What's good for the Goose is good for the snob!

BACKGROUND:
Before I get into the heart of my review for the Goose, I feel that is important to understand that I am not a snob when it comes to alcoholic beverages. My idea of great beer is an ice cold Red Dog or a 40 oz. bottle of fine Olde English 800 malt liquor. Whiskey? I'll take a Seagram's 7 and Coke just as fast as I'd take Wild Turkey. It has been my experience, however, that vodka (my personal favorite form of alcohol) truly improves in quality from shelf to shelf. I should know. My career as a part-time vodka connoisseur began by choking down pints of the unapologetically potent Quality House (Heaven Hill's evil twin). I progressed from the dreck that was thick rubbing alcohol on the lowest shelf, to the more manageable Sea Breeze with a hint of sawdust in Smirnoff. After a few years of that, I finally got the good sense to do a little research on superior vodkas. I found out about Stolichnaya here at Epinions, found it incredibly smooth and decently priced, and haven't looked back since. So how did I come to the Grey Goose of the top shelf?

The downside to not being picky about your drinks is the monotony and boredom that comes along with it. On any given visit to a liquor store I essentially had four choices to choose from: Seagram's 7, Jim Beam, Stoli, and just occasionally Jack Daniels. With a birthday just passing, I decided to take action and play out the role of the snob... I was going to the top shelf for a bottle of Grey Goose! And what a beautiful bottle it is. Painted onto the bottle is a series of blues and whites, as geese fly in unison in an arctic area with snow capped mountains and frozen ponds. Attached to the bottle was a paper detailing Grey Goose's victory at the world vodka tasting championships, where it scored 96 out of a possible 100 points, and took home the only Platinum Award. I was impressed. Little did I know that the bottle was going to be the least impressive aspect of my purchase.

THE REVIEW:
I allowed the Grey Goose to sit for a full 24 hours in my freezer before I would recklessly quaff it. After I eventually popped the cork (nice!) from the frosty bottle, an inexplicably fruity scent wafted in the air. Was this vodka? I had been used to opening bottles and smelling liquids that seemed more suited under the hood of a car, than in my body. With that in mind, I poured a shot and a half into my glass. Though it is surely impossible, somehow the Grey Goose just seemed clearer than the vodkas I’ve had in the past. It was almost as if the French had, through triple distillation and limestone filtering, created a liquid purer than water. I stared in amazement for a second, and took a gulp. The thing that immediately separated this vodka from any other liquor that I’ve ever drank was that I never had the urge to wince and make facial expressions in protest of the burn and potency. The Grey Goose was smoother than I ever expected from the most premium of premium vodkas. As far as its flavor, it really didn’t have any. Grey Goose’s taste, despite the slightly fruity aroma of the liquor, was not far off from water at all. The slight presence of alcohol in its taste can only be detected in a straight shot, and even then only barely. This makes Grey Goose an exciting, although potentially dangerous addition to a mixed drink. In comparison, Stolichnaya’s taste is immediately more alcohol heavy, with a burn and an aftertaste that reminds you that you have just had vodka, which the Grey Goose completely lacks. That means a lot coming from me, since I considered Stoli to be my favorite drink up to that point.

After being impressed at how the Goose stood alone, I decided to test it in my favorite mixed drinks. First up was the IIGuardian classic, vodka and Lemon-lime Gatorade (you may cringe, but alcohol and electrolytes equals a good night). I poured an even mixture of both in a cup, and honestly, I can’t say that I tasted any Goose at all. I can say that I felt the Goose going to work on my brain, gradually slowing my actions, blurring my vision, and slurring my speech. Good. Next up I tried the Goose in something a bit more traditional: a vodka and cranberry. With maybe 3 ounces of vodka and an ounce and a half of cranberry, the Grey Goose completely folded into the sweet drink, leading me to believe that maybe I had forgot to pour in the vodka. My impromptu freestyle rap quickly reminded me that I did. Now some may think that it should be considered a con of Grey Goose to not particularly add any “sparks” to these drinks, and others will think it is a sin to waste such fine vodka in such heavy mixers. All of these opinions are valid. But for me personally, I think I have found the liquor that I’ve been searching for in all of my years drinking.

THE BOTTOM-LINE:
Grey Goose is simply the finest alcohol of any sort that I’ve ever consumed. It is so uncommonly smooth that one could easily get carried away in enjoying it, and forget about the 80 proof punch that it delivers until it is too late. I applaud the French’s diligence in creating the #1 vodka in the world. While it is no doubt the perfect drink, unfortunately it is not a perfect world. The $30 price insures that I won’t be flying high with the Goose too often. It would be ridiculous to complain about the price of the best vodka that the world has to offer, but as of now I just can’t afford to drink it consistently. I must turn back to the old, reliable four choices (Stoli may have been beaten, but it’s still a good friend), and leave the Goose for the snobs. In fact, I will cherish my experiences with the Goose until the very day that I can proclaim myself as quite the snob.