Drunken Days of Yore

A Night on Barrel Wash

This is yet another bad idea that turned into a horrible experience. Any story that involves homemade liquor and thirsty twenty-something men with a will to drink anything is never going to end well. In retrospect, this one is fairly amusing simply for the sheer ignorance of the participants - Phlegm, Mad Dog Johnny, Myself and an acquaintance named Marty. while you will undoubtedly laugh at our foolish antics, I hope this serves as a warning to any self-respecting boozer who is looking for a super-cheap drunk.

On a spring afternoon in my early twenties, I received a call from Phlegm, who's parents own a nursery north of Cobourg, Ontario. The nursery had contracts with many surrounding municipalities to provide flower arrangements for their downtown areas. Many of these flower arrangements were created in a half-barrel, within which the flower arrangements were planted. The nursery usually obtained the barrels from a distillery that had used them to age whiskey and other spirits. When Phlegm called, the delivery truck that had brought the barrels had just left.

"Dude, you'll never guess what I got brewing!"

"What?" I asked.

"The barrels for our flower arrangements were just delivered from the distillery and they just reek of booze. Are you up for some barrel wash?"

It was back in public school when I first heard of barrel wash (or "swish"). For those of you who don't know, barrel wash is a form of cheap homemade liquor that is made by filling a freshly used whiskey barrel with water, recorking it and lying it on its side in the sun. Every day, one rotates the barrel a quarter turn. Usually within two weeks or so, the alcohol that has been absorbed in the wood of the barrel leeches into the water, and you have a barrel of watered-down whiskey to drink. Being a opportunistic drunkard, Phlegm had apparently taken a whiskey barrel and started the process.

"In two weeks, we'll have some piss-up," he promised. I should have taken it as a warning.

Approximately two weeks later, Phlegm called to say the wash was finished and ready to drink. I rounded up Mad Dog Johnny and Marty and headed up to the nursery, which was situated in a valley in the middle of prime farmland. Within the valley was a small creek, which Phlegm's family had dammed up to create a pond. The pond then served as a scummy, stagnant frog sanctuary which could then be used in an emergency to water the greenhouses in the event the wells ran down. The valley area around this pond was what Phlegm referred to as "The Pit" and was a prime location for bonfires, keg parties and other drunken tomfoolery regularly undertaken in our irresponsible youth.

We arrived in the late afternoon and pitched tents in The Pit. Phlegm used his tractor to bring down the barrel of wash while we gathered wood for the fire. As is got dusk, the fire was set and the barrel was tapped. We poured out the liquid in a juice jug and filled our glasses. The finished product just tasted like whiskey and water. Not harsh at all. We continued drinking as the night wore on, until Mad Dog Johnny suddenly spit his drink into the grass.

"There's a chunk of something in this booze!" he exclaimed.

We filled a glass from the barrel and checked it with a flashlight. Even in our drunkenness we could see that there were definitely black chunks in the liquid. Thoroughly grossed out, we thought the party was over until one of us realized it was char from the inside of the barrel. Apparently, the years of soaking in harsh alcohol, slight drying after being emptied followed by the water Phlegm added caused some of the char to come loose from the inside of the barrel and start floating on the liquid's surface. Relieved, we continued to drink thinking a little charred wood would never hurt anyone.

After a while, the taste of the swill was getting tiresome. Having a drunken brainstorm, Phlegm went up to the house and came back with a can of peach concentrate. He poured some of the concentrate in the jug and mixed it with the hooch. It was kinda gross, but cut away the tiresome taste of the watery whiskey. We continued drinking around the fire until we were all in a very drunken state. At some point, Marty went to his tent to pass out, Johnny was crashed on the ground someplace and Phlegm and I were finishing a final drink. I recall falling backwards off the log I was sitting on, and being unable to sit back on it. I crawled to my tent, and after several minutes of drunkenly trying to open the fly, finally opened it and crawled inside.

I somehow managed to close the fly and get inside my sleeping bag. I lay there maybe 3 minutes before I suddenly got the urge to vomit. However, being in the dark of my tent and in a very inebriated state, I couldn't work the zipper to get out. I was unable to get out, and proceeded to throw up my last drink on the floor of my tent. My last conscious memory was trying to position myself as far from the mess as possible as I (in the words of Mike Tyson) "disappeared into Bolivia."

I awoke to a world of pain. My head ached and my stomach felt like it had been kicked by a mule. Wondering what had roused me from the sweet embrace of unconsciousness, I heard Mad Dog Johnny slapping on my tent.

"Hey," he asked. "Is that pond water safe to drink?"

I vaguely recalled the scum-covered swampy pond that was used as an emergency resevoir for the greenhouses. "I don't think so, man."

"GODDAMN IT!"

