Absolut Vanilla Vodka

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Anyway, Absolut manufacture a range of vodkas. Most come in a pleasing frosted glass bottle with a silver screw top, apart from Absolut Raspberri which comes in a bright red clear glass bottle. They look slightly classier than the average alcohol bottle, which puts you at a clear advantage when you're bringing 20 or so to the bottle bank. Absolut is a Swedish brand, and no doubt there's a whole history of why theirs is the best, purest ...
...an insight to the average Absolut fuelled evening.

1st drink: Pleasantly warm sensation of general wellbeing.

2nd drink: Becoming more chatty. So great is the alcohol infused magnanimity that I can listen to dull people, agree, smile and not tell them they're dull. Brilliant. I lose the ability to text coherently.

3rd drink (half a bottle gone): I'm recounting amusing anecdotes of things I've done when ... more

You know, I cannot believe I haven't done this sooner. Frightfully remiss of me, really, seeing as I seem to be single-handedly keeping the company in a healthy profit margin.

I started drinking when I was 13, which probably isn't to be recommended. Mind you, it did me no harm (I say that optimistically. An autopsy may well reveal that my liver's been protesting quietly for 14 years). As a 13 year old, I eschewed cider and snakebite in favour of the oh so sophisticated Mad Dog 20/20. Don't remember it? Well, either you're younger than 27 or you never embraced teenage alcoholism with quite the same fervour that I did. Available in a range of vomit-inducing flavours this was a fortified wine (I think. It was possibly just meths and E numbers) that was about 18% proof. Drinking more than one bottle gave your entire body the same sensation as when you get your mouth frozen at the dentist's. That is to say, your brain would be urgently issuing important commands whilst your arms and legs would be making jerky and uncoordinated movements in the manner of an epileptic breakdancing. Occasionally you might giggle. And then drool a bit. The night was brought to a successful close when you slid down a wall and collapsed in an ungainly heap. Ah, happy days.

Eventually, though, I was introduced to the world of vodka. And when I say 'introduced' I mean 'ran towards with arms outstretched'. The beauty of vodka when you're about 17 is that it's difficult to detect on the breath (although the talking nonsense/falling over every sodding article of furniture in the house may give the game away to sharp-eyed parents), it can be bought quite cheaply, and it mixes well with just about everything. I haven't looked back since.

Initially I started with Smirnoff, which is alright, but it's a bit ubiquitous and is basically just bog standard vodka with some clever marketing. Absolut, on the other hand, is for the more sophisticated and discerning alcoholic. One of the plus points is that when you arrive at the checkout with your trolley filled with 14 bottles of Absolut, some Pringles, and a bottle of lemonade, the 16 year old acne-riddled checkout attendant will not think 'Jesus, another bloody lush' in the same way that they might if you had stocked up with equal quantities of Smirnoff. Rather, they will think, 'hey, look at that ace girl. She drinks cool and nice vodka. Bet she has brilliant parties with interesting people. When I grow up and lose the acne I aspire to be just like her.' And, well, if you're the kind of person that wants to inspire lifestyle envy in 16 year old checkout attendants, nothing could be finer.

Anyway, Absolut manufacture a range of vodkas. Most come in a pleasing frosted glass bottle with a silver screw top, apart from Absolut Raspberri which comes in a bright red clear glass bottle. They look slightly classier than the average alcohol bottle, which puts you at a clear advantage when you're bringing 20 or so to the bottle bank. Absolut is a Swedish brand, and no doubt there's a whole history of why theirs is the best, purest vodka on earth. To be honest, I can't be arsed researching it (or even walking to the kitchen to read the bottle), so your options are to Google it, or to take my word on it as the authority on all things vodka-related. I'd go with option b. I'm quite the connoisseur.

Once you've paid your fourteen quid and acquired your 70cl of alcohol (I know, I know. It's expensive. But just think: the checkout teenager will be envious, and it's 40%. You know it's worth it) you can either go to a hip and trendy party where you will make some delightful cocktails, talk world politics and dance to funky music, or you can take it home, unscrew the lid and stick a straw in it. I'm not casting aspersions or anything, but I know which you're more likely to do. That's alright, though; this is not the kind of vodka to look down its nose at you. It may wish that it had fulfilled its destiny by going to the cool party, but it won't say a word. That's a good vodka. Smirnoff'd probably be heckling you by now (incidentally, are you worried that I appear to have bestowed a character on vodka, and am also speaking on its behalf? So am I, frankly, but I started and now I don't know how to stop. Plough on anyway. I'll probably cease and desist soon).

When you open the bottle you'll be greeted by nothing very much at all, really. Stick your nose right in, however, and you'll find it smells a lot like ice cream. As with all vodkas, this is best served cold so stick it in the fridge (if you've got that kind of time) or in the freezer (if you're a proper alcoholic). I'm not going to be all arsey and give you a blow by blow account of the taste sensation, but I will tell you that it's a very smooth vodka, far more so than Smirnoff. When mixed with lemonade or coke you can really taste the vanilla, without losing the subtle flavour of the vodka itself. It's a bit like getting hammered on ice cream, which may not sound like such great thing to the uninitiated, but trust me, it's brilliant.

Since I have neither the inclination or, it has to be said, the skill to give you a Jilly Goolden style lowdown, I shall instead treat you to an insight to the average Absolut fuelled evening.

1st drink: Pleasantly warm sensation of general wellbeing.

2nd drink: Becoming more chatty. So great is the alcohol infused magnanimity that I can listen to dull people, agree, smile and not tell them they're dull. Brilliant. I lose the ability to text coherently.

3rd drink (half a bottle gone): I'm recounting amusing anecdotes of things I've done when drunk on vodka. I make anyone and everyone listen to the story of how I once downed a litre of vodka in one. And then passed out in a pool of blood. Realise that this story does not make me look good, and try desperately to think of a tale when I did something heroic or interesting whilst drunk on vodka. Brain is not forthcoming with this information. Stupid brain.

4th drink: Giggling and cack-handedly trying to make cocktails. Start bemoaning the fact that I do not have the requisite materials to make nice cocktails. Wonder aloud whether lettuce could possibly replace the mint leaves in a mojito.

5th drink (end of bottle): Volume of voice becoming gradually louder. Tendency to stop mid-sentence and giggle or trail off into 'Ach, well. Hmm. Aye…' markedly more increased than normal. It's around this stage that I tend to start talking about madly disparate subjects. Religion and my favourite cartoon characters are stalwarts.

6th drink (new bottle): Overwhelming desire for toast.

7th drink: I've actively sought out the dull person from earlier and am trying to be nice to them. This is scuppered by the fact that I tend to give people a handy nickname when I'm drunk which incorporates an appropriate adjective. The conversation will therefore go something like this:

Me: 'hello Boring Adrian. Are you having fun?'
Adrian: 'what did you just say?'
Me: 'No one here likes you, so it's brave that you came along.'
Adrian: 'I hate you.'

8th drink (1 and a half bottles gone): I decide that now is the time to phone people and tell them I love them. I almost never make sense in these conversations and it's the same people I phone every time. If the place I'm drinking has stairs, now'll be the time I fall down them. And then laugh at myself for longer than you might think possible.

9th drink: I fall asleep mid-sentence. Or whilst making toast. Am woken either by the fire alarm or by some thoughtful person trying to put me to bed so that I don't wake up on the living room floor.

Now, if that little vignette doesn't recommend Absolut to you, I just don't know what will. Erm...it's great in cocktails and it gets you to a pleasing level of inebriation quickly. That should do it.

 

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