A potent cruise...

​Let’s jump right in… to alcohol! May its liquid flow fill the thirsty void since my last post. [Epic splash.]
 
Fully plunged and bobbing in the boozy waves, let’s teeter (no, not from tipsiness) into a sidestroke for a few refreshing rounds:
 
Tasting different styles of wine and beer, homebrews and craft beers in particular, has been an interest of mine for many years. Other than exploring homemade concoctions, I have purchased my share of wine and beer for dinner parties and other festive occasions, or purely to sample some new varieties; thus, I am very familiar with the finely polished tasting descriptions written on the labeling for a multitude of selections. A lover of language, how could I possibly pass on reading all those tasty selling points prior to making my purchase!
 
Every so often while trolling about a beer distributor or liquor store, I stumble across wine and beer labels with notably cheesy descriptions, or ones with amusing anecdotes that creatively capture the oh-so-magical qualities of a certain beverage. Other times, the labeling does not tell me squat about the product aside from the basic variety. And every once in while, the whole selection process becomes adventuresome (in my mind at least) when there is really no information offered whatsoever, and I end up purchasing an unspecified substance out of sheer curiosity… So what if I might linger too long in liquor store aisles.
 
Drifting along on this intoxicating dip, let’s float to the first wine I ever sampled and enjoyed as a legal-aged (ahem) drinker: Lambrusco. For those who have never tried Lambrusco before, it is a sweet red wine with the tiniest touch of fizz to it. I found it to be quite refreshing at the time, not to mention inexpensive and sold by the gallon.
 
During those fine Lambrusco days of yore, I worked with a wonderfully feisty woman in her early seventies who overheard when I ordered a glass of it at the end of a shift one evening. She said to me, “Oh Karen, you just wait until you develop your palate. You won’t be able to stand that stuff anymore; you just wait. My goodness – It’ll be too darn sweet!”
 
In response to her claim, my first thought was, “Um…okay, cool.” My second thought consisted of peaked interest because I did not know much about the palate of a wine-drinker; hence the entire idea of “developing your palate” by drinking different wines, highly intrigued me. My third thought, which only surfaced after I had begun my own research and exploration of the topic, was basically: “Palate… Palette… Pallid… I mean, what the frick English language! Really?”
 
Back to the wine though, I suppose years of sipping an array of reds has jazzed up my palate to some extent, as I am unable to stand the abundant sweetness of Lambrusco any longer. The simple thought of drinking an entire glass is closely tantamount to the splatted waves of a terrifically awful belly-flop. I now contemplate whether Lambrusco could plausibly be classified in a category other than wine – maybe one like “nigh wine" … kind of like “near beer”... if you get my drift. An ideal beverage to mix in a summer spritzer or sangria of some sort.
 
In more recent years, my “spirited” sampling pursuits expanded to other types of liquor on the market: gin, tequila, occasionally bourbon or scotch, and whiskey in particular. A few months ago, I happened upon a bottle of Bastille 1789, a French whisky (spelled like so on the label) that earned the gold medal for the International Review of Spirits Award in 2013. The characteristics of this winning whisky are deftly depicted in its overall assessment: 

​I distinguished two particular elements from this finely-crafted piece of writing:
 
1.     I don’t know jack about the palate of a whiskey connoisseur.
2.     I apparently ought to lick some suede and limestone.
 
Regarding the second point, I guess anyone could speculate how suede or limestone might taste based on the distinctive smell of each one. Even though comprised in an intriguing repertoire, I know that I personally will not be licking, chewing, or consuming any types of leather or sedimentary rock any time soon. Nor will I be attempting to delve into the science involved in breaking down either element in order to analyze the diets of the world – I would end up dissecting that crap for weeks! And likely not remember any of it.
 
When I read the Bastille 1789 description, it was the first time I palpably took notice of a drink review that specified materials unfit for human consumption; not a part of any cultural fare I am yet privy to, at least. The interesting aspect after tasting this whisky, is that the notes of suede and limestone completely made sense – and at that moment is when I realized, I do not know jack about a whiskey drinker’s palate. My taste buds are enlightened.
 
Now for the last lap of this liquid trip, let’s dock at Hidden River Brewing Company for a few pints of frothy ingenuity (which you can literally do, by the way). I thought I knew a fair amount about beer… I thought I knew a fair amount beer until I started tasting a gamut of ever-changing small-batch selections at Hidden River: an exceptional weekly perk among pub crew duties. Without a doubt, I am soused with an enhanced appreciation for the vast reasons why brewing craft beer is considered an art form. The whole perpetual process entails quite an intensive network of hops and yeasts and flavorful ingredient options, and the constant commingling of brewing styles and fermentation methods. I could swim in an Olympic-sized beer vat of brewing knowledge for months and months, and still not absorb the barrels of information floating around.
 
So while docked at Hidden River, it is quite feasible that you will become familiar and fond of a certain beer or two on tap (okay fine, sometimes all twelve). Then one day, ‘tis no more! Or as I like to say, “So good, so gone.”
 
But no worries! The river journey recommences with the next colorful chalk revelations of whichever fresh, refreshing beers are newly tapped. A myriad of creativity. Local flavors. Good people. Chill pace. Historic atmosphere. Many smiles. Adaptation. Anticipation. Fantastic beer. Inviting characteristics infused in the “House Culture” at Hidden River Brewing Company. Or as the beautiful Jillian likes to say, perhaps with an appealing hint of silky moxie in her tone: “A hidden gem.”
 
So now that we are docked, let’s wrap up this effervescent trip with an instantaneous cascade to one of my initial stops on this boozy float: The various types of labeling tactics used by beverage companies for promotional advertising. During my fleeting dip into this topic, some questions buoyed to the smooth surface of my choppy mind. Do writers come up with tasting descriptions based on their own product expertise? Or do writers transform an accredited taster’s notes into the skillfully written snapshots we often see on our market shelves? Or, do companies only hire accredited field experts who also happen to be great writers? Maybe all of the above apply, who knows. Food for research… Liquid for research, in this case. 
 
Whatever way it works, this is a facet of writing I most certainly enjoy. Sifting ideas and details, forming a translation that keenly captures the essence of a given product. It is a process that involves the exploration of chaos, and mulling around in that chaos until arriving at a sound analysis. It is the creative challenge of taking hold of jumbled clutter and carefully choosing and arranging words and filtering relevant elements into a seamless sketch of core substance and distinct purpose. The pure nature of any item in the spotlight, nailed precisely.
 
As for palate, palette, and pallid – it is no wonder why English is considered one of the hardest languages to learn! The lexicon includes three words all pronounced the same way but spelled differently and defined separately. Brilliant. A language brimming with a baffling quantity of conundrums and rule exceptions. No wonder I like it so much.

My writing continues in fluid streams of hydration. My writing continues in trickles. My writing continues as the very last drops squeezed from a lemon. Even through the obscurity of the thirsty void, I remain sincere in my writing endeavor. Livingood Lately will probably always run like a river zigzags, maneuvering in sporadic directions, far from the exacting shorelines of any set course. In channels with forward movement, I will still try to siphon a pattern of steady flow from the ever-shifting undercurrent. 
 
Cheers!