"What?" I asked.

"I already drank it." he replied.

I drifted off for a while longer until I felt well enough to wander up to the house to wash my face and get some water and a paper towel with some vinegar. I washed the floor of my tent with the vinegar and took my tent down. Marty and Johnny had taken their tent down, and Johnny was lying on the grass looking pretty grim.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Phlegm.

"He drank the pond water," I replied as everyone but Johnny broke into fits of laughter.

"FUCK OFF!" cursed Johnny, as Phlegm pondered the possible bacterial and parasitic infections one could suffer as a result from drinking from a stagnant frog pond.

As we loaded our sorry asses into my old Malibu for the ride home, Johnny climbed into the back seat and lay down. Marty and I decided that a greasy burger from Harvey's might help with the hangover. We asked Johnny if he would like anything, to which we heard only mumbled curses as replies. We finished eating and headed down the highway, all the while listening to Johnny mumbling and cursing to himself. In fact, I don't think he stopped cursing until I dropped him off.

"I am pissed off and in a vile mood," he stated as he got out. "I'm going to go lay down. I feel like shit. GODDAMN IT!!"

I don't believe Johnny got too sick from drinking the pond water, but it wouldn't be something I would want to risk. More telling is the fact he willingly chose a filthy home for frogs to drink from, rather than the remains of the barrel of wash he willingly guzzled the night before. Seeing how Johnny will willingly chug Cisco, there would seem to be some kind of moral lesson in that somewhere.

Happy New Year!!!

First of all, I'd like to wish you all a very happy and prosperous 2010! We have a whole new decade of drinking to jump into, and I am hoping you all make the best of it! My final bender of 2009 proved to be quite blog-worthy. Aside from drinkig copious amounts of Guinness and Cordon Negro, we sampled some truly horrific ale and introduced yet another unsuspecting drunkard to the horrors of streetwine!

Hop Nouveau 2009 Wet Hopped Ale is brewed by Trafalgar Brewing Company in Oakville, Ontario. The ale is the only one brewed in Ontario with hops that are picked the same day as the beer is brewed (hence the "wet hopped" moniker). Suspiciously, the brewery's website does not mention this beer which I suspect may be due to reasons that became readily apparent after cracking it open. The beer poured a clear golden without any sea monkeys, and was very foamy. Actually, "very foamy" may be a gross understatement. This beer was nearly all foam, and the scent of it was very overpowering. As I passed out samples to Michelle, Brian, Roxanne and Dave, Roxanne remarked it smelled like "foam bodywash". We each sampled it and I agreed with Roxanne's assessment that this beer was very soapy tasting, almost as though they didn't rinse the bottles out properly while cleaning them. Brian commented that it tasted something like ginger beer, while Michelle merely stated "this is bad." Dave was having a difficult time with his sample and actually proclaimed that "this is the worst beer I have ever tasted!" He then mixed it with some Heineken and remarked that only mildly improved the flavour.

Hop Nouveau 2009 Wet Hopped Ale - Final Score
Roxanne - 2/10
Brian - 3/10
Michelle - 2/10
Dave - 2/10
Myself - 2/10

Earlier in the evening when I was coming home from work, Brian messaged me and requested to bring some Cisco. While at first I laughed at the absurdity of such a request (especially from him), he explained that Roxanne's boyfriend Dave apparently wanted to try some. Having one bottle of Cisco Strawberry behind the bar for an occasion such as this, I happily complied. After the beer tasting, we headed down the basement and I presented Dave with this hideous bottled demon. Roxanne and Michelle (both of whom I suspect had a good lot of wine in them) stated that they were also willing to try it. Dave cracked open the bottle, ignored the noxious chemical odor and poured out some samples.

As you can see, he poured a mammoth portion for himself and passed out samples. Michelle and Roxanne took one taste of it, and both exclaimed that it was horrific. Despite the reaction from the women, Dave drank his down like a soldier and commented that the stuff was vile. Brian, always the gracious host, produced a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20 Orange Jubilee and gave Dave a taste of it as well. Next thing I knew, Brain pulled out the pride of his collection, the almighty Thunderbird!

Now as regular readers of this blog know, my impression of the "taste" of T-Bird is much like the same feeling you get when you stick a 9 volt battery on your tongue. In fact, I think the whole experience of drinking this swill must be something like a mild version of getting tased. Despite my warnings, Dave insisted he wanted to try it. Brian poured out a shot and Dave knocked this back as well. Unfortunately, the pre-Thunderbird smile in the picture above quickly faded into the typical streetwine despair these chemical concoctions are famous for. You can almost feel the poor guy's despair in the picture below.

What a way to ring in the new decade. I tried to get Dave to go whole-hog and knock back a shot of Wild Irish Rose, but he had enough at this point. I can't say I blame him.

