What Even I/s Luxury?

After two decades of covering food, travel, and the finer things in life, a writer still sometimes wonders, "Am I doing this right?" 

- ADAM ERACE

Who would drop $6,000 for a dram of whisky? The answer is in The Book. Only a handful of people have ever seen its moss-green cover, inscribed with gold lettering. Hidden like a Horcrux on the tony resort of Sea Island, in Georgia, the volume simply referred to as "The Book" is taken out only when a guest orders a glass of Macallan 1950 at the resort's sumptuous Georgian Rooms restaurant bar.

When a $6,000 order for this 74-year-old elixir from the Scottish Highlands is placed, an entire ritual is set in motion. A bespoke Lalique tumbler appears. The kitchen sends out a suite of hors d'oeuvres. A bat signal goes out to the resort's beverage director, Nic Wallace, who drops whatever he's doing to deliver The Book to the guest, like an altar boy bearing a Bible to a priest.

Inside, the ivory paper bears messages from others who have tasted this particular liquor. One visitor who, Wallace tells me, had just sold his company for $2 billion offers a challenge: "For those of you that are worthy... take the journey."

Who is worthy of such an experience? The question nags me as I consider that bottle, sitting in pride of place on the top shelf of the brass-and-glass back bar. "We're the only place in the country where you can have that by the glass," Wallace says. "It's a snapshot of history. Just being able to taste throughout those decades is really special."

I believe it. But whenever I'm confronted with any version of such a refined experience, I can't help but ask myself, Am I tasting what I should be tasting? Am I doing this right? A florid distiller points out notes of blackstrap molasses and sun-warmed chamomile in an añejo rum, and I outwardly nod while inwardly straining to catch those elusive flavors, like butterflies in a net.