A Perfect Sendoff

Tomorrow morning, I’m flying to Newark, and from there to Eretz Yisrael, the Holy Land. Tonight, Danny stopped by with cigars, not just any cigars though. He had a Coheba for me. In return I poured him a Bunnahabhain 18. I’ve been posting about the unusual flavor of Bunnahabhain, but Danny noticed the texture more than the flavor. In his opinion, it’s the butteriest whisky, the only malt comparable to Johnny Blue. And like Blue, it has an indescribable spicy character to it, a mysterious flavor deep inside the whisky, impossible to identify with any specificity, yet unmistakable at the same time.

We sat outside, on a hot summer night, enjoying our cigars, drinking malt whisky, talking baseball, trading stories about our kids, and our dads. And Danny envious of my trip to Israel. Not everyone gets the magic of traveling to that land; many people are openly worried about whether it will be safe. I always ask them if they’ll be safe when they go to New York, or DC. Of course, who knows if trouble will breakout. But I just met this lawyer who was in the north of Israel last summer, when Hezbollah began raining missiles down on the Israelis. Would he have any reluctance about returning? I don’t think so.

The last drink I poured tonight was a Rosebank. I asked myself, what’s the one malt I should drink before setting off on a momentous voyage, and there was no other choice. And as the Rosebank sat, waiting for me to enjoy it, the Sox stormed back in the bottom of the seventh inning. Four runs; Papi keying the rally with a double. And even though Okajima gave up a run, a rarity, Papelbon shut down the birds in the ninth, two strikeouts, only 12 pitches. A good omen for my voyage.

Coheba, Bunnahabhain, Rosebank, Danny, Papi, Papelbon, and a one-run victory. What a send-off.