My father was always a huge scotch drinker. He came from a pretty wealthy family in Africa and took nothing along with him on his journey here except some of the finest scotch his father owned.
In my possession, I have about 13 of the best single malts I've ever had in my lifetime. When my father moved to Chicago, he left all of his liquor collection, most of it consists of rare single malt gems, to me. Some of these are fairly young, ranging from about 8-12 years. Others, and one of my favorites is a 26 year Inchgower, every sip gets a bit more complex, smoky and a bit nutty.
Any single malt will do, but honestly, you can even sift through the blends and find some decent pieces.
How's this for a peripheral cliché? Complacency is a state of mind that exists only in retrospective: it has to be shattered before being ascertained.
That's right, I've got aspirations to exploit the dire need for the swift resolution by our glorious Western culture via complex pharmaceuticals. I'm too damn good at Chemistry to waste it.