That puts me in mind of an old friend of my father's (and mine), who - having been all his life, because of his humble origins, a victim of snobbery of various kinds - had his revenge on a malt whisky snob: the family friend, himself, like my father, a connoisseur of Scotch single malt whiskies (but never vaunted it), served this pretentious wretch a cheap blended supermarket own-brand Scotch which he had decanted into an empty 50-year-old Glen Grant bottle (or something like that), and did his utmost to keep his face straight while the fool sniffed at his glass, rolled a little thoughtfully around his tongue, swallowed, smacked his lips and uttered some ballocks about the uniqueness of the water of the river Spey, the subtle peat-and heather-tones, the granite terroir, blah blah blah.
Might I suggest that you introduce your - ahem - blend - to your pipe club associates, as "Just some aged Oriental-Virginia mix I threw together a while back: a naif little confection without any breeding, but I think you'll be amused by its presumption"?