A friend of my husband’s dropped by unexpectedly the night before Thanksgiving. I believe we ordered pizza or had leftovers, might have done both. Don’t quite remember. And we talked. And talked. And had some wine — again, I am not a drinker, but do drink sometimes. Anywho, as we talked, the conversation turned to a documentary we had recently seen on TV about Sir Ernest Shackleton and the whisky he brought on board an expedition, specifically: about the eleven bottles found in Antarctica now. WHAAAT? Yes, left there between 1907 and 1909. And of the man that set out to recreate it, albeit as a blend, because it was not just drinkable, it was outrageously good after 103 years on ice.

The story was so fantastic that we went online to check it out and discovered that we could order the thing. SO WE DID. Mackinlay’s “Shackleton” Rare Old Highland Whisky. Three bottles. Almost midnight. We were laughing about it when suddenly the house phone rang. The phone on the wall. A phone that seldom rang (we don’t have it anymore). Near midnight on a Wednesday night. We looked at one another apprehensively. Right? A phone ringing at that time is usually ominous … BUT it was the credit card company, confirming that my husband had actually made a hefty purchase online from a company in the UK. We laughed some more.

How was the whisky? Just what we expected — out of this world. Perhaps because it was, perhaps because we wanted it to be. I drink Scotch here and there, but a wee dram of Lagavulin I have never denied. Woof. It’s like honey. Not really but, to me, it is.