Needing a break from the daily stress of running the horse farm, I spent a few days R&R at a historic lakeside resort, courtesy of a client whose family had owned it for over a century. It was rainy and quite chilly—even for early June in northern Vermont—and one evening instead of a walk along the shore, I found myself sitting in an elegant wing-back chair in the main lodge, fire blazing in the hearth, and a glass of single malt in hand. The waiter who had brought me my drink was in a uniform nicer than my former husband’s wedding suit and who had better manners than a seeing-eye dog. Sitting in the chairs across from me were two gentlemen, one caressing a brandy snifter, an unlit pipe in his teeth, and the other sipping a small glass of port, admiring the color through the wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.
As I sipped my scotch, a feeling of complete serenity enveloped me. It was a comfortable, warm feeling, like settling into the saddle astride my favorite horse. Gently swirling the liquid in my glass, I found myself listening to the conversation on the other side of the hearth.
“Have you ever noticed that riding and horses are like a fine cocktail?” asked my tobacco-less neighbor.
“Interesting,” came the reply from his companion. “Tell me your thoughts.” And with that I became a willing set of ears to their tale.
If you are not familiar with a variety of libations, I apologize—this story is not for you. If you are familiar and not a fan, I will pause while you leave the room with memories of your last encounter with these beverages.
“It isn’t the appearance that makes them similar,” Mr. Pipe mused. “Horses have it hands-down when it comes to variety in color, shape, and size. There are no dapple greys, paints, or appaloosas. If you line up any six glasses of whiskey, for example, you may not be able to discern much of a difference other than perhaps a slight variation in shade. Some may be darker, others quite pale, and a few almost smoky, but they are all essentially light brown. Dim the lights, and the variations in color all but disappear. No, the real comparison is in the complexity of each; deeper, more subtle, and far more interesting.”
“The beer connoisseurs and oenophiles may be thinking the same can be said for examples of their beverage of choice,” his friend remarked. “Yet, I agree that there is something innate in the power of whiskey, the fact that it takes a certain constitution to truly enjoy and appreciate a single malt that sets it apart.”
“Of course, of course. There are many apt comparisons among, if not the horses themselves, then the riders and the particular sports they enjoy that would naturally include all those fine people—wine, whisky, and ale drinkers alike.”
They each enjoyed a sip of their beverages in companionable silence broken only by the crackle of the logs on the hearth.
“Tell me,” continued the bespectacled man, “how do you relate horses with various inebriants? I have little experience with equines directly, though growing up in the country I did more than my fair share of spectating. They are indeed magnificent creatures.”
Chewing on his pipestem in thought, the answer came after a few moments. “Smoothness, feel, power, elegance, depth: these are a few qualities shared by horses and drink. They both range in personality and experience from the sublime, easy-going types to those that can make the hair stand up on the back of your neck. I think that riders, too, can be fairly well split along the lines of which types of horse sports and beverages they prefer.
“Some people love a horse with a lot of action—the power in a horse with a big, scopey stride. Suspension, they may call it. Like a good tequila, it is a noisy, strong, knock-your-socks-off motion. True flavor comes after the rush of feeling, like a solid landing after jumping a very large fence. These riders like horses and libations that are bold and exciting to experience—like showjumping and riding cross-country—that test your strength and senses. The experience is up front, and the effect is undeniable.
“After clearing the final four-foot-high, six-foot-wide oxer going 400 meters per minute, you don’t want something that will settle you back and soothe you. You want to relish every moment of adrenaline rush. You need spirits you can feel at that moment, that won’t let you down by being too subtle, too tame.”
“Quite fascinating! Please do continue, but first, the waiter is here and would you like another?” queried Mr. Spectacles.
“Certainly,” said the pipe man with a broad smile.
“Same again, if you please, and another of whatever my storyteller is having. And could you add another log to the fire? The damp night is seeping into my bones. Thank you so much.” While their drinks and heat were ordered and tended to, I was deep in thought, musing on the topic being discussed across the low table.
“During a hard ride to hounds, foxhunters want something to warm them and give the courage needed to go the distance, but that allows them to stay on their horse.” The speaker accepted his fresh glass with a nod, then continued. “In that case, something with a medium bite but a smooth finish does the job. A nice bourbon or rye whisky, perhaps with a hint of fruit added. It’s like having a confident horse with plenty of drive, who is honest over fences, but not brave to the point of being reckless. You want to be able to watch the hounds work, so neither your mount nor the contents of your flask should be too distracting.”
I was now thoroughly engrossed, swirling my own draught in its glass, admiring the reflections of amber light. As a horse trainer of more than 30 years, I couldn’t wait to hear what came next.
“Now,” he said, popping a bit of the newly arrived cheese and crackers into his mouth before continuing, “we come to the dressage riders and the English hunters. These folks want to transition smoothly, either from walk to canter or from afternoon tea to a nice preprandial libation. If dressage is the ballet of riding, a fine white wine celebrates the occasion; even if you miss the depth and subtlety of its character, it is still a beautiful thing to enjoy. If a clean hunter trip with a steady rhythm and pace that clears the fences as easily as water flowing in a stream, a silky, smooth red will never disappoint. It will give you reliably complex flavors that are as fine and rich as velvet.
“The rodeo lovers and trail riders want something a bit easier, one sport requiring intense focus while creating a strong thirst, and the other being a more mellow situation all-around. Here, we will find the beers, malt beverages, and ciders, along with a variety of softer drinks, to last throughout the day.”
All was quiet for several moments, each one of us pondering the validity of the discourse, enjoying the warmth of the fire and our own choice of beverage.
“You haven’t mentioned racing,” queried the gentleman playing the part of attentive audience while absent-mindedly cleaning his glasses.
“Ah, well, that would lead us into the territory reserved for gin, I’m afraid. And that is an entirely different conversation.”
“See you tomorrow, then,” he said, as he rose and walked away from the glow of the embers and the man with the empty pipe bowl. A moment later, the storyteller headed deeper into the lodge and perched on a stool at the bar, ready to tell another tale.
I took my glass out onto the porch. The rain was now a gentle mist, clouds were clearing, and a warm breeze came in off the lake. I thought about the conversation I had just been privy to. “Well,” I said to the evening as I drained my glass, “he’s not wrong.”
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