Pictured: A bottle of Willett Family Estate 3-year Rye Whiskey (quite possibly my favorite beverage on Earth, outside of chocolate almond milk and cream soda)
For the past year and a half I’ve been working for a very large, retail wine/spirit/beer chain, and it has put a slight dent in my wallet. Not only have I been exposed to many different types of adult beverages that I didn’t know existed before my employment, I’ve been clubbed over the skull with the notion that there’s certain things I still can’t obtain.
Thus, enter my newest hobby/addiction/reason for barely having a savings account: bottle hunting (and subsequent drinking).
Over the course of however many weeks/iterations/chapters of this I decide (force myself) to write, I’ll basically give you a decent glimpse of about how much money I’ve spent in the last 18 months of my life on assorted bottles of wine, high end liquor, and fairly rare, or allocated, beer.
Now, to provide a little more (probably too much) background about myself:
- I live and work in south Florida. I used to work in a town where a good 60% of its residents had more money than brain matter, and I could reap the benefits of such a clientele. This is kind of where my addiction arises from.
- I’m 26 years old, and up until I was about 22, I couldn’t tell you the difference between a cab and a merlot, let alone the differences between Right and Left Bank Bordeaux, or what the best Brunello vintages in the last 40 years would be.
- Just because I primarily sell wine for a living, doesn’t mean I drink a whole lot of it. I mainly partake in drinking (sometimes) lethal amounts of bourbon and craft beer (and the occasional tall-boy of PBR because, let’s face it, I will always be a broke frat boy at heart).
- Currently, I have way too many bottles of assorted bourbon/American and Irish Whiskey/Scotch whisky, and an even more absurd amount of rare-ish craft beer.
This is why I want to start writing about it, so that I have an excuse to drink it more often, and with good cause: to educate the masses, and prove that I’m not a functioning alcoholic (see, mom....).