"Drink Scotch whisky all night long / And die behind the wheel" may well prove to be my epitaph, but I dodged fate yet again by having the Steely Dan party at my place. I've found that Steely Dan fandom is an excellent litmus test for musical taste. Either you think their music is the product of bizarre, impenetrable geeks or you think they're a rotating lineup of supremely talented eccentrics whose cryptic lyrics, rigorous production values, and musical ability make them one of the most unique bands to emerge from the nightmare peddled as "music" in the '70s and '80s. Named after a marital aid in William S. Burroughs's Naked Lunch, Steely Dan continued Burroughs's grand tradition of perversion and subversion by creating songs populated with drug dealers, gangsters, pederasts, hookers, and drifters consuming a veritable cornucopia of exotic food and drink from around the world. Luckily, this description precisely fit the group of friends invited to the party.

As hosts, Your Holy Man (myself), one of the Show Biz Kids (my special lady friend, Maya), and Jive Miguel (brother Mike) ponied up the Coke and rum, a five-gallon keg of Coastal Fog Amber, a handle of Cuervo Gold, and "Szechwan dumplings now that the deal has been done." Cuervo Gold was a necessary evil as it's specifically named in "Hey Nineteen" and only became potable after a round of zombies. The "Szechwan dumplings" were a selection of dumplings from Good Luck Dim Sum on Clement Street. We phoned the order ahead and picked up 70 pieces of dim sum for around $28, all of it extremely tasty.

The King of the World brought the zombies. There are few more aptly named places than Bangkok, and there are few more aptly named drinks than the zombie. The recipe called for light rum, dark rum, crème de noyaux (noyaux, French for fruit pits, is a pink liqueur made from the pits of various fruits, yet it tastes like almonds), triple sec, sour mix, orange juice, "and for the coupe de grace," a floating shot of Bacardi 151. Per the lyrics of "Haitian Divorce," we were compelled to "drink the zombie from the coco shell," and the King of the World passed around a hand-carved coco shell inscribed with Bible verse and filled with his unholy concoction.

Speaking of drinks served in shells in Steely Dan songs, one of the Babylon Sisters brought kirschwasser in a shell. Kirshwasser, also known simply as kirsch, is an extremely potent (around 90 proof), clear German brandy distilled from cherry juice and pits. It is firewater. Used in flaming desserts due to its high alcohol content, it's an ingredient of spirited fondue. It's also responsible for my ability to say, after an evening of sharing my girlfriend's father's liberally kirsched fondue, that I've gotten hammered eating cheese.

The Dandy from Gamma Chi brought one of the true necessities, Scotch whisky. The Dandy, whose real name is Gregor, is a wily Scot whose kilt smells of buttercups. Despite this, his taste in scotch is impeccable. It should be: his father helped run the Glen Moray distillery, and Gregor brought a bottle of its latest experiment. During the final stages of maturation, the whisky is transferred to barrels first used for white wine, which gives the new batch an incredibly smooth draw with tastes of vanilla and citrus. As a result of its mellowness and its price, Glen Moray is very accessible. The original Glen Moray is also very tasty, and both are the best bottles of whisky you can buy in the $20-$25 range, bar none. You can easily pay that much for a bad blend, but this is velvety single-malt goodness.

The Fez brought his interpretation of the black cow. Although technically a root beer float, Fez's version was more like a chocolate cake shot: equal parts Stoli Vanil and Frangelico served with a lemon wedge dipped in sugar. Everyone who had one had another. Aaaand another. Not only do they taste like rich chocolate icing, but also we all wanted to know what chemical interaction could make two alcoholic beverages and a lemon wedge taste like chocolate. It turns out no one's mouth functioned as a gas chromatograph, and we never found out, but somehow having another shot seemed to get us that much closer to the answer.

"Done up in blueprint blue," Peg "shared [her] poison wine," which was in fact the black-bottled, skull and crossbones-labeled Poizin, Armida's 2001 Zinfandel. The fun, fruity Poizin tastes a bit of cherries, a bit of pepper, and it is clear that the deep red, blood-colored liquid inside was the result of the careful exsanguination of very fine grapes. Known for its limited-production wines and subversive labels, Armida also boasts a bocce ball court near its tasting room where, on one of the flawless days it often enjoys, you can bring picnic supplies, buy some of its wine, play bocce, and get slowly toasted by both sun and grape. Next time you ditch work, go there.