This week we pour a genuine icon of sherried single malt: The Macallan 18. We give it the honest reverence it earns — dried fruit, orange marmalade, Christmas spice and antique oak, beautifully integrated, an expensive whisky that actually tastes the part. Then we profile the man holding it aloft: the freshly minted corporate partner ensuring the entire steakhouse witnesses his ascension, swirling with too much wrist, calling it a "sherry bomb," reading The Robb Report unironically, and referring to his stock portfolio as "my sandbox." A loving roast of the man so busy broadcasting the achievement he hasn't actually tasted the whisky he genuinely earned. Tasting notes and character flaws, as always.