A nite @rite

Irish American

The evening began with a craving to fiercely combat loneliness, leading me to a drink that turned out to be unexpectedly delightful. It was smooth, quickly filling my palate with a gentle warmth and no harsh burn as it slid down. Instead, a sweet note on the tongue caught my attention. Contrary to its description, it felt youthful—like a bowl of fruity cereal. The initial sip was bright and sweet, followed by a subtle floral and fruity aroma. While the night didn't start with the dramatic intensity I imagined, it welcomed a playful, quirky way that danced its way in.

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Bunnahabhain _{with ginger ale}

This drink was initially described as a sticky toffee pudding, but with the addition of ginger ale, it transformed into a Christmas pudding. Honestly, I don’t usually like Christmas pudding—I often find it too heavy on the spices. However, this version felt much less aggressive in its flavors. It made for a perfect intermission, a blissful dessert moment. And I should mention, caramel pudding happens to be my favorite dessert, which probably explains why I enjoyed the feeling this drink brought me so much.

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Uigeadail

I asked for a sad whisky. Its sadness lies in the fact that you’re on a strict diet, forbidden from eating meat, so you rely on this drink to savor the taste of it. By the third glass, as the night deepens, it feels like we've reached the story's downturn. This whisky tastes like waking up at 4 a.m., hungover and headache-ridden, in a town where the only open place is a dim Irish pub serving full English breakfast. You walk in, carrying the smoky bitterness of last night’s cigarettes and an unplaceable mix of alcohol lingering in your mouth. By some cruel twist—whether from worn-out staff or genuine malfunction—they have no hot water, so there’s no soothing cup of tea to greet you. You sit down and start eating: black pudding, grilled tomato, smoked sausage. Your numbed palate dulls most of the flavors, but now and then, a faint hint of meat cuts through. It’s a sad, quiet meal, but you know that once you finish and step outside, you’ll be just in time to catch the sunrise.

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At the end of the night, I entered a moment of piecing myself back together. I indulged in a whole evening’s worth of salted whipped cream, like Pooh clutching a jar full of honey. Holding the entire bowl, I sent my sorrow — and my blood sugar — to their demise.