Growing up, whisky always felt like an adult-only drink. Coming from an alcohol-loving household, every other celebration or more appropriately, every Sunday, called for the clinking of glasses. The rest of the afternoon was routine. Uncle Samuel cracked open a bottle of Signature or Johnnie Walker Black Label whisky, passed it around a few times and the day proceeded slowly over family banter and a serving of vindaloo.
My cousins and I, the younger lot in the house were often served beer or vodka and coke. We had no complaints. But I never dared to touch that liquid sunshine that sparkled in the glasses on the adults’ table. Even in my late 20s, I didn’t think I was old enough or wise enough to take the bottle off Uncle Samuel’s hands and pour myself a dram.
But after realising that pretty much all my friends were now calling themselves whisky drinkers *cough cough* whisky connoisseurs, I decided to see for myself what the fuss was about.