I just this weekend came into receipt of a parcel containing four pristine bottles of premium Ceylon Arrack—a total 700 cL of a satisfyingly salubrious Sri Lankan aqua vitae.
This has remained my primary eventide elixir since I found it as a gift-wrapped oblong box before the steps of my roommate's portico.
It was meant just as an amicable gratuity, and vouchsafed by a colleague and close confrère (a fellow debaucherous dipsomaniac and brazon bon vivant, currently half a world away for a homeland habitation spent partaking of the joys of family and hearth, whilst jauntily living out the epilogue of a year-long sabbatical), as just one example of his most recent act of largesse.
The drink is quite delectable—its tastes partaking of both palatable, saccharine spirits and pungent nostalgia.