"Spike" - Good Girls Do Drink Whisky

It's Thanksgiving here in Ontario and of course, great meals, long walks in the woods , and good whisky are always in the plans for this the last blast of decent weather before Christmas.

Along with roasted turkey, stuffing and cranberries picked in Bala, there are fresh veggies from the market and homemade  pie.  But best of all, the gin is ceremoniously laid to rest at the back of the cupboard and we start the fall with a fine whisky.

We have been single-malt gals forever and have a long list of favourites but not so long ago, we met John Hall of "Forty Creek" whisky at 'Whisky Live' and it was downhill from there... in a good way, of course.

Being whisky snobs, we only drank "real" Scottish whisky and left the Canadian rye whiskies for the fellas.  But John Hall changed all that.  With his soft voice, his passion for his whisky and best of all, the incredible quality and really fine flavour his whiskies give up, we were converts in one sip.

Since then, our favourites have included  many of his, but this weekend, we lost it all to his new one.

"SPIKE"...  there is a certain toughness that goes along with that name. The image of a rusted railroad spike on the label and a steam locomotive in the background show no lean toward femininity.

The label also sports the words "Whisky with Attitude - Kicked back and seriously spiked".

Not for the faint of heart and really not geared to the softer side of the sexes.... BUT... one sip  and the honey, vanilla, cinnamon, ginger and brown sugar -fused with toasty oak, dried fruit and dark chocolate - race upwards and stick like treacle in one's brain, nose, tongue and delight-meter all at once.

Really, how could this possibly be legal?  It delights, infuses a delicious sense that all is well with the world; Just one more thing to include in Thanksgiving grace.

John Hall is a genius with a gift of taste that competes for first place in line.

Thanks, John....

Things I Wish My Mother had Never Told Me....

With more than a few decades of stories of trials and tales of triumphs neatly stowed in a mountain of 

red leather journals, I have a few things to say to the world.

I had a Mother and a Father who loved me, but my Mother came from a strict background 

with a rigid set of rules meant for another generation.  I followed those rules until they no longer 

worked for me and I began the search for my own authenticity. 

Imagine my delighted shock in finding I was an impossibly good girl with my own 

set of shiny new rules.

Along the way, I discovered that I really had loved enough but also, not enough; I 

took on several careers and several husbands and I learned to drink good whisky.

This blog is from a book that has languished all these years, buried in that pile of red leather, 

until I realized that both my wounds and my bandages might just be helpful to other incorrigible and 

wickedly good women.