Lost in Translation

Being the devotees (some would says addicts) to Scotch whiskey that we are, when this bottle of Yoichi showed up there was only one thing to do. Technically speaking, it is Japanese whiskey but you'd be damned if you could tell the difference. The harmony of the infinite karmic wheel hanging in the balance (and you know how serious that can be), we had to drink it. It was our duty to the universe.




Never heard of it, you say? Neither had we, but somehow the ever-resourceful Johnson had a friend of a friend smuggle a bottle out of Japan. How it then found its way to San Francisco would fill the pages of a Dashiell Hammett novel, but let it suffice to say that eventually the bottle appeared within drinking distance of the gang of Critical Cloud misfits, where it met the fate of every whiskey that bunch ever saw.

Tasty and smooth. Almost floral with some caramel. Light on the finish. In a word, a fine afternoon whiskey.

Glasses produced, shots poured, cigars lit, and ever so imperceptably, universal peace and love descended on that august gathering of whiskerandos. The jihads of Iraq and the bums of San Francisco seemed like distant and forgotten dreams. And then, sadly, in the space of an hour, it was gone; an amber elixir from a farway country, never to grace our parched lips again. Would we ever be the same?

Elementary, My Dear Watson

Fans of the briar will be heartened to learn that they can now shop the pipe world from the comfort of their own computer at the new and improved Sherlock's Haven. Bring a credit card, purchase some of the world's most elegant pipes, and completely avoid the irrational ranting of Crazy Marty. Mention Critical Cloud and he'll likely charge you double. How's that for service?

footnote to the literature-impaired: Contrary to popular opinion, Sherlock Holmes never uttered the phrase "elementary, my dear Watson."