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“Are you okay, Daddy?”

“I’m fine.”

Apparently my youngest son noticed my eye twitching and got a little concerned.

Not to worry, though. I’m okay. My body is just reacting to the conversation occurring at the table over my right shoulder. Yes, the one with the tattooed, bleach blonde twenty-something telling a gathering of smartphone-tapping friends how her generation is leading the way in saving the world from so many terrible things like bigotry, guns, pollution, and general disharmony. My eye was twitching because my body was rerouting its stress impulses to prevent me from saying anything. I think it was also fighting a stroke in progress.

Really? Your generation is leading the way? Leading the way toward what? The complete dismissal of anything objectively true while delivering imbecilic ignorance gift wrapped in the standardization of lifespan-shortening behavior?

Um, don’t you guys eat laundry detergent packets or sniff mounds of cinnamon for fun and then share the experiences on the internet? And didn’t I just read an article this morning about a member of your generation getting her head stuck in an oversized tailpipe at a music festival?

Maybe I’m being overly critical when I say that I’m struggling with the fact that you have the right to procreate and vote let alone operate devices with tailpipes.

How about this, instead? Let’s agree that you’ll just do what your friend is doing. And while you’re texting one of your virtual friends in complete silence, I’ll go ahead and eat my linguine and shrimp. Let’s also agree that the chances are good that a handful of folks will probably arise from your generation who will help to lead the human race forward into better harmonies. But at the same time, let’s admit that these few will be doing this from a mantle that has definable contours and is a carrying forth of something that was around long before they knew what a Tide Pod was.

In other words, your generation isn’t going to save the world. If anything, it’s dumber than pretty much all of the generations before it and it very well could be making the world worse. You definitely need the expertise from previous generations before even considering taking your first step. I say this having read another article in the New York Times suggesting that over 70% of millennials cannot sew a button, change a tire, or iron a shirt. Well, of course you can’t do these things. Such things are almost completely unachievable with your head in a tailpipe and choking on cinnamon. God forbid we need any of you to defend our homeland from invaders. You’ll be fairly useless in most combat or survival scenarios, but you’ll certainly be able to tell the enemy how to upload their victory photos on Instagram while serving them an absolutely magnificent latte.

I’m just glad that, for the most part, the artisans of the old guard are still at the helm of many of the distilleries I prefer. I don’t know what laundry detergent tastes like, but I’m pretty sure I don’t want anyone from the current generation making sure I can identify its presence in the nose, palate, or finish of any whiskies crossing my path.

I’ll admit to my nerves being a bit seared before trying The Macallan Edition No. 3. Its label tells the tale of a cooperation between Bob Dalgarno, a master distiller at The Macallan, and Roja Dove, a world-renowned perfumer. In short, it sounded kind of gimmicky to me, like I was about to sip a whisky that I could also splash on my neck before going out to dinner with my wife. But I was wrong. This is a fine dram, one that was made by a couple of gents who can not only sew a button, but they could probably do so on the shirt of sprinting Olympian.

The nose of this collaborative dram teases a carefully crafted packaging of chocolates, buttercream, and sherry. There’s a hint of barrel spice, but its moment is fast-fleeting.

The palate delivers on the buttercream and chocolate while adding a slice of glazed orange bread.

The finish is heftier than one might expect, being a little more than long, but not on the burn. It keeps its legs with a bit of allspice and caramel.

The Macallan No. 3 is definitely a product of skill born from experience in varying fields. When it comes to the craft of finer whisky-making, Dalgarno chose to combine the truths he already knows with the aptitude of Dove, a man of class who was willing to do the same. In so doing, they’ve created a dram that is surpassingly better than anything an overly confident millennial bemoaning previous generations might ever deserve.