Why the dry martini is the finest cocktail of all

We were discussing bourbon and whether American whiskey could ever rival Scotch. I recalled the first time I ever tried the transatlantic spirit. It was more than 50 years ago, in an undergraduate room in Oxford. The occupant was an ingenious fellow. At the beginning of one term, he wrote to Jim Beam, the whiskey makers. He informed them that he had discovered their wonderful product in the States, but it appeared to be impossible to come by in Oxford, which was a pity, because it deserved to be better known (in truth he had never tasted it and had never been to the US).

A case shortly arrived, followed by another at the beginning of next term, and so on. He sent enthusiastic letters of thanks, assuring the Beam-ites that his friends were developing a lifelong taste for the stuff. This apparently went on for a couple of years. I forget the chap’s name and have no idea whether he ended up as a hedge-fund billionaire, or in prison, or both. Nor can I remember what it tasted like, and I have never tried it again.

I have clearer memories of a trip to Kentucky, during which I sampled Woodford Reserve, the showcase whiskey produced by the House of Brown-Forman. The head distiller proffered a large glass of crushed ice, over which he poured some whiskey. I asked if I could also have two small glasses of the stuff. I tried one neat; the second with a little room-temperature water. My verdict: this deserves room temperature and should never be drowned. Add the same amount of water as you would for, say, a Johnnie Walker Black.

Not that Woodford Reserve is quite as good as that, but it could easily stand comparison with a decent blend: Grouse, say.