A Raasay would be the most adequate today: during the night, I dreamt that I was meeting PT and ST on Raasay. ST had closely-cropped hair, which should have made me realise it was a dream. Anyway, I woke up to pictures of PT on social media: he had just spent a few days... on Raasay! Eerie, or what?
No Raasay available at tOMoH Tower, though.
Port Ellen 28yo 1983/2011 (58.9%, Malts of Scotland, Bourbon Hogshead, C#MoS 11011, 267b, b#60): nose: even before putting one's nose in the glass, the room fills up with the smell of bacon rashers sizzling in a pan heated on a campfire at the beach. Burnt driftwood, dried kelp and bacon. Finally dipping the olfactory organ in the vessel adds earth (mud patties) and wet sands (sandy castles), a drop of black ink, and charred razor clams turned on the grille with tongs that have a Bakelite handle (it is actually closer to rubber than Bakelite, but that would make little sense from a thermal-insulation perspective). Then, we find charred jackfruit, charred pineapple rings, and smoked shrimps served in baked apricot halves. All that has a tail of sooty charcoal and, maybe, there is a sprinkle of lemon juice on a hot, dusty engine. The second nose has something a touch medicinal, more hospital-surface cleaning agent than disinfectant for human tissues, and more fruits. This time, we have fresh (unripe) pineapple chunks, then smoked-fruit yoghurt. Slowly, in the background, ink and dried freshwater algae become perceptible that cling to a vase. The ink is winning this race, clawing the space one cubic centimetre at a time. Mouth: soft and sweet at first, it is like biting into a pineapple ring for many a second, juicy, welcoming. Soon enough, the heat fires up and, if it does not hit the roof, it is warm on the tongue and palate. Mild chewing releases molluscs (cockles, clams, whelks, limpets, barnacles) and adds a dash of sea water. Indeed, this is pretty salty. More-aggressive chewing injects some shoe polish and a pinch of soot, or boiling caramel. That takes us back to chargrilled pineapple, surely. The second sip is even sweeter, brimming with a cotton candy that leaves smoke behind. Little by little, molluscs return, moving sea water on their way, and it is fascinating and unusual to see such sweetness displaced by such saltiness. Not that unusual for someone used to drinking margaritas, I suppose: a pinch of salt, smoked-orange segments and tequila are more or less in line with this, here. Finish: big and assertive, this warms up one's soul and oesophagus. Shiny warm copper introduces earth in a sieve, wet sands slowly baking, inky whelks and smoked calamansi. It is, of course, a long finish, integrated to a point nothing shines brighter than the rest, and it leaves the mouth in a similar state as after smoking fruity tobacco, or so one would imagine. Retro-nasal olfaction picks up tobacco smoke and dried citrus peels, so it does not require too much imagination. Subsequent gulps brings forth peat bogs, stagnant water, heaps of freshwater algae, vase water reminiscent of the Tyrone spirit, albeit much more powerful, if controlled. What lingers, however, are juicy slices of smoked oranges with a pinch of salt on the side, and mould starting to form. This comes close to perfection, today. 9/10 (Thanks for the dram, OB)
No comments:
Post a Comment