During this winter of our discontent, it might not be appropriate to dredge up one of Eric Felten’s columns from December 2007, since it’s on high-end single-malt whiskies. But I'll do it anyhow.
When it was published I was living in a place where I might have been able to purchase one of them, were I so inclined—the District of Columbia being a free market liquor economy. I bring it up now because I haven’t a hope in hell of finding them within the borders of the Evergreen State, so I don’t really care.
Other than to comment that I just don’t get putting Laphroaig at the top of any list. The stuff I’ve had tastes like jet fuel Soviet pilots on Sakhalin used to siphon out of their MiGs. It’s some of the nastiest substances ever to emerge from Scotland, a nation-manqué that in my personal experience has produced some really worthless exports.
I can’t believe that a $230 version tastes any better.
However, I’m open to any of the others, if someone wants to share.
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