Old, smokey, just a touch of sweet from a sherry cask and tint of red, caramel and fire sliding down the back of my throat. Let’s put on British airs and insist on Speyside. Only barbarians insist on ice or watering down the flavor. Of course, a class of spring water, to cleanse the pallet between sips. Sipping is the only way to savor the bouquet exploding across your tongue. If you must, just a few drops of water to cut the alcohol. If you can, skip the 12-year-old., even the sherry cask is a little rough but tolerable if starved for choices. This isn’t shooting Taquila and trying to hide the flavor with salt and lime or margaritas with the girls. This is Scotch.
My personal vise is The Macallan. I’ve been drinking it for thirty years, well before it became popular. It was my first experience with whiskey that left me breathless rather that gasping for breath. For years Cutty Sark and Chevas Regal passed for a decent drink. Then in London, at an Irish Pub no less, a bottle caught my eye. The words said. The lingering taste on my lips. There is no going back.
This advice not intended for children or people serious about saving money and paying their bills. Drinking good whiskey can become habit forming and involve equally expensive cigars and expensive collections of both. Following my advice, in general is a very bad idea. If you find yourself saying phrases like, “Hey, guys! Watch this!” or “I bet I can do that.” seek help immediately.
The New Word Wars 