In one of my many trips to the state candy store I saw this bottle of fire and love sitting on the shelf. One thing bothers me about this bourbon, and it bothers me madly. The scotch-canadian spelling: “whisky.” Of course I’m nitpicking, I hadn’t even opened the bottle when that pissed me off. Of course, I do end up opening the bottle with a good friend, on a quiet evening of screaming acoustic folk, punk, and blues tunes until our voice run raw and a medicinal salve is needed. Enter “whisky”: I place a communal glass and the bottle within easy reach and we get to work at our professional and obviously sober minded tasting. Okay, I don’t care how this is spelled anymore, its pure burning caramel on the tip of my tongue that evaporates toward the back of my mouth into an oaky vanilla tincture of voice cleansing goodness. I like my bourbon to have bite. By bite I mean I want it to burn down my throat and turn my stomach into a mini furnace. Old Forester 100 proof delivers, but unlike some napalm bomb bourbons, this doesn’t hurt. The way the heat vanishes by the back of the tongue makes this a sneaky bourbon that could easily masquerade as a lower proof, so warn your less bold friends. For my fire breathing comrades, don’t worry, you won’t be disappointed, it still turns your pot belly into a pot belly stove and gives your mouth the warm and tinglies. This bourbon is beautifully executed, and perhaps the most sip-friendly 100 proof I’ve had. Don’t worry, we conducted the bottle slug test too, and it performed beautifully at that too. Incredibly enough I found this bottle on sale for under $20, not that this deal will last long I’m sure, but when it’s just me, the boys, and the blues, this may be exactly what we need—just gotta watch out and make sure it doesn’t sneak up on us.