Like most Michigan natives, Ferguson had a vague knowledge of a thing called barbecue, but had never actually eaten any. He was, however, intimately familiar with whiskey.

What's that supposed to mean? A wolf's head on a stick. Big wolf barbecue tonight? Bring your own wolf?

The cat arrived with a bottle of Scotch.

Too much of anything is bad, but too much good whiskey is barely enough.

Whiskey, like a beautiful woman, demands appreciation. You gaze first, then it's time to drink.

Whisky nosers, as they called themselves, eschewed what they saw as the pretentiousness of wine vocabulary. While oenophiles resorted to recondite adjectives, whisky nosers spoke the language of everyday life, detecting hints of stale seaweed, or even diesel fuel.