I had a serious and rather drunken research session with the
I had a serious and rather drunken research session with the great Charles MacLean, who took me through the history of whisky and malts. I can't remember a thing about it now. In fact I don't think I remembered a thing about it the following morning. Very, very entertaining.
“I had a serious and rather drunken research session with the great Charles MacLean, who took me through the history of whisky and malts. I can’t remember a thing about it now. In fact I don’t think I remembered a thing about it the following morning. Very, very entertaining.” So spoke Roger Allam, the actor of rich voice and commanding presence, whose wit here hides a truth profound: that not all learning is about the accumulation of facts, but sometimes about the spirit in which knowledge is shared. In these words, half in jest, we glimpse the paradox of research, memory, and joy—that even when the mind forgets, the heart may carry away something deeper.
The origin of this quote lies in Allam’s preparation for roles and his encounter with Charles MacLean, the famed whisky expert often called “the guru of malt.” MacLean, with his encyclopedic knowledge and passion, guided Allam through the labyrinth of distilleries, flavors, and traditions. Yet under the fog of drink, much of the detail was lost. What remained, however, was the joy of companionship, the living spirit of tradition, the laughter that accompanies shared learning. Allam’s words remind us that sometimes the essence of a lesson is not in the facts remembered, but in the experience itself.
The ancients themselves knew this truth. Plato recorded that Socrates often taught not through dry lectures, but through banquets, walks, and dialogues that blended wine, conversation, and philosophy. In the Symposium, the greatest insights into love and truth are spoken in the midst of drinking. Did all remember the precise words the next morning? Perhaps not. Yet the spirit of the evening endured, and from that spirit came wisdom. So too with Allam—though he forgot the minutiae of whisky’s history, he carried with him the sense of tradition, camaraderie, and joy that only such an evening could provide.
History also gives us parallels. Think of Samuel Johnson and his companion James Boswell, who spent countless nights in taverns, drinking and debating the great issues of literature, morality, and politics. Many of their late-night conversations dissolved into laughter and song, yet Boswell’s journal preserved the spirit of their exchanges. Johnson himself said, “Sir, a man who is tired of London is tired of life.” These were not words spoken in solemn classrooms but in the warmth of company, where drink loosened tongues and laughter opened hearts. True knowledge is not only in books—it is also in the fellowship of seekers.
From this we draw a lesson: not all research is measured in facts retained. Sometimes its purpose is to awaken curiosity, to kindle delight, to remind us that learning is not only about knowledge but about joy. Allam’s drunken session may have left his memory blank, but it filled his soul with laughter, and perhaps that laughter itself prepared him to carry the spirit of whisky into his art. For what actor can portray truthfully who has not first tasted the fire and the camaraderie behind it?
Practical wisdom follows. Do not despise the moments of learning that seem frivolous, for they too carry meaning. A story told over wine, a lesson given in jest, a conversation remembered more for its joy than its content—these shape the soul as much as the driest facts. Seek out teachers like MacLean, whose passion for their craft makes knowledge alive. And when you learn, do not strive only to remember the details, but to absorb the essence—the spirit that makes knowledge more than information.
Thus remember Allam’s words: “Very, very entertaining.” They remind us that learning need not always be solemn to be profound. The joy of study, the laughter of fellowship, the warmth of shared passion—these are also forms of wisdom. For though memory fades, the spirit endures. And sometimes, what we carry away from a night of forgetfulness is greater than all the facts we might have remembered: the fire of human connection, the joy of shared discovery, and the reminder that wisdom is as much about living as it is about knowing.
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