Slap Shots

"Very smooth."
"Smooth, isn't it?"
"Mmm, yes, it's quite smooth."

Adjectives move on to include "creamy," "buttery," and "fruity." Tourists and homeless bums walk past the picture windows of Rose Pistola, enjoying the early afternoon sun, oblivious to the fact that someone inside the restaurant will soon, without irony, say a bottle of scotch contains the flavors of "pineapple and bananas." (Let's try to imagine those acres of pineapple fields and banana forests indigenous to Scotland, the monkeys with kilts chattering in the trees, the luaus on the beaches of Islay, with shirtless bagpipers roasting sheep and tossing cabers into the surf ....)

Sterling smacks his lips and announces, "I could cook with this. It would be good to deglaze a pan with."

A waitress samples a glass, as does the maitre d'. I suggest that we might get the entire staff of the restaurant in on the deal. The Scot suddenly whips around with a wide grin on his face, and exclaims in a thick brogue: "That would be good fun!"

Actually, it probably would not be a good idea to get the entire restaurant crew pink-faced in the middle of the day, dancing in the center of Columbus to some weird jig inside their heads, waitresses alternately making out with busboys and arguing with chefs, dead-drunk tourists peeing against trees, cops on motorbikes knifing through the unruly mob, news choppers thup-thupping over the melee, Jim Cryle and Jennifer Billings swaying from the roof of the Rose Pistola building, singing Willie Nelson's "Whiskey River, Take My Mind!" and swilling from bottles of Century, their chins and clothing glistening with vomit, while, standing across the street, Alan Black of the Edinburgh Castle Scottish pub in the Tenderloin, organizer of the Scottish Cultural and Arts Foundation events, watches through his fingers in horror as a silly, marketing-driven product from his homeland turns the neighborhood into a cheap spectacle.

But maybe Cryle had the right idea. A hideous afternoon binge would be a lot more interesting than the slew of gushingly positive "news" reports we'll soon be seeing about the scotch of a hundred scotches.

Address all correspondence to: Slap Shots, c/o SF Weekly, 425 Brannan, San Francisco, CA 94107; phone: (415) 536-8152; e-mail: slapshawts@aol.com.

By Jack Boulware

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