Liquor Lecture

by Lex Marburger
Illustration by Chris Sherman

Rye

“Whiskey, Rye Whiskey, Whiskey I cry/
If I don’t get Rye Whiskey I surely will die.”
– traditional, appropriated by Nick Cave

To sing the praises of this amber torture device takes a strong throat and stomach indeed. Not nearly as sweet as Bourbon, not even close to as smooth as Scotch, Rye Whiskey is a “drinker’s drink.” I’ve never seen anyone who likes both Shirley Temples and Rye. It’s only people who like the burn, the pain of drinking who are attracted to it. There’re nothing nice about this stuff. It doesn’t come with umbrellas, or food coloring. There’s no fancy slogans, no caustic advertising wit, only caustic taste. It just sits there, daring you to drink it. Pick up the glass, bring it to your nose, smell the kerosene odor. Take a sip. Shudder. Now take another. Hear the ice chatter against the side of the glass. Feel the glow in your abdomen. Now lay your head down on the bar.

I learned about Rye from my Grandfather, who was an Old Overholt man. A glass, some ice, and a comfortable chair is all you need for Rye drinking. Oh yeah, a throat made of leather helps too. It’s made for sipping and… well, sipping. I don’t know of any mixed drinks that use Rye (except for those gross-out shots made to get someone sick, like The Three Wise Men, a shot of Johnny Walker, Jack Daniel’s, and Jim Beam). You try to take too much at once and – let’s just say it’s not pretty when you’re trying to choke the stuff back up and it comes out your nose, drastically increasing your sinus capacity.

However, after a proper time frame of assimilation, Rye becomes an “acquired taste.” It’s true, I sometimes get the urge to drink Rye over Captain Morgan (a much more socially accepted taste, but I’m punk rock, fuck ’em). I’ve found that on certain days, like an overcast and drizzly Monday, the only thing that makes me feel comfortable (certainly not happy) is Tom Waits, Nick Cave, and Rye Whiskey.

The big thing to watch out for though is getting drunk on this dirty yellow fluid. It’s easy to do, it doesn’t take that much to put you over the edge. And it’s not really that pretty. Slurred speech, clumsiness, failed memory, loss of intellectual capacity, and an increase in misery potential are all possible (and probable) under the influence of a Rye drunk. It’s most definitely a downer. The people I know who drink this stuff do it in extreme moderation (unless, of course, they’re going for a crash course in Bukowski). A nightcap, a few glasses at Happy Hour (now there’s an example of absence of truth in advertising!), and that’s it. The only Rye drunks I’ve seen are the ones who end up either in the gutter or in rehab. It’s a quick downslide into the sewer. If you’re drinking an excessive amount of Rye Whiskey, it’s a very good indicator that there’s probably something wrong. I mean, if you had your choice between a $12 bottle of Rye and a $10 combo of OJ and Vodka, and you chose the Rye, I’d say you have some issues to work out. Nevertheless, Rye is a very useful drink at times (Breakups, Funerals, Just Feeling Pissed Off) and should be used accordingly. Stay tuned for next month’s Liquor Lecture, when I interview our dear publisher about none other than Jägermeister!

If you want to have your say about what makes you drunk, write or email us and make your stand! Please, I’m getting desperate. I’ll take any germinatory seed and soak it in enough booze to get an idea. C’mon, have fun! If you want, I’ll get you drunk, too…

P.S. Thanks to “Rocky” for identifying Last Month’s “Five Stages of Drinking” as belonging to Larry Miller.