Following yesterday's session, we will have the remaining drams from the June 2022 tasting.
Well, not all of them: we had the Lochside three years ago, so will not have it today.
Glenugie 1970/2012 (46%, Gordon & MacPhail Rare Old, Remade American Hogshead, B#RO/12/03): nose: although this is not extremely difficult a nose, it is also not a bright and welcoming one. Haybales and butyric eclipse what fruity tones this may have in reserve. Tinned pineapple slices manage to make their way, eventually, yet the tin is as loud as the fruit, if not louder. Then, we have wet cardboard, musk, mouldy lemon peels, and whiffs of crumbly earth from a ploughed field, dried by days of sunshine. A bit of breathing really helps this (does it not always?): it becomes more rustic and reminiscent of the countryside, without being overtly farm-y. Rubber boots covered in dried mud, log piles waiting to be burnt in the stove, dead leaves, and an increasingly-pronounced citrus fragrance (yuzu, or Kaffir lime) on a tinny background. It has something more industrial too, that only awakes as one tilts the glass: rusty boilers and ancient tractors sitting dormant in the barn, rather than a polished machine, yet it has a drop of engine oil past its prime. The second nose has buttery fruits, peaches and mangoes, augmented with pink grapefruits and satsumas, stored in large wooden crates. Suddenly, a wave of rancio storms the scene, then disappears as quickly as it had arrived. Lastly, we see lukewarm rose-petal jelly, and Turkish delights. Rusty metal, is now but a fading memory. Mouth: ooft! It is a metallic attack, this, clean and bitter. It takes mere seconds for citrus peel to join, fruity, yet also bitter. Pomelo skins, lime, yuzu and oroblanco peels, but also lemon mint, which brings an additional freshness. With a lot of imagination, one may detect a fistful of desert dirt, and that is as far as the earthy notes from the nose make it. The second sip cranks up the mint to a point it becomes liquorice, or tar. That is more than made up for by the louder citrus (see above). Joining that are cut carambola, and a dusting of cinnamon powder, as well as a refined nuance of third-steep pu-erh tea. Ginger can be spotted, in the long run, doused in citrus juice. Finish: another one that is hard to pick apart, so integrated it is. It is rustic at first, displaying delicate dry earth on a wooden dining table in an old countryside kitchen (think: cottage, not stately mansion), then lots of fruits with a strong tin flavour. We have a little explosion of green-citrus peels, fresh and candied (pomelo, yuzu, shaddock, Kaffir lime), and cucumber peels. That offers acidity and bitterness in comparable measures, and it works a treat! As all that fades from the taste buds, it is replaced with courgettes, sprayed with a dash of lime juice. How original! The second gulp has citrus mints (lozenges) and a tarry freshness. It is not strong enough to be likened to liquorice allsorts; maybe aniseed? Toothpaste? Again, it works. At the death, we pick up a strong metal vibe again, that markets itself via retro-nasal olfaction, like a stainless-steel or aluminium citrus squeezer. Fascinating, even if I can imagine this is not for everyone. 9/10
Glen Grant 42yo ca.1936/ca.1978 (70° Proof, Gordon & MacPhail, SC803): nose: phwoar! This pre-war blend of marzipan, marmalade, soot, and earth is really something inimitable! We have root vegetables (carrots, sweet potatoes, beetroot) still covered in earth, and roasting in the oven, and chestnuts thrown into the fireplace. Speaking of fireplace, this smells of heated bricks and cast-iron fireplace tools. As I look for ashes, it takes a turn and serves generous amounts of warm marmalade on sooty sourdough toasts. Why we have soot on sourdough may be a good question, but considering how well it works here, a better question would be: why do we not have soot on sourdough more often? Next are chicory granules in old jars or tins, and cut grass, still fresh and juicy. Scratch that! It is pulled grass: the roots are still attached, dripping earth. And soot. More soot. Something much fruitier and sweeter comes out of the tilted glass -- is it chewy rosehip jelly? The second nose has a wonderfully weird combination of aromas that point at the complexities of human life, warts and all, rather than a purified, sanitised, or edulcorated, pseudo-ideal vision of it. In no particular order, we have sandalwood, candles, ashes, incense, an outhouse in the winter, a tin dish, scented hand wash, a dried bunch of flowers, and vase water. Reads horrible? It is anything but. Earthy notes return, just as inexorably as we will return to it. Over time, we find ourselves in marshlands, treading on spongy peat, amongst puddles. Interesting how we went from dry to moist. Mouth: incredibly rustic, this has dried dark peat by the bucket, chewy and greasy. There is still plenty of soot too, mind, though it seems to be matched by waves of fruits, now: marmalade, of course, a common marker of those ancient distillates, but also quince jelly and plum compote. As may be expected, it has a cast-iron cauldron big enough to contain the lot. The second sip seems stronger in alcohol, which is a good thing. Of course, it is only the palate adjusting. Here are tar, creosote, more soot than peat, now, faded dried ginger peels, and more marmalade, now timidly minty to boot. Or is it nigella seeds? No. Rubbed black cardamom? That is it! Rubbed black cardamom. Finish: a tranquil voice. At this ripe old age, it feels no need to speak a word louder than another, and instead presents a rich, coherent whole. Let us try and unpick the themes all the same... Old wooden chairs, jars of marmalade in the larder, a bucket of soot in a corner of the room, a stack of peat by the fireplace. Repeated sipping unlocks a toasted, earthy freshness: nigella seeds for the marmalade (or is it some kind of chutney?), warm (empty) tall milk churns, and old boilers or stoves -- heated, dusty oxidised metal, to say it differently. It is a ridiculously-long and stupidly-comforting finish that I will compare to a (great-)grandmother's kitchen: it may not be cutting edge, one may not like the decoration, one may regret the traditional character of the food made there, but it is universally recognisable as safe. This dram truly speaks of a bygone era. Trying to put words on it not only does not do it justice, it feels slightly vulgar. A philosophical whisky that has to be experienced. 10/10
We will not have the Ledaig either, today. Detailed notes here.
