Now my favourite blended whisky is White Horse. This has to do with two issues, an association with my grandfather and a deep love for Islay whisky. For those not in the know, Islay is an island off of Scotland that produces the world’s only whiskies truly worth considering. Those of you who love gentle Highland or Speyside malts, read no further. For those with hair on your chest or pretensions to such a noble status, the peaty, smokey medicinal nature of the Islay’s are clearly the only way to go. Seeing as you have read this far ,you will be insulted, obviously, by me reminding you that White Horse is a blend made up mostly of Lagavulin, the pretentious, wears too much make-up, uptight WASPy sister, of the king of whiskeys, Laphroaig. Smells like hospital bandages you say? Now, now.
It is true that no establishment worth going to, serves White Horse any more. It is considered, only by the blissfully ignorant, mind you, to be almost the equivalent of breaking the first rule of whisky: “Never drink a whisky with a number in the name“. But this is not so. If Laphroaig 10 Year old is not present, White Horse will ease our needs, at a wallet friendlier pace.
Now it has become a thing of status to own the right car and drink the right whiskey in certain nouveau diamanté circles around Maude street in Sandton and at various other equally being seen at locations. The tipple of choice is, or so I am told, is Johnnie Walker, and the label must be at least Green. now this is what Wikipedia has to say on the matter:
Green Label — a vatted malt that is a blend of about 15 individual single malts, the signature malts being Talisker, Cragganmore, Linkwood, and Caol Ila – Aged 15 years. 86 proof. 43% ABV. Previously sold under the name ‘Pure Malt’.
Now some of those names have a geography with Islay in them. I am not unappreciative of this. One may happily arrive at such an event, ready to attack those bottles green, in a “pimped” BMW. Say the latest M3? Extra 
kudos for choosing the Convertible one with the folding, metal roof. So far so good. As important are the slender heels and invariably long flowing hair, adorning the front passenger seat.
This is roughly where all the trouble seems to start. Said M3 is either driven with the traction control on, or crashed. The whiskey is always seemingly mixed with coke. seeing a pattern here? The M3 is certainly flattering and will get you noticed. It could be purist. It is a coveted drivers car. It’s performance is legendary, the sound with the roof down and your foot flat, enough to cause nocturnal emissions. Zowie. Pity then that this is a car that will probably, mostly be driven by people in slacks. This is so wrong. It deserves Blues, Jazz maybe even a little heavy metal, the sidewalls of the tyres should be worn from sideways scrub. That damn electronic Nanny should be packed away and you should smell your own fear before effortlessly opening the door and pressing the start button, that keyless entry allows. 0-100 in about the time it takes a short skirt to blow up a sculpted leg with the roof down.
The adjustable width seat, with extra hold is there to help you keep it all together. A blast up Kloofneck Road towards the new Roundhouse Restaurant was rewarded with a hairy moment or two and the best goddamned sandwiches of my life. The Twin Clutch Manual gearbox has instant changes that do not feel expensive like they did on the SMG. It is a flappy paddle variation that sits well with the mechanically sensitive. Rumbulion, the Roundhouse’s new outdoor addition. Who would have thought R100 sandwiches that were worth it were on our horizon? The bread was fresh and sublime. 200g of salmon or sirloin, delicately accompanied, by a real fresh mayo, subtle pickles and greens. Genius. Service is well trained as ever if a little automated, but credit where it is due, the training is taking. My Car door was even opened for me. The pleasures of M3 ownership perhaps? That and the sandwiches settled the adrenalin nicely thank you.
Funny thing is, all those gorgeous women disdainfully forgetting my existence were suddenly and inexplicitly needing lifts. Curious beast this M3.
These are not car issues to mull over with a classic Bordeaux. It is best considered in a salty fog of Islay whisky. Neat. Or with maybe a splash of water.
Gripes:
in full sport mode, unless driven flat out, the throttle gets jerky. No noticeable suspension difference in the sportier modes, just more of the painful throttle sensitivity. It needs an electronic nanny that allows more playfulness before coming to the rescue. It still feels either too safe and protective or plain old, tongue lolling, panting, open-mouthed-chewing, balls to the walls, eyeball-white-exposing full-tilt insane.
The Crummy old type I-drive is still a dull drag that requires the concentration of an 8 year old playing that memory game where you have to turn up, face down cards, two at a time in order to match them in order to find anything useful in the convoluted menu. The i-drive in the new 3 and 5 cures all my gripes. Please retro-fit them? The roof can only be folded or extended when completely stationary (ok. a little picky)
Oh and at around R890 000 as tested, I can’t afford to buy one right now.
The trouble is, most dolts who can afford to buy it, are going to damn well blend it with Coca Cola.
