Canadian Club actually used to be quite a premium drink, due in large part to Walker’s decision to age each bottle for five years, unlike other whiskies and bourbons around the turn of the century, which might only spend a few months in oak barrels before getting slipped onto the backs of burros and shipped off to the tipple and julip foundries of the East. But the last couple of decades found blended whiskies relegated to the slop trough, hiding behind sour mix, colas, or deep within cocktails, while the single-barrel stuff gets the attention. Which is fine—I’m not going to argue that single-barrel whiskies aren’t great—but as a bourbon drinker, I’m happy to offer up the suggestion that there aren’t profound differences between a decent blended whisky and something that is milked from a single nipple of an oak-and-brass spider idol. Yes, yes, the subtlety—I get it. And the smoothness. Sure. (Which, as someone who drinks their whisky neat, I find a peculiar quality over which to stumble. We are sipping straight booze, after all. Buck up.)