We’ve just experienced one of the most nationally divisive presidential contests in modern history. Racial tensions are the worst they’ve ever been. World super powers are threatening one another in ways reminiscent of the cold war era. Cops are being executed. Terrorism is spreading like an incurable virus. School and workplace shootings and stabbings are becoming commonplace. The national debt is at an unprecedented level. And your news agency is either deliberately avoiding this tidal stream of newsworthy items or is being run by a complete imbecilic moron with oatmeal where his brains should be. I say this as one of your top headlines reads: “Which Fast Food Restaurants Give the Most Fries?”

Really?

Yes, I get that this could be interesting, but not right at the top of today’s feed. Surely there are more important things to report. With this in a headline position, you’ve sent the message that your priorities are misaligned. You’ve communicated, “The world is burning, but hey, we thought it most important to provide you with a little ‘comfort food’ news; that is, here’s where you’ll get the most fries while you watch our beloved sphere being incinerated to smoldering ash.”

Certain things deserve high-priority and immediate attention. Certain things need to be right out there in front—in our faces and before our eyes—so that we aren’t caught without a measure of right knowledge, a cache of something that will help us survive in a world coming undone.

With that, I present The Macallan Edition No. 2.

There must be something innately comforting about The Macallan whiskies. I do remember writing that I’d prefer the Rare Cask edition if I were prioritizing life’s essentials during a zombie apocalypse. I recall finding an overabundance of contentment in the Rare Cask Black during another apocalyptic type event: the presidential primaries. I remember a divine peace while steering the Millennium Falcon with an unspillable dram of the Double Cask 12-year-old in hand.

Although not as fantastical, The Macallan Edition No. 2 is kin to these and would offer a sizeable ration of abatement to heart, soul, and mind while sitting atop your roof and watching the world devour itself.

The nose is a gentle breeze of bygone summer days, one that carries in its breath the freshness of your grandmother’s berry garden and the flower beds that formed its border. In that same breeze is the promise of another spring planting followed by a harvest of strawberries, blueberries, and black raspberries. It’s all there. And Grandma, too, with a freshly baked ginger pie cooling in the kitchen window.

A sip is but a nibble of the pie and a discovery that Grandma has been generous with fresh vanilla and a layer of the garden’s raspberries. With each swallow, medium in length, you grow to realize that cardamom is her secret ingredient.

So stuff your face with fries if you must as the world approaches the t-minus ten mark. To be sure, I’ll take a seat beside you. But I’ll tap my foot to the ticker’s cadence with a picture of Grandma in one hand and a dram of the Edition No. 2 in the other. And with that, I’m sure we’ll survive.