Okay, let’s be honest, folks. Any review of Pappy Van Winkle is going to sound like gushing praise from a cult member. But let me tell you, this rye? It deserves its own congregation.

First whiff, and you’re hit with the kind of spice that makes you want to wear a monocle and contemplate the finer things in life, like Chesterfield sofas and the proper way to tie a cravat. There’s caramel, there’s oak, there’s this faint whisper of something that smells suspiciously like my grandfather’s pipe tobacco (in a good way).

The first sip is like a warm hug from a wealthy relative who just happens to be an award-winning pastry chef. Smooth, with a wave of rye spice that tickles the tongue and then melts into a symphony of vanilla, cinnamon, and a hint of citrus. It’s the kind of experience that makes you want to slow down, savor, and maybe even write a haiku about the fleeting nature of life.