Through a Shot Glass Darkly

THE BOOZE READER by George Bishop. 288 pages. Sherbourne Press. $4.50.

Like a raffish, somewhat questionable stranger at a bar, this raffish, somewhat questionable book glibly rattles off all sorts of odd and fascinating facts about the manufacture and use of liquor. The word "spirits" was originally applied to the alcohol vapor created during the distillation process. The "proof" of any whisky is equal to double the amount of alcohol it contains; 100 proof means 50% alcohol by volume, the other half being distilled water, coloring and the like. "Proof" originally was a place where gunpowder was tested. Early distillers adopted the term, because they used powder to gauge the strength of liquor. They would mix a sample of newly condensed alcohol with an equal amount of gunpowder and strike a match to it. If the mixture failed to burn, the liquor was too weak; if it erupted into a violent flame, it was too strong; but if it burned with an even blue flame, it was considered just right.

Author Bishop, a California freelance writer, cheerfully admits that his only credential as a liquor authority is a long and fond acquaintance with the stuff. Apparently, he also set out to touch off a Donnybrook in any roomful of serious or discriminating drinkers. For example, he argues that most drinkers are kidding themselves when they claim that they can taste the difference between competing brands of liquor. Moreover, though most people can taste the difference between Scotch and bourbon on the first drink, Bishop claims that most bourbon drinkers cannot distinguish between different types of bourbon (straight, charcoal-filtered, sour-mash) after the second drink. After the third, he says, they cannot tell bourbon from Canadian rye, and after the fourth they cannot distinguish bourbon from Scotch. After the fifth, presumably, they couldn't care less. Bishop also adds a note on something that many a hard-pressed host has already discovered: that switching gin and vodka martinis in the shank of any evening is as easy as it is unsporting.

The author contends that an ordinary drinker cannot tell Scotch from bourbon if he is blindfolded and holds his nose. Bishop invites doubters to make the test by having someone else set up the experiment (teetotalers can substitute quinine water and coffee). It is all academic anyway, since most people prefer to drink with eyes, nose and mouth open. Just the same, the book makes pleasant bar-time reading.

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