In other news, I have some new things planned for Liquor Pig in 2010. This will include reviews on bars in addition to the libations they sell, a "Drink of the Month" and drunken adventures from my liquor-soaked youth. Of course, reader feedback is encouraged and always welcome. Again, here's wishing you all a fantastic 2010 and beyond!

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

First of all, I'd like to wish you all a very Merry Christmas!!!

I apologize for the lack of updates lately but it has been a very crazy week. Between fighting with Ford Motor Company (again) and trying to finish my Christmas shopping amid the shambling hordes of ignorant mall dwellers, I have hardly had time to sit down for a relaxing glass of ale or two. Can someone please remind me why this is called a holiday?

The good news is there are quite a few new reviews coming in the very near future. First, I was gifted this morning with a bottle of Wychwood Breweries "Bah, Humbug!" seasonal beer which is chilling in the refrigerator as I type this. Additionally, due to criticism about my harsh treatment of Belgian beers, I will be reviewing the top three Belgian exports for a final decision on the Belgian brewing technique. As well, I will be diving into my extensive rum collection to see what I have acquired over the years.

In the meantime, I hope you all have a great day getting drunk with friends and family. Thanks for your continued support through 2009. Here's toasting a nice, refreshing glass of Cisco in your honour. Again, here's wishing you a Merry Christmas and all the best in 2009!

Street Wine Revisited

As I was posting the reviews of Hiram Walker Special Old Rye Whiskey and MD 20/20 Orange Jubilee, I realized something that may be a unique correlation between cheap rye and skid row street hooch. Despite the inevitable fame (or some may say, infamy) that comes with being associated with the wanton alcoholism that is embraced in the name of this site, Brian was not at all keen to taste the Hiram Walker Special Old when I suggested it to him. In fact, he was dead set against the idea, especially when I tossed the year-old MD 20/20 in the mix. However, once he had a taste of the rye, he himself went to the liquor cabinet and suggested we may as well get the Orange Jubilee tasting under our belts. Strangely, this caused an eerie feeling of deja vu regarding last summer when Mad Dog Johnny decided to chug Cisco.

We had spent the evening drinking beer at our local pub and had come back to my place for a nightcap before calling it a night. As it turned out, I only had enough Aberlour left for two drinks. As we finished them off, Johnny asked if I had more whiskey. The only bottle I had in the house was the Hiram Walker Special Old that Brian and I sampled for yesterday's column. I had purchased the bottle that day as an impulse buy at the local LCBO. I passed it to Johnny who took a nice long pull from it. As he placed the bottle back on the bar, he suddenly asked if I had any Cisco. As it turned out, I still had the over half-bottle of Stawberry left over from the infamous 'Evening of Bumwine'. I retreived the bottle from the fridge and handed it to him.

Now as anyone familiar with this blog will tell you, not only is Cisco in all probability the most disgusting alcoholic beverage ever created by man, but Strawberry is arguably the most vile flavour ever. Despite hearing repeated tales of Cisco's depression-inducing hangover recounted ad nauseum by both Brian and I, Johnny uscrewed the cap and proceeded to chug the remaining contents of the bottle. I stood there in disbelief as he drank, with my only thoughts being to get photographic evidence of the event (along with ensuring I got him out of my house before he vomited and permanently stained the carpet).


The strange similarity between these two events was the fact that it seems drinking Hiram Walker Special Old Rye brings out the street bum in those who consume it. Both times I have witnessed people shoot this particular brand of rye, they seem to immediately reach for a chaser of bumwine to wash it down with. I cannot help but wonder if Brain and I had not lived through the horror that was the 'Evening of Bumwine', would we both have woke up bloodied and beaten as a result of fighting over that last drop of MD 20/20? This peculiarity begs further study, but I do not think I could ever talk Johnny or Brian into serving as guinea pigs for any type of Cisco-related experiments. After all, they both had experienced the devastating streetwine hangover, and neither was too fond of Hiram Walker Special Old Rye Whiskey.

As for Mad Dog Johnny, I managed to escort him out of the house before he made a mess of the carpet. However, he recalls nothing of this incident save waking up in the back seat of his car drenched in sweat as the hot sun beat down upon it. He since requested that should he ever get a bright idea like chugging Cisco again, I am to smash the bottle over his head before he gets the chance.

An Evening of Bumwine

Last night, I got together with my friend Brian from Plaid Stallions for the previously announced "Evening of Bumwine". We sampled all four bottles above, and while somewhat coherent, wrote our thoughts on the taste of these infamous ghetto wines. As Brian's wife Michelle would probably skin us alive if we stained the carpet with any of the cheap dye used in making this crap by vomiting on the floor, Brian got a hefty puke bucket in case of any emergencies. We selected a couple coffee mugs for the sampling and we were ready to begin.

