Summer isn’t really whiskey weather. Even though I love whiskey, when the heat hits, I reach for a cold beer from the fridge like everyone else. These days everyone talks about whiskey highballs being perfect for summer, but decades of beer commercials showing that refreshing first sip are hard to beat. And let’s be honest – who wants to bother making highballs when it’s too hot to move?
Yet somehow I keep reaching for bourbon in summer, picking it over Scotch. Not because bourbon suits summer better – it doesn’t. If you’re reading this thinking you’ve discovered some secret summer drink, you haven’t. It’s just that one summer memory changed how I feel about bourbon forever
We all have those private joys – things we love for reasons only we understand. Try explaining them and you get confused looks in return. But maybe that’s how it should be. Our lives are built from personal moments, each one shaping who we become. Why expect others to understand every piece of our story?
Somewhere in my early thirties, I started watching movies every Friday night. Can’t remember which film sparked it, but one moved me so deeply I thought, ‘If something can stir emotions like this, I’d be a fool not to make it part of my life.’
I was living in a sharehouse called D-Well in Seongsu-dong back then. Great place, great people, great memories – except for one thing: no air conditioning in the bedrooms.
The living room had AC, so everyone kept their doors open in summer. But I hated feeling watched while watching movies, so I’d close my door and use a fan instead. Despite the heat, I cherished that private time. I always had beer or whiskey with my movies, but on summer nights, even though I craved beer, the thought of walking 10 minutes to buy some felt too troublesome. I considered stealing my roommate’s beer from the fridge but decided against it. Instead, I poured some Maker’s Mark bourbon over ice.
The movie was ‘Night Train to Lisbon.’ Though the plot’s hazy now, except for making me dream of travel, what sticks with me is the bourbon’s aroma that night.
Any bourbon lover knows that sweet, distinctive scent. People say it’s corn, and maybe they’re right – bourbon is made from corn after all. But I’ve never been enough of a corn fan to say for sure. Whatever it is, that smell is pure bourbon.
The fan swept back and forth at 90 degrees, sending waves of bourbon-scented air through my room. At first, it was just a pleasant whiskey smell. But as time passed, something changed. The aroma grew deeper, richer, filling every corner as I sat there watching my movie. Something magical was happening. The Maker’s Mark scent danced in the air, wrapping around me until I couldn’t tell if I was drunk on the bourbon or just its fragrance. Anyone opening my door would’ve stepped into this invisible cloud of warmth.
Back in 2018, before whiskey became trendy, most of my friends saw it as an old man’s drink. I’d excitedly offer them a whiff of my latest bottle, hoping they’d share my enthusiasm, but all I’d get was a quick sniff and a polite ‘Hmm… sure.’ Can’t blame them – you can’t force someone to love what you love. But I’m certain if they’d walked into my room that night, they wouldn’t have asked if I’d been drinking too much. Instead, they would’ve stopped and wondered, ‘What’s that amazing smell?’ Just like I was wondering myself.
Something was different about the bourbon’s scent that night. I’d gone through plenty of bottles before, but this was new. The aroma mixed with the humid summer air in my dark room, creating something magical. Maybe it was the perfect humidity, or the fan’s rhythm, or just my mood. I guess I’ll never know.
The whole scene was perfect. Yes, the movie was good, but it was the Maker’s Mark scent swirling around me that made the evening special. That’s why the memory is odd – I remember loving the movie, but can’t tell you why. Was it actually that great? Or was I just lost in that perfect moment, drunk on nothing but bourbon-scented air?
That night finally taught me why people invest in perfume – scents have the power to capture moments forever, becoming invisible bookmarks in our memories. A whiff of something familiar can instantly transport us back through time, making us relive feelings we thought were long forgotten. That’s what bourbon means to me now.
Sometimes on summer evenings, I still try to recreate that magic: bourbon over ice, fan running, waiting for that perfect aroma. I’ll dim the lights just right, adjust the fan speed, and pour the same whiskey. It never quite matches up. You can have the same drink, the same room, the same breeze, but that first enchanted moment stays just out of reach. Maybe it’s because we can’t recreate feelings, only settings. Or perhaps some experiences are meant to be singular – perfect because they can’t be repeated. Still, I keep trying, each attempt a small tribute to that original night.
Life gives us these little rituals as we age – quirky habits that make no sense to anyone else but mean everything to us. Mine became bourbon in summer, specifically with a fan running. It’s not about the taste anymore, or even the drink itself. It’s about chasing that memory, that perfect alignment of mood and moment that happened once in a dim room on a humid summer night.
So when people ask why I drink bourbon in the heat, I just smile and tell them about a summer evening when everything aligned: the whiskey, the breeze, the darkness, and that unforgettable scent floating through the air. Most don’t understand – why would they? But sometimes, rarely, I see a flicker of recognition in someone’s eyes. They might not share my bourbon story, but they have their own version: a song that takes them back, a food that reminds them of home, or maybe their own perfect summer night.
