27/12/2024 Benriach

The BenRiach 17yo Septendecim (46%, OB, ex-Bourbon Barrels, b. pre-2017): nose: heavy peat, earthy, mossy. There is nothing maritime at play, here. Instead, we have crusty earth, baked by weeks of uninterrupted scorching weather, and corroded swarf or rusty metal filings. Soon thereafter, that becomes moist, excessively moist. The dried earth becomes not mud, but chewed food, masticated into a homogenous mass of nutrients (le bol alimentaire, as it is called in French), spat out in an unappetising puddle of barf. This is dirty as a Ben Nevis, minus the wine influence. Thankfully, that passes too: a minute later, we are in the company of breakfast cereals (no milk yet), and crusty bread, flour and yeast, Weetabix and dried-out gravy, the last of which is less breakfast-y, I suppose. The second nose is more-straightforwardly smoky. Smoke from dried wood, meandering through a chimney made of hollow concrete blocks. It somehow makes me think of a Roman hypocaust. The longer one noses, the drier it becomes, by the way. Mouth: oily and custard-y, thick, it almost immediately turns inky. Purple and black inks that are bitter as soon as one chews. Watercolour, earthenware clay, a dash of wood stain too, to give it an ethylene lick, and, fleetingly and gobsmackingly, a kick of Chaource rind, acidic, milky, oh! so recognisable, but blink and you will miss it. The second sip has yellow-white fruits, clearly outlined: Mirabelle plums, nectarines, white peaches. Chewing adds a bold smoke from burning twigs, slightly acrid. It gives the firm belief that one has just taken a swig of warmed vase water. Finish: strangely, it is mostly chocolate, here. Smoked chocolate, to be sure, but chocolate nonetheless. Melted milk chocolate, smoky chocolate milk, smoked chocolate pudding. Retro-nasal olfaction picks up a huge note of stagnant water from a dug-out peat bog, which gives decayed lichens, gunpowder infusion, then dried sphagnum moss, all floating around the herbs-fuelled fireplace in a remote bothy. Very peaty and smoky, the finish has remnants of rusty metal, though it is closer to the antique farming tools outside the museum in Rackwick than it is to corroded swarf, now. The second gulp is smokier still; a chicken covered in herbs (oregano, marjoram), and charred to a point it is clearly no longer good to eat. In the long run, we find charred yellow fruits in a mugful of soot-y vase water. Remember the whiskey from Tyrone? This is similar, but at a decent ABV. I am not convinced I could drink loads of this, but in small doses, it is good. 7/10 (Thanks for the sample, WhiskyLovingPianist)