16/05/2025 Spitfire

Highland Park 1961/1997 (48.1%, S & JD Robertson Group The Dragon, Hogshead, C#4493, 216b): this one is not an undisclosed malt that everyone knows to be a Highland Park: it clearly states its provenance, as do all bottlings with this version of the label. Nose: and it is an immediate phwoar! We have, in quick succession, rancio, bone-dry smoke, split granite and associated chippings, and the darkest raspberry coulis known to Man. It feels at once welcoming and austere, mineral and fruity, dry and pleasant. Picture a campfire delimited by stones, just as they are depicted in the comic books from your childhood. In that fire, heather brush is consumed by flames, turning into embers and white ash, and emitting a clean, dry smoke. On that fire, you are heating squashed raspberries in a tin. A pile of old logs are ready to fuel the fire. The logs have started to decompose. This nose is an incessant ballet between those notes: one moment, one is slapped on the nose with an empty tin; the next, one is chewing raspberry gum. One second, it is dry pebbles; the next, it is the smoke of a heather-brush fire. It is hypnotic, really. It develops a faint whiff of old tyre, in the long run -- very old! The second nose enhances the rancio, a floating scent of berries and woodworm. It ends up adding talcum powder too -- unless it is cold dry smoke or quarry dust. Finally, we spot nail varnish, applied (on nails), then torched. Mouth: it is a similar story on the tongue; it oscillates between smoky-dry and juicy-metallic, goes from mineral to fruity, hot to fresh. Chewing reveals cinnamon to refresh the palate with a wave, but also adds the fruity bitterness of vine. In fact, we see smashed green grapes peppered with quarry dust. The second sip has rehydrated dried raspberry slices, concentrated, juicy, and a more-generous billowing smoke (clean, dry). Furious chewing stirs up the vine again, yet most of the related bitter aspects have vanished. Over time, we find a less-intense version of a Boule Magique, meaning some fruit (berries), some spices (cinnamon, candied ginger), and a thick, creamy texture. Later yet, it is chewy citrus peels that surface: pink grapefruit, tangerine, mandarine, orange. Finish: perfectly balanced, in terms of ABV, it has smashed raspberries, quarry dust, numbing, almost medicinal cinnamon powder, and a a minute puff of smoke. Hardly any metal, at this point. tOMoH cannot explain why, yet it is somehow reminiscent of thick-cut potato chips with a sprinkle of malt vinegar and a tiny dollop of mustard. Perhaps it is the mouthfeel? The second gulp brings cranberries into the picture, acidic, juicy, and neither bitter, nor sweet, yet not completely devoid of those two traits either. Could it be citrus pith? Retro-nasal olfaction picks up spongy turf, mulch, or wood so old it is decomposing into a rubbery mess. This is a work of art. 10/10