The first wine we tried was Cisco Black Cherry, which Brian was able to locate at Roadrunner Liquors in Clearwater, Florida. Apparently, Michelle was not impressed with the drug dealing look of the clientele that hung around the place like pilot fish. However, they managed to escape unscathed, and came home with a bottle of Cisco to evaluate.

Cisco Black Cherry: D -

From the moment Brian cracked this one, we knew things were going to get bad. The smell off this swill alone was enough to bring out cries of "oh god - what the hell is in this crap?" The colour was a putrid bluish-brown, and probably would have warned off anyone who poured a glass by mistake. However, despite the obvious warnings, we raised our cups and drank. I can desribe the flavour in just one word:

Vile.

I wish I could say this stuff was better than it was. It is completely horrible (as you can probably tell by my reaction to it). First of all, I don't know how they arrived at "black cherry". It tastes like a mix of berry-flavoured kool aid, grain spirits and a bottle of Robitussin for good measure. Then you have the chemical aftertaste, which is probably from the cancer-causing dyes used to give it such an appealing colour. The one arena where Cisco excelled in was getting you drunk. One mug of this stuff and I was buzzed. We went outside for a much needed smoke and continued with the bottle of MD 20/20.

Mad Dog 20/20 Red Grape Wine: B -

MD 20/20 (or as it is affectionately known on the street, Mad Dog 20/20) was actually the biggest surprise of the lot. Commonly found in gas stations, grocery and liquor stores all over the U.S., it is probably one of the best know bumwines. Recently, the 20/20 wine company scaled back the alcohol content to 13% from the tastebud numbing 18% it was infamous for. However, it was not a bad wine at all. Brian, who freely admits to detesting red wine, commented that this was the least offensive of the products we sampled. There was no discernable odour from this hooch, and the colour was consistent with any other red wine I have drank. It tasted like a cheap red wine, slightly dry and with no aftertaste. I imagine that this would be the one that has the greatest appeal outside the ghetto (and probably responsible for more than one teenage pregnancy). Overall, not a bad buzz for a couple bucks.

After another beer break, Brian produced the pride of his collection. The American Classic: Thunderbird!

Thunderbird: The American Classic: D +

This was not my first run in with this train wreck. In my youth once at one of Brian's parties, Mad Dog Johnny and I ran out of beer. Brian jokingly pulled out a bottle of Thunderbird (in what is apparently a rare bottle which is now considered a collector's item) and said, "you can drink this..." Like idiots, Johnny and I chugged the bottle down and killed it. Michelle had watched us half-amused and remarked "I can't believe they are drinking that!" Like I told her last week, I'll never learn.

I was buzzing pretty good by the time I got to Thunderbird, so I can't comment on the smell. What I do remember is the taste. Thunderbird hits your tongue like a 9 volt battery and caused involuntary tremors down my spine, like I had just taken a mouthful of homemade corn whiskey. It then proceeds to burn your throat all the way down to your stomach, leaving you with a surprisingly pleasant apple-like aftertaste. You can easily see how fond I am of the taste from the picture.

After another smoke break, we had another beer and dove headfirst into the grande finale: Cisco Strawberry (did I mention we are both gluttons for punishment?).

Cisco Strawberry: D -

The picture says it all. I had seriously thought Brian was going to vomit right there, but like a soldier he finished this vile brew. I picked up this gem at Malabar Liquors (formerly Malabar Discount Liquors) in Palm Bay, Florida. The name may have changed but the clientele have not. Now I know why the clerk laughed at me when I asked him for it. It smells nasty and tastes worse. While Cisco Black Cherry tasted like industrial cleaner, Strawberry Cisco tasted like someone was covering up the fact this was industrial cleaner with the taste of putrid strawberries long past their prime. I am honestly starting to think that Cisco just may be the result of some quasi-government conspiracy to get rid of the homeless. I can only hazard to guess about the long-term effects of drinking this swill. Take warning and avoid this stuff like the plague, unless you really are a homeless bum.

The Hangover

This evaluation would not be complete without posting what the hangover is like. Due to the fact we tried so many of these vile concoctions, I couldn't pin the hangover on one particular brand. However, I woke up feeling OK, drank a couple bottles of water and ate some meat pies. Within two hours, I felt like I wanted to crawl back into bed and forgot I woke up in the first place. Palitoy had a similar experience, and said that he will feel like "cold shit" until he goes to bed tonight. I guess when you dance with the Devil, you pay the price. Next time, I think I'll stick to beer.

Read Brian's assessment of these not-so-fine products by clicking the picture below:

Originally posted in morbidpig.com on 14 March 2007.