Problem is my wife isn’t a fan of me sharing those opinions out loud. She’s a sweet woman who cares about what others think of their favorite pours. So, when someone asks my opinion on those, she hates if I say, “I like it OK, but it’s not my favorite.” To her, that’s at least dismissive, and at worst offensive.
Her private rebukes essentially go like this: “You come off like a jerk when you say that quickly.” Tenderhearted as she is, she’s also a trustworthy source. Like most humans, I have some rough edges that need smoothing, so I listen.
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But usually my reply is a frustrated, “What would you prefer I say? ‘I like this, but … ’ or just lie and say, ‘Oh, this is great!’? Sorry, but I’m definitely not doing that.” Unfortunately, she offers no good alternatives.
What’s hard for her to accept is this is just how it goes in spirits writing. Most writers are confident that they know what’s good—partly because they’ve tasted a lot of what’s bad—and they can articulate it easily. I say to her, “It’s not our fault if someone is offended by a simple opinion. They ask, we answer. There’s always some risk in that.”
When I cooked in restaurants, everyone weighed in on the food with short comments like these:
- Needs seasoning.
- Not cooked enough (or overcooked).
- Sauce is too dry (or runny).
- Add butter.
- Serve it hotter.
- That’s spot on!
- Don’t change a thing.
- Better than I’d imagined.
All these comments were delivered without emotion and always in haste. Eleven years of that made me opinionated about everything I tasted, and, frankly, I like similarly opinionated people. When your goal is to please customers, you say what’s needed to get the job done.
As you might imagine, I found my people when I got involved with spirits groups. I loved hearing members’ blunt, quick opinions about what we were drinking. No bad or good feels implied, just statements about what’s in the glass, on the nose and on the palate. Like it, love it or lambast it and move along.
Since then, I’ve decided to stick with, “It’s not my favorite,” because it works, and serious drinkers are cool with it. There are 7 billion unique people in this world, and everyone likes something different. Every whiskey won’t be liked by everybody. So, accept that fact and move along.
Here’s an idea! I’ll buffer, “It’s not my favorite” with some kinder words like, “… but I thanks for sharing it with me.” That’s honest and nice, right? Ultimately, it’s up to me to better read the room and speak accordingly, because I’d never want to lose a friend over a whiskey opinion. But then again, if I have any friends who are so easily wounded, maybe I’m better off without them.
















