Touch the sides

We went to a pub, The Duke Of Somewhereshire, tucked into the corner of a mews near Berkley Square.
   Sarah sat down at a table and opened her handbag, and while she fiddled around inside it, doing that woman thing, I asked her if she wanted a drink. She said large whiskey. I couldn't remember whether you're supposed to to give alcohol to people who've just had a shock, but I knew I wasn't up to asking for hot, sweet tea in a London pub, so I made my way to the bar and ordered two double Macallans.
[...]
  I collected the drinks and made my way back towards her table.
  'Thanks,' she said, taking the glass from me and throwing its contents down her throat in one go.
  'Steady,' I said.
  She looked at me for a moment with real aggression, as if I was just one more person at the end of a long line, getting in her way, telling her what to do. And then she remember who I was – and smiled. I smiled back.
  'Twelve years ageing in a sherry cask,' I said cheerfully, 'stuck out on a Highland hillside, waiting for its big moment - and then bang, doesn't even get to touch the sides. Who'd be a single malt whiskey?'

Hugh Laurie: The Gunseller, ještě pořád. Tentokrát vzhledem k příjemné příležitosti.