Purity control

The first time I tried Scotch whisky it was passed to me, mouth to mouth, by a young(ish) lady I was courting. And I *still* didn't like it. It seemed unlikely I would ever become a fan of the beverage. When I read reports of fine whiskies - like those in Iain Banks' booze-fuelled travelogue "Raw Spirit" - I just assumed the people involved had different, less discerning tastebuds to mine. As the Rush song goes, "What a fool I used to be." I realised my error when, on a recent visit to my parents' place, Dad and I cracked a 12-year-old bottle of The Glenlivet he'd been saving for too long. The gorgeous aroma, complex and elusive flavours, and lack of harshness found in lesser brands were a revelation. I HAD NEVER TASTED ANYTHING BETTER. But as we sipped away slowly (T/G is too fine for mixers or throwing down like a shot), we both began wondering how much better an even more expensive Scotch could be. It's gonna take me a while to finish the bottle (yes, Dad insisted I take the rest home), but when I do, there's a $150 Macallan at the local liquor store that's tempting me to try it.

Hands up who got the "X Files" reference in the title? You deserve a drink.