"Well, I hired him for his cooking skills, not for his taste in alcohol." One might think the two things went hand in hand, but the man had an inexplicable talent for food that did not translate to his taste in liquor. To be fair, he usually started off alright, but by the end of the night he could be drinking swill and not know it. Which is likely how he wound up on Maeve's couch that one time. He only drank Scotch out of some kind of warped loyalty for his homeland, not for a love of the taste, necessarily. "I have other people for that." Namely himself, but also a very good Centaur sommelier.
Julius glanced up from the shelves, eyebrows raised. "Fair point. I don't really have any reason to trust your judgement at all." Other than the fact that she knew how to dress, but then (as demonstrated by his cook) expertise in one area didn't always lend themselves to expertise in other areas. Not everyone was him.