The first time I remember tasting bourbon was less than a decade ago. I was at a party hosted by a colleague and her husband in an up-and-coming neighborhood within the DC city limits. My wife and I were living in a small studio in the upper reaches of the Georgetown neighborhood. She was away for a few weeks, somewhere in western Africa on behalf of Uncle Sam. These were exciting weekends. The apartment, being what it was at 500 square feet, was mine alone for a brief respite. I took these opportunities to explore and perhaps indulge a little more than I would otherwise.