Yesterday night I had my first encounter with the whiskey-colored mouthwash colloquially known as Kentucky Gentleman. It was mixed with Diet Coke and came in a plastic cup and was served up in what’s probably the only appropriate setting to drink KG after you’ve graduated from college: the black-and-red-decorated, slightly sticky, very dark interior of Black Cat.
It came after several drinks (including a boozy Coke float that sadly was too much ice cream and whipped cream and various other cream products and not enough booze for my taste)—but even my buzz couldn’t dull my taste buds enough to prevent the insult. Granted, I got about halfway through the plastic cup before I asked my friend what in God’s name I was drinking. It tastes like rubbery fire or fiery rubber with possibly a whiff of Red Hots and pennies mixed in. My friend informed me Kentucky Gentleman only comes in plastic gallon jugs, I’m assuming because it’s brewed in rusty bathtubs by actual Kentucky gentlemen in the darkest recesses of the forest. My friend came by this knowledge by drinking copious amounts of KG in college, which he says is because he was too poor to afford anything else but which I really think is because he had a death wish. Kentucky Gentleman also, weirdly, reminds me of Johnny Walker Red, which is quite a few shelves up but shares the same taste of brimstone and crushed dreams.
So yeah, I think I will be adding this distinguished spirit to my ever-lengthening list of Things I Probably Never Want to Drink Again, where it can rub elbows with illustrious company like Jager, SoCo-lime shots, and Carlo Rossi jug o’ sangria. Farewell, Kentucky Gentleman. I hardly knew ye. (But I know I don’t like ye.)