Dear Indigo Landing:
I was a recent patron at your restaurant’s bar. First of all, let me tell you what an amazing location your restaurant is! An amazing view of the city and the Potomac River. My friends and I really enjoy popping in for an early evening casual drink.
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I recently visited your establishment and skipped (almost literally) straight to the bar to scope out your scotch selection. As I had remembered before, you had the same blasé single malts (The Glenlivets of a few boring ages and finishes) and the expected blends (Johnnie Walker Red, Black, and Dewers *YAWN*). On my last two visits, this is was quite literally the only place in town that had Talisker 25-year (approximately $250 / bottle) on the bar for a reasonable price (approximately $25-27 per glass).
It is quite obvious where this is going; it was gone! Okay. I am not going to panic, I see a nice bottle of Laphroaig 10-year smiling at me on one of the upper shelves. Here is an artist’s rendition of the moment:
So I sigh at the lack of Talisker 25-year, and inquire of the price of the yummy Laphroaig 10-year. The elderly gentleman behind the bar informs me of the $22 price tag.
I politely asked him to repeat himself. Same answer. $22.
“I’ll have a beer, then.” $5.
A bottle of Laphroaig 10-year costs approximately $50 at a retail store. I am too lazy to calculate the mark-up on that price per glass, but WOW. Quite frankly, I was actually offended at that price. Just because it is a single malt, doesn’t mean that people are stupid and will empty their wallet for it. I would have paid as much as $15 out of desperation to go with the great view, but crossing the $20 mark was just offensive. Harry’s Tap Room holds this same dram at $8.50. Harry’s food and establishment (excluding your view) is leagues of classy above yours.
Please get your scotch act together. You are just embarrassing yourself out there. If you need some help, shoot me an e-mail. I may answer you. But then again, I really wanted that Laphroiag that you dangled in front of my nose before slapping me in the face with a dead wet fish.
Not so truly yours due to your scotch selections,