The Teeling Distillery is open to visitors again!
Finally.
Sinead Ryan writes:
Since the Teeling Distillery in Dublin’s Newmarket opened its doors in 2015 it has welcomed over 500,000 visitors and was named ‘Best Visit’ in Ireland at the CIE Awards 2020. See to book!
Come and experience the sights, sounds, smells and tastes of a fully operational distillery followed by a tasting of the award winning Teeling Whiskey. To top off the experience you will get to enjoy a handcrafted cocktail of your choice at the infamous Bang Bang Bar while learning more about the Teeling Twist that makes these cocktails so good!
We have a FREE VOUCHER for a ‘Teeling Tasting for FOUR people and a handcrafted Teeling Cocktail to enjoy afterwards (worth 100 big ones) to give away.
To enter, just tell us your most memorable whiskey experience.
Lines stay open until Midnight.
Hic.
January before lockdown I met this American lad off Facebook and had him over for a weekend. The Saturday we decided to tour a particular distillery, enjoying banter with the lads who gave us extra shots of whisky. 11am turned into 3PM, no lunch staggering up to a bar in a brewery. Pints flowing . This chap and I were having a smooch that caught the eye of other Americans there for a weekend starting tongues wagging. Then they revealed themselves as Trump supporters and the others were anti Trump . A drunken discussion ensues with me standing on a chair preaching like the drunk eejit I am on the dangers of Trump flanked by a crowd of Californians who agreed with me. With that the bouncer and two barman arrived and kicked me and my friend out (he must have been terrified as we are big lads). Of course if I had been drinking Teelings I’d be more inclined to sip it to enjoy the smoother taste and not get as drunk….
Didn’t we have something similar last year – some kind of ‘finish off this sentence…’ ?
Mostly no memories…your Honour
Is the top picture supposed to be Dublin City?
My most memorable whiskey experience was that time i drank whiskey all afternoon, i think… hard to remember…. it was fun?
Double hot whiskies in Dracula’s Castle Transylvania after a two hour horse and cart journey through forests in a very cold wind. A journey that only takes a few minutes in the movies!
Father liked whiskey…
During the 2018 February/March snow in Ireland I was calling in on a couple of elderly neighbours to check in on them, make sure they had groceries etc. Two of the oul lads who lived next door to each other ended up inviting me in for a drink with them. I ended up completely unexpectedly drinking whiskey all afternoon in front of an open fire, looking out at the snow, hearing all about the long, interesting, lives these two guys had lived.
They’re both dead now unfortunately, but it was an unforgettable experience that will stick with me for the rest of my life. And the whiskey was definitely a huge part of it – I doubt I would have heard half as interesting stories from them without it.
Why did you kill them?
With the candlestick in the parlour?
That made me laugh I have to admit
Favourite whiskey memories…
now there’s an oxymoron
I once decided to relieve a guy of a large sum of cash after we randomly crossed paths out walking on the Kerry mountains. I took it over to my then girlfriend, thinking she would be well impressed but to cut a long story short, she ratted me out and I ended up having to do a stretch in jail. It was only the thought of the sweet, sweet whiskey that got me through the whole experience.
Over 20 years ago I was coordinating a research project in a far distant land and we got to know some of the locals reasonably well. One day my translator accidentally got us invited to some local religious festival at 10 in the morning, that involved the men of the village going from house to house, drinking home made hooch. We were picked up about early in the circuit and ended up visiting something like 10 houses. Each time, it was a brisk, mysterious ceremony and then a shot of hooch and off to the next place. Finally, ended up in the local ‘chief’s house, The 20 or so of us sat in this big circle, and the chap to my left poured this huge glass of whiskey, took a mouthful and passed it to his left, each person doing the same. It dawned on me I was going to be the last one, and followed the glass round with my eyes. Finally it got to the chap to my right, and he looked at me with a big smile: I saw he had no teeth, and some mysterious ulcery-looking marks around his mouth. He took a slurp and handed it to me. I was a fair few sheets to the wind, but had the presence of mind to pour the booze into my house without letting the glass touch my lips. I have a somewhat hazy memory of myself and the translator dashing back to our lodging and cracking open my emergency bottle of Jameson and vigorously gargling it.
I still have all my teeth.
LOL!
Hogmanay on the Isle of Skye (pre bridge construction).
The tradition persists that during the day of the 31st of December you visit every house in the neighbourhood bringing a bottle in your pocket but you take the first dram from the host before tucking into your own supply.
Then it’s off to the céilí with you to jig it off.
Defend Irish whiskey over Scotch.
Don’t recall much after that.
That is so Scottish…
Neighbour knocked in one Christmas for some reason, so feeling festive I invited him in for drink. Feeling generous due to already feeling festive I broke out the good stuff, I’m a big whiskey fan so always have a couple of decent bottles open. So I poured him a fairly hefty glass which he seemed to enjoy, smacking his lips together and making “ahh…” sounds. He then says to me, I’m a bit parched, would you have any soft drinks? So I got him a glass of seven up which he promptly poured in on top of my rather expensive whiskey much to my horror.
There really, really is no accounting for taste. Next time I gave him a beer.
I spent midsummer night once in a garden in West London with a barrister who’d just won a case. His client had given him a couple of bottles of a 16-year-old smoky whiskey to say thanks.
We drank and talked all night. I’d like to say we watched the sun come up, but I swear it didn’t get dark at all. It must have been decent stuff because I didn’t have a trace of a hangover the following day, just brimming with energy and good spirits.
