[ he'll take the compliment, thanks. It's praise--praise from someone he respects quite a lot--and he's not used to blooming praise like that. Even his own father, when handed Vergil's scholastic achievements, gave him the barest of compliments, 'to be expected', 'living up to expectations' and the like.

Being told he has great taste makes him feel oddly smug in a way that he won't admit, and he'll move over to watch Zhongli as he preforms his mixology, directing him if he feels the need to where other ingredients might be kept.

Once he's done, he'll gratefully take the glass, and raise it.

A little smirk working its way across his features. ]

...Some of the simplest things are the most tasteful, in their own ways.
A personal touch like this is warming.

Thank you for your hard work.

[ he'll raise the glass to the other. ]