The last time I had scotch, I was winding down at a Lexington HVAC heir's contemporary estate after a long day of tailgating. I was drunk, tired and probably didn't need to drink anything else. A former neighbor to the right, who was now a neighbor to the left, showed up and poured himself a drink.
"Willy, you need one?"
"Sure, I'll have what you're having."
Other than not breaking up with a college GF the first time she tried to kill me, that was the biggest mistake of my life. That shit was liquid death mixed with a metallic taste that I still have nightmares about. It permanently changed my DNA.
I got tested for covid back in December. The doctor did the throat swab and the Q-tip thing melted.
"You a Scotch drinker?"
"Just once."
"Must've been the good stuff."
And that was over a year later.
Acquired taste? No thanks. How many times do you have to torture yourself before you pretend to like it?