This week we uncork the white whale itself: Pappy Van Winkle. We give the bourbon its due — a sumptuously soft, wheated pour of caramel, dark fruit, toffee, and polished oak that genuinely deserves its halo. Then we turn our attention to the man who "owns" it: the allocated-bottle obsessive in the fleece vest, staking out liquor stores at dawn, photographing sealed bottles on reclaimed barn wood and captioning them "Grateful," while saving the actual whiskey for an occasion that, by design, will never arrive. A loving roast of the collector who confused scarcity with quality and the hunt with the having. Tasting notes and character flaws, as always.