One
of
the
great
things
about
Suntory
Japanese Whisky
is
that
it
comes
in
a
really
strong
bottle.
I
can attest to this
because
as I
was
doing
my
best
to
smuggle
a
(full) bottle
of
Suntory
into
our
chi-chi
ryokan
so
that
we
could
have
a
quiet
sundowner
in
our
room,
the
thing fell
out
of
my
bag
and
fell
quite
a
long
way
to
the
ground
without
breaking.
I
was
standing
next
to
our
comedy
rentacar
at
the
time
and
the
bottle
didn't
shatter
on
the
hard
stone
at
all,
but instead bounced
once
and
skidded
under
the
car,
where
it
lay,
glinting
in
the
shadows.
So
I
got
down
on
my
hands
and
knees
and
started
grovelling
underneath
the
comedy
car,
at
which
point
our
exquisitely
charming
and
formal
Japanese
hostess
came
pattering
out
behind
me
to
ask
if
everything
was
all
right.
I
grabbed the bottle with an audible grunt, leaped
to
my
feet,
cramming
the
unbroken
Suntory
back
into
my
bag
in
one
seamless
movement
and
said
that
everything
was
wonderful
and
what
a
lovely
day
we'd
had,
before
slamming
my
coat
negligently
in
the
car
door,
from
where
I
then
had
to
remove
it
as
if
I'd
meant
to
slam it in a car door all
along.
There
was
a
look
of
frank alarm
in
the
eyes
of
our
hostess,
but
she
nonetheless
continued
to
smile
graciously
at
me
as
I
flapped
and
banged
away
in
front
of
her,
trying
not
to
tear
my
coat
or
drop
the
Suntory
again.
That's
what
you
do
if
you're
basically
a
bum
on
a
budget
and
you
can't
afford
to
have
a
brimming
whisky
and
soda
brought
to
your
elegant
eight-tatami-mat
room
by
a
kimono-wearing
servant
and
set respectfully
on
the
table
in
front
of
you.
In
fact,
I've
lost
count
of
the
times
we've
had
to
smuggle
drink
in
under
the
noses
of different hotel managements, all over the world, our pockets
bulging with contraband cashew nuts, our tote bags burdened by
liquids, followed by the degradation of having to drink cheap whisky
or gin or red wine out of a toothmug with the door locked.
Still.
If that's where you're coming from, Suntory (the regular Kakubin
variety, not one of the swankier versions)
not only comes in a fantastically strong and grippable (square
cross-sectioned) bottle, it tastes good, too, toothmug or not:
rounder, smoother and with a sweeter finish than your mainstream
Scotch, but uniformly satisfying and with a nice amber colour.
They've been making the stuff since 1924 and it's good in a hotel
room in the nervous dark and it's good when drunk without undue
embarassment as a highball in a bar/eaterie, where there's a fair
chance you'll get Suntory with Wilkinson Tansan soda, a column of
crushed ice and possibly a twist of lemon peel to finish. Tokyo
salarymen knock this stuff back as if every night were New Year's
Eve. The consumption is prodigious.
How
do I know? I came across a party of them, shitfaced, hitting each
other over the head with bags of satsumas at half-past eleven at
night, one friday. That's how I know.
CJ
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