sunnudagur, desember 18, 2011


That's some fire-some wine. The bartender had never poured a flight of whiskey before (whiskey and fine tequila, actually) and mistook it for a wine flight. (Good God, man!) That is my only explanation for this array of riches. Sombra - Macsomething rye - Lagavulin. I explain to curious tablemates that Lagavulin is Laphroaig once it has grown up and stopped being such an asshole. I tell people to whom I would never normally utter a sentence containing the word asshole.

This photograph is unremarkable (ómerkileg) -- of no particular quality -- but the multiple fingers of Lagavulin were excellent, excellent.

Oh, give thanks for óreyndir bartenders. I feel most tenderly tended to.

1 ummæli:

tristan sagði...

so that's why i could never find any really old laphroaig ... because you had gone and drunk it up

merry christmas and an excess of concurrent platitudes

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