Jameson for breakfast

Should we have breakfast in town or at the distillery, asks Mr. Lynch as we check out of our hotel. Do they serve breakfast at the distillery? I ask. If your breakfast is a dram, he says. Then at the distillery, say I. I’ve had enough blood pudding for the while.

We’re the first to arrive at the Midleton Distillery. Front door still locked. Not another car in the gravel parking lot. Loiter about like profligates from the local reform school until the front door opens and a young woman looks at us and then the brooding sky and says we’d better come inside before it starts to rain.

Would you be wanting a guided tour then? Sheepishly Mr. Lynch suggests we don’t bother with the guide. I know how they make whisky, says he. Just thought we’d have a quick look at the old buildings and the water wheel and maybe a taste, if we might.

Sorry, says the young woman. For insurance and all you have to go on a proper tour with a proper guiode. So a tour it is. There are dates given out and ingredients lauded: barley, is it, that’s tricked into thinking it’s spring so it sprouts and produces sugar and the flour-y bits called grist and the wort and wash before it’s converted to alcohol (now we’re getting somewhere, murmurs Mr. Lynch) and there you have it. Would you like a taste?

Would we not. From behind the bar comes a tray filled with glasses of whisky. Mr. Lynch looks around. Just for the three of us? No, of course not, says the young woman. I’m not drinking. It’s just for you.

Three glasses each. Seems we’re going to have a full Irish breakfast. First a whisky from Scotland, then an American bourbon, and lastly the Jameson. Good lord! What time is it then, asks Mr. Lynch. Quarter past ten, I tell him. Right-ee-oo, he says. Let’s call it brunch, he says sampling the first glass. The Scotch whisky is all smoky peety thick and the bourbon slightly sweet. The Jameson, says Mr. Lynch, seems the perfect breakfast whiskey. A little on the light side, it seems to me. Do you think so, asks Mr. Lynch. Perhaps I’d better try another dram.

The bartender refills his glass. He sips and smiles. I like it, he says. Did you know they also make Tullamore Dew and Powers here, says he. No! Do they? They do indeed. I wonder how they’d compare to the bourbon and Scottish whisky? Perhaps we should find out, says Mr. Lynch. Who’s driving this morning? I wonder. That’s right, says Mr. Lynch. I’ll just finish up this Jameson and then we’ll be off. Should I take care of your bourbon, I ask him. Absolutely, says Mr. Lynch. It would be rude to waste it. Bottoms up. Breakfast done, it’s time to move on.