First off, not in this to win this. Apart from the fact that I won a bottle previously and gave it to my Dad (and only got one wee dram for a taster, big sob), and recently got some great advice from the lads at Teeling about getting a couple of bottles to my American cousin’s husband who was of the opinion that America makes the best whiskies, I have unfortunately been told not to drink any alcohol for a significant period while my body recovers from a few decades of abuse – not all due to alcohol, some due to the Rosary, but all affecting my liver. I am quite attached to that organ, and would like to hang on to it for a while. So please do not put me in competition, but I do hope that you enjoy the tale. Let me regale you.
I may have mentioned before that I learned about whiskey quite literally at my Grandad’s knee. He had three simple rules: water a grain, ice in a blend, and leave the malt alone! And a bit of advice: If you are in the middle of nowhere and your car runs out of petrol, and all you have is a crate of Paddy’s, pour all the Paddy’s into the tank and drive to the next town. Then apologise to the car. You might say he was not a fan of Paddy’s.
Anyway, my first posting was to Somalia in the early nineties, just after the overthrow of Siad Barre. I mentioned that in one of my main posts, but this happens earlier than the other Event. I was a logistician, administrator and basically general dogsbody. The agency I was with were renovating an abandoned, unfinished prison to turn it into a hospital. It is still there, and still functioning to this day, nearly three decades (ouch, sorry) later.
Early in the process I was over and back quite a bit as supplies and materials were brought. The permanent staff included a Scot, a Frenchman, an Australian, and a bunch of Swiss and French. The latter were of the opinion that no other drink could match the variety and depth of wine. Top tip: never get them started with anyone who knows about real beer!
Naturally the Scot and I disagreed. Back then, there were very few limits on what we could bring in – absolutely no Customs, and we had our own plane which I managed, sort of. So I arranged a whiskey tasting, and had my boss, who is also Irish, buy as many real whiskies as he could in Nairobi and ship them to me as personal luggage. I got 10 bottles, pretty much even between Scotch and Irish.
So one Thursday night I arranged a stayover, and a tasting was had. On a flat roof accessed by an unsecured ladder, in the dark. This was where the team went every night to sit and chat and catch whatever cool breezes were to be had, and occasionally a beer. This night, we set out the glasses, and bottles of water, and the whiskies. When we started, the Scot and I took turns explaining the whisky or whiskey about to be tasted, and why the different spelling.
For the first one, a sound Tullamore Dew, the Swiss and the French went to spit out their mouthfuls, as you would at a wine tasting. If you ever want to see something feral, it is a diminutive Scottish nurse watching whiskey being spat out!
So we explained that they should take a sip of each, fine to roll it around and sniff it, etc. Then try with a small amount of water, as it does release different flavours. Only not the last one, and I will explain in a moment. Only small amounts were given of each for the tasting, and most rinsed their palates with water between each. By the end, we did get a somewhat grudging admission that there was more to whiskies than had been so cavalierly derided at first.
But the last brooked no questions, or water. Somehow, my boss had gotten a hold of a 21 year old bottle of The Glenlivet. Without doubt the best of the bottles we had, and my Granddad’s admonition rang in my ears and allowed no adulteration of that fine spirit.
After everyone had made their choices of their favourites of the other nine bottles, it was decided as the following day allowed a long lie in, we would finish one of the bottles. The Black Bush was chosen, and we shared stories about things we did and did not do until it was gone. The beds awaited, for some bathrooms beckoned, and for all of us the ladder threatened. How we all made it down alive and unharmed, I do not know. but we did.
The following morning, a few were glad they were in a hospital, and some doctors prescribed relief! At the time, I had a bump on my knee. I had previously torn the cartilage, and this was a bit dislodged to just under the skin. It was not painful, just annoying if kneeling. But here were doctors and nurses, and after a quick examination, one of the teams (they all work as units apparently) washed up, and the unsightly bump removed. I was encouraged by the lack of groans that they were in a fit state.
I left the remaining eight bottles with the team, but claimed The Glenlivet as my own, and took what was left back the next day, and out it came on special occasions to be shared sparingly with the team in the house I stayed in. But it did not get past Paddy’s Day.
Should you wish to know, the Irish were Tullamore Dew, Jameson, Bushmills Original, Paddies and Black Bush.
The Scotches were Johnny Walker, Bells, Ballantine’s, The Famous Grouse, and of course The Glenlivet.
Had to look up my diary, my memory is no longer that good!
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed that tale, and it brings a tear to a mouse’s eye!
No memories I am prepared (or brave enough) to recall…
I shouldn’t really be taking part LOL!
Anyway, Foley’s Bar on Merrion Row (opposite roadside to O’Donnoghues Bar) has, or had, a really fine selection of whiskeys…. I tried a few one evening in the early noughties and there was one aged in French wine barrels that had a light colour with a smooth caramel after taste that was absolutely wonderful…. But nope, I can’t for the life of me recall the name, all I know is it was Scottish. If it comes to me later… I’ll let you know :)
Jamming with the lads over new years one time turned into a late night early morning weed n beer session. Beer ran out so out came the whiskey until 5 am and instead of calling in sick, I decide to go to work. The singer drove me to the airport after I gave him a punch in the jaw and I was duly delivered to the job in a pukey heap at the front door with my uniform under me arm. The singer took off the wrong way round the airport one way system, ended up being chased by the airport cops and crashed his car on the old airport road.
I was sacked next day.