Column: A Woman Drinking Whisky? 'Surely, You're Not a Man?

I can't recall the exact moment of my first alcoholic indulgence. But I suspect it was a Bacardi Breezer at a class party when I was 12. I might have been older, but the taste lingers in my memory: what rubbish, I thought. How can people drink this?

Strangely enough, I had the same reaction to various types of wine and later, whisky too. And as I write this, it strikes me as odd that we push ourselves to acquire a taste for something we initially find unpleasant and is not even particularly good for our health. Maybe it’s tied to some form of social pressure.

That’s not what I want to talk about now. What I do want to address is one particular whisky: Johnnie Walker Red Label. That was it. As a student, I was supposed to have a date with a guy who stood me up, and he had mentioned he liked whisky. I thought I could impress him by having a bottle of whisky at hand. Johnnie Walker Red Label. What was I thinking? Attempting to impress like that? What a poor choice when someone says they love whisky.

But I was in my early 20s and clueless, just as I was clueless about how quickly my hobby would spiral (haha). What happened was that the guy never showed up (I’m trying to remember whether I told him it was a Red Label or not; otherwise, I might understand) and I was left with a full bottle. No Striding Man For Me. I was going nowhere. I had been rejected, and I was going to knock back that bottle alone.

I remember that first sip. What a load of garbage. Was it supposed to tease my palate with various flavours? All I tasted was strong liquor and a whole lot of salt. Hello, tears. I don't recall the rest of the evening and hence you know even less. It’s bizarre because as I reminisce about those quirky student days, I wonder: Was that me? It's fascinating how much one's perspective on life can change over the years. Wisdom indeed comes with age.

By the way, I didn't finish the whole bottle. That would have been incredibly foolish. Somehow, over the following days, my curiosity was piqued, and I started to ask questions: Why do people drink this stuff? Was it similar to coffee in that I just needed to learn to appreciate it?

Eventually, I ended up consuming the rest of the bottle, sometimes mixing it with coke, other times savoring it sip by sip. The conclusion remained the same: this was not my friend.

I decided that I wanted to explore more whiskies. After all, I had spotted other labels and bottles at the store. How would they taste? I recall buying Four Roses as my second bottle, not understanding why it was markedly sweeter. I also added a Ballantine's and a Johnnie Walker Green Label to my collection.

I truly fell in love with Monkey Shoulder. I received Monkey Shoulder on a press trip to London for a Call of Duty video game.

My father noticed at some point that my interest in wines had plummeted to zero, and whisky was the flavour of the moment. So, when we were sitting in a bar nerding out over a game of chess (I used to participate in tournaments back then), I got to order a drink. Whisky.

He looked at me and then said, ‘You don’t fancy yourself a man, do you? Whisky is a man's drink, mind you.’