Bowmore 43yo 1973/2016 (43.2%, OB, 6 x Bourbon Hogsheads, C#3883-3888): nose: not bombastic at all, this is nonetheless very pretty. We have shy tropical fruits (chikoo, longan, mangosteen, rambutan), a whisper of drying nail varnish, and earthy scents, both dried mud and peat bricks dripping with moisture. It has a twist of the black-pepper mill too, that spices things up (literally), a newly-painted car body, and a crumbling ball of hardened modelling wax. All the above is subdued, which is not a problem, unless one is unable to avoid a mental comparison with expressions distilled in the preceding decade. Warming and cupping the glass does wonders: it makes the nose bolder, of course. It increases the waxy scents, and adds a delightful currant paste, as well as smashed elderberries. Not only that: hay appears too -- closer to old-school upholstery than haybales in a field, -- and wild mushrooms, as one tilts the glass. Then, it moves on to disclose honeysuckle. Woah! The second nose is punchier in terms of fruit, though one really, really needs to cover the glass for a good few minutes to concentrate the aromas. Beside that fruit (add nectarine to the lot), we also see dried peat bricks and warm wood, ready to be lit and burnt. In the long run, it is fruity yoghurt that stands out, sprinkled with nigella seeds, maybe. Unless it is peat dust. Or ashes. Or all of them. Argh! It has so many layers, all so elusive! It even has a delicate medicinal aspect: gauze, or muscle straps, very tame too. Mouth: the first impression is soft, borderline weak, but it does not take a lot of chewing to turn that upside down. In seconds, the tongue sees a procession of tropical fruits, acidic and assertive, if not remotely boisterous. Purple passion fruit, lychee, jackfruit, sharon persimmon, loquat. The second sip has the texture of mango juice, and the taste that goes with it. It is not pure mango, mind: it has yellow maracuja and mint too, that make the whole the perfect summer apéritif. It has a certain bitterness too, more watermelon rind than rubber, but still. Repeated sipping sees the emergence of candied citrus peels (yuzu, Kaffir lime, pomelo), pumped with so much sugar that the fruits are difficult to identify. Candied angelica now provides the gently-bitter touch, which is nice, and we witness a resurgence of muscle straps too. Bigger sips seem to increase the loudness of the flavours very noticeably. Finish: oh! wow, this is where it shines brightest, I reckon. Tropical fruits squashed and turned into a warm jam, spread onto a Biscotte, and served with a nip of cherry liqueur. It has something almost brandy-like in the way it delivers fruit: warming, radiating, yet freshly fruity at the same time. Grapes, cherries, purple passion fruits, blueberries, guavas, watermelons are supported by muddier undertones. The second gulp gives away a dollop of modelling wax, sprayed with elderberry juice, and rolled into smashed blackcurrants. It is bitter at all? Well, yes. We do see liquorice bootlaces past their prime (no longer as pungent). Lastly, there is a very-clear, albeit extremely-fleeting, note of dried wood (hazel or beech) that comes via retro-nasal olfaction. It comes back a little less shy, several minutes later, though not bold by any means. In the finish too, bigger gulps make a huge difference: it comes across as firm, more assertive, fruitier, and that balances the minute bitterness (tar and muscle straps) remarkably. The width of the neck gives away the secret to this precious dram: big gulps. Whatever the amount is that constitutes a sip for you, double it. It will elevate your tasting (and destroy your finances, but who is keeping track?) 10/10
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