Karl Puschmann suffers imposter syndrome at a rare and expensive whisky tasting. But quickly gets over it.

Firstly, I felt like a big phony. Sloshing about in my bespoke crystal glass was the finest whisky money can buy. My palate is not worthy of the finest whisky money can buy. Squinting at it through the light of the dangling chandelier it didn't look all that different from the six other whiskies I'd just drunk. But it was different: $50,000 different.

I was seated at a wooden banquet table and had spent the evening gulping down increasingly expensive whisky and stuffing

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