Nea Fane – Un Biet Român Pripășit în America / A Hapless Romanian Stuck in The US

My resolve to review what I drink began with enthusiasm. That was before I opened my photo library and saw the evidence. The sheer number of bottles staring back at me was somewhere between astonishing, head-spinning, and demoralizing. I took a deep breath, poured a glass, and decided to keep going anyway.

I thought about how to start this during the last few weeks while walking the dogs, searching for a job, or even in the middle of my sleepless nights.

Of course, once in front of the computer, I forgot all my beautiful ideas. One memory, though, stubbornly stayed, as if it were begging me to write about it.

It was at the beginning of a beautiful friendship with Craig, the professor who graciously volunteered to edit my posts in English. While the editing was divulged loud and clear, his quest to introduce me to the world of bourbon was discreet, yet very determined.

I was, and still am, an enthusiastic single-malt scotch drinker. A trip to the distilleries in Scotland is very close to the top of my bucket list. I never thought about drinking bourbon, maybe just a small sip, being the polite guy that I am. Craig, on the other hand, is a bourbon connoisseur.

A few years ago, during the Christmas holidays, they visited us, bringing a bottle of Blanton’s, horse and all. Later, I found out that there are eight unique horse and jockey stoppers in a complete Blanton’s set. Each stopper features the horse and jockey in a different pose, depicting the various stages of a horse race, from the gate to the final stretch. When arranged in the correct order, the letters on the stoppers spell out B-L-A-N-T-O-N-S. We had the B.

At the time, I had no idea about any of this. I was just looking at a pretty bottle, wondering why they were so careful with it, treating it with almost differential reverence. Little did I know about the cost of such a bottle, either. I understood that it was a Christmas present [for Craig], much appreciated, and that the collectible bottle had landed on my kitchen table for us to enjoy together, because, as we all know, like the grand and stately ships at sea, no great friendship was ever launched with a salad.

I drank and I liked it. I drank a little more and I liked it even more. Not enough to fall in love with it, but definitely enough to fondly remember it. We had consumed about half the bottle. When it was time for goodbyes, I declared, loud and clear, maybe a little too loud, “The bottle stays here. For the next time.”

As soon as I finished, I sensed a shift in the room’s energy, but I totally ignored it. The next day I did some research and realized exactly what I had done, it was as though I had snatched a cherished toy from a child. It was too late to do anything about it, except for a silent vow to not touch it until their next visit, when we finished it together.

Somehow, I still have the bottle. I wanted to take a picture of it, but an empty bottle is a sad bottle. So, I went to Blanton’s website and I got the official photo.

Podcast Episode (AI Generated)