Before it came on board at my house, Jefferson’s Ocean Aged at Sea small batch bourbon sailed to five continents and crossed the equator four times.

In theory, the gentle rocking of the ship exposes more of the bourbon to the inner surface of the barrel, elevating the flavor—and also driving up the price. With only 300 bottles, the bourbon from Jefferson’s first voyage fetched around $600.

On this evening, we are testing bourbon from Jefferson’s third crossing, which produced a more bountiful 300 barrels. We are looking at a price point of $85. (Full disclosure: our bottle was provided by the nice folks at Jefferson’s.)

Tonight’s taste testers are: Donna and Jeff, and Clare and Mark, two couples who are longtime friends and neighbors; my friend Doug; and me, the thirsty hostess. An experienced Manhattan drinker, Doug is in charge of mixing. He also shares his birthday, April 13, with Thomas Jefferson. Clearly, he is the man for the job.

Because we are pouring for six, we mix our Manhattans in batches. Doug favors a ratio of 3:1, Jefferson to Dolin rouge, the most expensive red vermouth I can find at Kreston’s, my trusted local purveyor. We want a spirit that is a good match for our premium bourbon. Our finishing touches: Stirrings Blood Orange Bitters and Morello’s cherries from Trader Joe’s. No sickeningly sweet maraschinos for us.

I serve our drinks in the crystal rocks glasses handed down from my grandmother, on the silver tray she kept so brightly polished. Cocktails are  civilized. They differentiate us from wild animals, who are stuck lapping water from streams because they don’t have a decent bar in the forest.

As we sip, we ponder the restorative power of sharing cocktails. Doug says he recently went out for drinks with his son, who had a rough day on the job. His son is a huge Mad Men fan. So they order a retro cocktail. Bartender, an Old-Fashioned, please. Then another.

The next afternoon, the son comes home from work. It’s a banner day. He gets a promotion. He feels appreciated. The ice has barely melted, but the cocktails have worked their magic.

We throw back our glasses. We throw back our heads. We laugh. We talk. The fire crackles. The conversation sparks. I am happy we are together, diverse yet kindred spirits, in this time, in this place.

And, yes, the Jefferson bourbon did not disappoint. Stalwart tasters, we sipped it in cocktails and straight up. I discern notes of raisins, vanilla and citrus in the bourbon, which play nicely with the figgy vibe in the vermouth and the fruity blood orange bitters.

For the record, my personal poll reveals we are split down the middle as to whether we prefer our Jefferson’s straight or mixed. (Also, it should be noted that there are now Jefferson’s batches from six different ocean crossings and we understand each has its own unique profile.)

Soon after our exuberant tasting, I touch base with one of our celebrants, who reports that she, too, enjoyed a great day after tipping a few in a warm and friendly place.

A coincidence? We know better.

Here’s a toast to the restorative power of cocktails and conversation.

Happy birthday, Doug. Many happy returns.