Canada Dry Liquors
The complicated story of how a soda company came to market its own brand of booze is entertainingly told here.
Comments
blah, blah blah, bourbon, blah blah, blah, booze, blah, blah....
Posted by Expat47 in Athens, Greece on 03/21/16 at 09:06 AM
Don't laugh. A quick perusal of a beverage industry publication dated 2003 mentions Suntory, Kirin and Asahi as Japanese based companies dealing in both soft and alcoholic beverages.
Posted by KDP on 03/21/16 at 12:37 PM
Is it good mixed with ginger ale?
Posted by Patty in Ohio, USA on 03/21/16 at 08:36 PM
So confusing, the North American tour I just took reading the label. Is it Canadian? Is it American? Is it Kentuckian? Canada Dry Distilling Co, Nicholasville KY.
Posted by Greg on 03/21/16 at 09:26 PM
Eh.
I've had Bourbon - from a brand claiming to be the smoothest among Bourbons, no less - and it was utter rot-gut.
I've had Canadian whisky - notwhiskey - and it was quite drinkable, though not actually world class.
I wouldn't pour this into the sink without tasting it.
I've had Bourbon - from a brand claiming to be the smoothest among Bourbons, no less - and it was utter rot-gut.
I've had Canadian whisky - notwhiskey - and it was quite drinkable, though not actually world class.
I wouldn't pour this into the sink without tasting it.
Posted by Richard Bos on 03/26/16 at 12:51 PM
In Dublin I had a glass of Irish that was the, absolutely smoothest whiskey I've ever had in my life. Pure ambrosia from 1st sniff all the way through the spreading warmth.
Posted by Expat47 in Athens, Greece on 03/26/16 at 01:40 PM
Not about bourbon, but . . .
When I went off to college, I was already a social drinker, mostly rum-and-Coke or vodka-7s, but I could handle a fair number of shots. I didn't drink to get drunk, but I could hold my own with a serious drinker.
Shortly after the start of the first semester, a guy in the dorm knocked on my door -- he'd received packages from home and was rounding up a few people to help him carry them back to his room. Having a strong back and a weak mind, I agreed to help. It wasn't far, and soon we were all back in his room with four wooden crates, each about a foot square.
To thank us, he gave us cups, opened one of the crates, pushed back the straw, and pulled out a glass jar full of crystal clear water. He poured us each a generous portion and then made a toast to his kinfolk back in the hills.
I took a sip. Imagine sulfuric acid mixed 50-50 with the sweat from Satan's backside. My first thought was to pour it out, but I was afraid it might eat through the sink.
We all sat on the floor, and as he drank it as if it was chocolate milk, he began telling us of his uncles, brothers, and cousins, their fine skills, and the never-ending battle against government-men.
I eventually took another sip, just to be sociable. It went down a lot easier, probably because the first one had burned off all the nerve endings in my mouth and throat. The third sip was actually tasty. And after the fourth, I was declaring it the smoothest thing I'd ever drank.
When my cup was empty, I held it out for a refill. He smiled (the devil!) and said if I could stand up and walk over to the table, I was free to pour myself as much as I wanted. Well . . . it didn't take long for me to realize that wasn't going to happen in this lifetime.
That was more than forty years ago. The last time I was buying some rum (just for baking purposes, you understand), I saw they now carry mason jars of the stuff, made and sold legit. I was tempted for a moment, then realized some pleasures, and pains, are only for young men.
When I went off to college, I was already a social drinker, mostly rum-and-Coke or vodka-7s, but I could handle a fair number of shots. I didn't drink to get drunk, but I could hold my own with a serious drinker.
Shortly after the start of the first semester, a guy in the dorm knocked on my door -- he'd received packages from home and was rounding up a few people to help him carry them back to his room. Having a strong back and a weak mind, I agreed to help. It wasn't far, and soon we were all back in his room with four wooden crates, each about a foot square.
To thank us, he gave us cups, opened one of the crates, pushed back the straw, and pulled out a glass jar full of crystal clear water. He poured us each a generous portion and then made a toast to his kinfolk back in the hills.
I took a sip. Imagine sulfuric acid mixed 50-50 with the sweat from Satan's backside. My first thought was to pour it out, but I was afraid it might eat through the sink.
We all sat on the floor, and as he drank it as if it was chocolate milk, he began telling us of his uncles, brothers, and cousins, their fine skills, and the never-ending battle against government-men.
I eventually took another sip, just to be sociable. It went down a lot easier, probably because the first one had burned off all the nerve endings in my mouth and throat. The third sip was actually tasty. And after the fourth, I was declaring it the smoothest thing I'd ever drank.
When my cup was empty, I held it out for a refill. He smiled (the devil!) and said if I could stand up and walk over to the table, I was free to pour myself as much as I wanted. Well . . . it didn't take long for me to realize that wasn't going to happen in this lifetime.
That was more than forty years ago. The last time I was buying some rum (just for baking purposes, you understand), I saw they now carry mason jars of the stuff, made and sold legit. I was tempted for a moment, then realized some pleasures, and pains, are only for young men.
Posted by Phideaux on 03/27/16 at 02:11 AM
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Category: Advertising | Soda, Pop, Soft Drinks and other Non-Alcoholic Beverages | 1960s | Alcohol