes some leaves and drops a coconut onto the white sand.  I’ve been snacking on some fresh corn tortillas with guacamole, made from ingredients grown and harvested by hand, locally. I listen to my son playing on the beach, kicking up soft sand and discovering discarded shells, which he collects in a bucket, in between sipping the milk straight from a freshly fallen coconut.

I lift my head on occasion to see an iguana perched on a collection of rocks, he tears at some leaves and chomps, keeping an eye on me. I won’t bother him; I’m far too relaxed to be worried about bothering anybody. Every so often, I look down and take a sip of this grand grizzly exported Canadian whisky that I’ve discovered in our private hacienda. The searing heat of habanero in my mouth is cooled by avocado and the sweet toffee from this whisky.

Man, things are pretty good in the cwe office since our ceo; gary schroeder did that job for his new friends that own a few hotels in the falls. From what I’ve heard, gary had to take out a mr. campanello; I guess he had to blow twice behind his ear, or something along those lines, and he got paid really well for doing so. Funny, I didn’t think he doubled as an escort… Anyway, gary came in one day and said that anybody in the office named gary schroeder ‘should pack up their shit and get the fuck out of the country for a few months’. I mean, there’s at least a dozen of us in the office named gary schroeder so we all took off, expenses paid. These expense cards we all received after gary took care of mr. campanello really come in handy. I didn’t make much money before, considering our team of writers work for free since our material isn’t saleable. matter of fact, I’m not sure how this place isn’t completely bankrupt and plowed to the ground. We don’t sell anything, we have absolutely no income. We eat stray cats for fucks sake. But, thank god that we have these expense cards now, we’re all rich! These cards help feed me, help with our research, like buying hookers so our neighbor can play basketball with them, and I don’t have to steal to support my life crippling gambling habit. I’m so glad I work here, my name is gary schroeder, just like any other cwe employee, but I don’t even know what my job really is; gary just tells me to break sticks on a tree in front of the office and I throw ice cubes at squirrels trying to dig holes in the yard. This wasn’t what I planned to do after college, but the perks are pretty good…

So, here I am, on a private beach in cozumel with my family and my buddy from the new york dolls, dave johansen. Yeah, dave and I are just shooting the shit, trying to avoid doing any sort of food writing, but I guess with these surroundings, I can at least describe what I’m doing, right? I mean, food writing is pretty low on the chain of command for writers, if you consider it, it’s kind of an embarrassing job. let’s take a look at this list of the writers food chain from least talented pool of writers to an ascending standard.

Lowest to ascending:

Obituary writers in the local paper

Whiskysponge

Beer writers

Food writers and bloggers

Liscence plate printers

Sports writers

Well, the list just gets better from there, until you reach deity status of Thompson or ginsberg, but as you can see, food writers are bums. Speaking of which, is that…? Aaah, fuck. Hey dave, keep your head down, its…. Fuck, I think he’s seen us.

‘oh, hey guys! Hey! Gary! Dave! It’s me!’ a grey haired man yells over.

‘hey Anthony bourdain. (sighs) how are you? Got your camera crew with you again, eh?’ I force out some sort of friendly greeting. I hate this guy.

‘yeah, you know I work for cnn now right?’

‘yes, tony. We know you work for cnn now.’

‘after I got fired from the food network and people stopped buying my books, my producers sent me here to write about Mexican food. You know that’s where most of my cooks come from?’

‘ugh, we know a lot of your cooks are immigrants, you mention it in all your books. You write about yourself as an elite humanitarian or something.’

‘yeah, so I’m here with you guys it looks like. my producer said that if I don’t do some upbeat food writing, its back to writing obituaries in the local paper. hey, you guys hear anything from the ramones anymore? They stopped returning my calls.’ Anthony says, kicking up sand.

‘uhhh, listen, tony,’ dave starts. ‘I think your camera crew is done hooking that fish and putting it back in the water, so it looks like you caught it, and you can look good for the people watching cnn. Again.’

As Anthony bourdain chases after his crew(who seem to be running away from him ever since Anthony turned his back to talk to us) dave hurls a fallen coconut and hits Anthony in the head. Oh my! What a shot. Oh geez, what’s this? It seems Anthony got knocked out from the coconut and he’s just lying unconscious on the beach. Ha! What a fool. Oh shit! The tide is picking him up and… haha! It’s taking his motionless body into the ocean, ha!

Dave johansen slaps me on the shoulder; he’s motioning that he’s going to grab us another round of grand grizzly imported whisky from the hacienda. Me, though, I’m considering taking a spot writing just one obituary in the NY paper. R.i.p. Anthony bourdain.

 

Alc .40%

Nose:

Soft toffee and light vanilla pods over some very juicy fruity impressions. Light-medium bodied. Some sweet-sour, corn distillate and sawdust.

Palate:

Big fruit, cotton candy, tropical fruit. Some surprising bourbon impressions, soft banana candies, heavily charred oak, cinnamon hearts and the ever present soft toffee. Leaves with citrus pith. Quite smooth. Very sweet. Herbaceous.

Overall:

Essentially, your everyday, young Canadian export that has warranted our poor stereotype.

Please note:

this is a whisky meant to compete for the inexpensive tequila category. This is an economy brand crafted in Canada, and exported to mexico from an unknown(undisclosed) producer. The reason for ambiguity is not known.

However, the secrecy behind this bottle does not leave much room to dig up information on the grain make-up, age statement, or techniques used, unfortunately.

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