We are breaking a cardinal rule, here, that says one must not have a Littlemill, the quintessential breakfast dram, after midday. And it is the afternoon. tOMoH expects a call from the Littlemill Police. Or from the Swissky Mafia, at least. Fingers crossed they bring Littlemill.
Littlemill 16yo 1991/2008 (50%, Douglas Laing Old Malt Cask 50°, C#DL4064, 276b): we have had this multiple times, but never on its own -- and not in many years. Nose: this, to me, explains why Littlemill was on no-one's radar until around 2011: at sixteen years of age, it has few of the fruity markers that longer-aged expressions released later became famous for. Instead, this has ground stone, cast-iron filings, and, shortly thereafter, nuts. Nuts aplenty! Walnuts, hazelnut, almonds. Only with persistence does one pick up crushed Aspirin, which is a distillery regular. This one is much closer in style to the 8yo and 17yo official bottlings from the late 1990s or early 2000s than it is to the 20-30yo independents that came out since. Once it has had a few minutes to breathe, it does become more orchard-y, with cut apples and unripe quince in a dark-wood fruit bowl. Bruised red apples and heated butter knives follow, soon met by piping-hot thick custard -- a nutty custard, that is. Deeper nosing adds more wood. The second nose welcomes a pouch containing oily light tobacco and something golden, perhaps a glass of natural pressed apple in a field of barley on a sunny summer day. Mouth: creamy in texture, it has unsweetened almond paste and lukewarm fruit yoghurt (orchard fruits). Chewing opens the door to a softly-metallic heat, a fistful of bitter walnut shells, crushed Aspirin tablets, and oily fruit-tree wood -- cherry tree, pear tree, plum tree. In other words, we do find some fruit, albeit submerged by bold, oily wood, which gives a pronounced bitterness. The second sip seems fruitier and, therefore, more acidic. Apples turn crisper, tarter: crab apples, Crispin, Granny Smith, Honeycrisp, now in a mesh bowl. Yes, it remains gently bitter, even if Aspirin is less loud, and makes way for hot fruity custard. Finish: it is in line with the preceding; oily wood, bruised red apples, walnut shells, walnut oil and mahogany all end up in some kind of thick custard that is then heated, and eaten with a metal spoon. Only very late does grated Aspirin timidly speak. Hot chocolate-and-almond milk leave a gentle impression. The second gulp too is more acidic, with underbaked slices of tart apples (not baked long enough to erase the tartness) and a sprinkle of grated Aspirin. If grapefruit peels and pith can be made crispy, the result must taste close to this. Over time, it manages to be both juicier and chalkier or bitterer, which is quite an extraordinary achievement. Maybe it is reminiscent of Indian tonic with fruit juice? In any case, the whole falls somewhere between old- and new-school whiskies, and it is commendable for that. It is also delicious. Just not tropical as some of the longer-aged expressions can be. 8/10 (Thanks for the dram, JS)
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