Disclaimer: A sample of Jim Beam Apple bourbon was provided to us by Beam for this review. We appreciate their willingness to allow Bourbon & Banter to review the booze with no strings attached. Thank you.
There are times in life when we make poor decisions. And then there are times when poor decisions are thrust upon us.
I think it’s fair to chalk this tale up to the latter.
As your resident garbage whiskey reviewer, I have taken on the arduous task of sampling products many would label unfit for a finer palate. This is not a job I take lightly. Which is why, dear reader, when given a full bottle of Jim Beam Apple to review, I drink the whole damn bottle.
I just didn’t mean to do it on a Tuesday. In my defense, it was the first day of National Bourbon Heritage Month.
It all began according to plan. I got home from work and found myself a reasonably sized glass among a collection of containers better suited for binge drinking. I popped in one of those fancy glacier ice cubes, poured an ounce and, took a seat. For good measure, I even cracked the spine on last week’s edition of the New Yorker.
(You know those eight signs your kid is probably, definitely going to grow up to be a serial killer? Uniquely shaped ice cubes are the litmus test for if they are going to be a yuppie. And so is using the world litmus. Anyway, I digress.)
Although my expectations were somewhere between gutter juice and Mad Dog, I was pleasantly surprised by Beam Apple. It was much less noxious than I expected and sometimes even bordered on being quite enjoyable. At that point, I decided this review was going to be exactly six words long: tastes like green jolly rancher.
But the spirit of drunks past had different plans. After all, the true identity of a whiskey can never be determined from just the taste on your lips. It truly lives in the moments it inspires. (Barf)
Or at least that’s what I told myself as I reopened the bottle.[FADE IN]
Roommate saunters in. Lindsey offers roommate Apple Beam. Roommate accepts. Both Lindsey and Roommate engage in quality camaraderie. Quality camaraderie temporarily moves to the abandoned apartment next door. They return.
In the course of aforementioned camaraderie, Lindsey and Roommate manage to consume the entire bottle of Jim Beam Apple.
Lindsey and Roommate become increasingly dissatisfied with the garage like state of their apartment and lament their mutual sense of isolation. They pontificate. They challenge the idea of what a room should be.
They rearrange all furniture in the apartment. Bikes stored on cabinets. Coolers become end tables. Co-working spaces are erected from the rubble of storage corners. Lindsey breaks stove top.
Broken stove top temporarily dampens euphoric mood. Lindsey and Roommate reflect on their millennial values. They discover what they really accomplished: turning their house into a home.
They can thank Jim for that.
Lindsey wakes up still drunk.[END SCENE]
Hey, maybe it wasn’t such a poor decision after all.
Jim Beam Apple Review
Age: Some years before they added the apple shit, I’m assuming.
How I Drank It: On ice, in a stemless wine glass. You probably didn’t need to know that.
My Nose Noticed:* Green Jolly Rancher
First Sip: Green Jolly Rancher (Note: taste remained the same for all remaining sips.)
The Burn:** No burn. Only a refreshing breeze on your uvula.
Neat, Splash or Rocks: Would be a good chilled shot. If sipping, you’ll want something to cut the sweetness. I used tonic water. I also tried a glass rimmed with salt in an attempt to juxtapose tastes deal and I was a fan. Would be good on pancakes and people…probably.
Share With: NO ONE. KEEP IT ALL FOR YOURSELF. But if you’re going to share, share with friends who have a sweet tooth and aren’t above doing a no pants dance.
Worth The Price: It’s only $15.99….hell yeah!
Bottle, Bar or Bust: Bottle. It’s super fun to drink the whole thing. Try it yourself! Then tell me about it in the comment section below.
**Some of you refer to this as the “finish” but let’s be honest. Don’t we all just want to know if it burns good?