09/11/2026 Port Charlotte

Port Charlotte 14yo 2002/2017 (60.1%, The Creative Whisky Company The Exclusive Malts, Sherry Hogshead, C#1140, 228b): sadly, we missed this whisky's distillation anniversary by one day. Nose: I do not recall this ever being so meaty. We have grilled meat, herbs-crusted lamb cutlets, pork chops, marinated steaks. It even has a whiff of bacon, which should come as no surprise, since official bottlings of Port Charlotte tend to to have that as a dominant scent. This nose also brings an immense earthy dryness; crusted earth, mud cakes dried on a tractor tyre, scorched earth. All that is sprayed with elderberry juice, and the cooking water of puy lentils. Beyond the above, one can almost smell sea breeze, moist and salty -- and it carries an aroma of manure! Almost impossible a combination, except for someone who has seen Bruichladdich, facing the sea loch, virtually surrounded by farms. The second nose has apple-wood-smoked Red Fox cheese, and that promises to be oily, smoky and, well, cheesy. Water adds roasted chestnuts, oily Brazil nuts, charred a little too long, and, maybe, a dollop of plasticine close to the flames and turning dry. Mouth: surprisingly sweet on entry, with soaked sultanas and Cotton Candy grapes. Chewing unleashes the beast: strong and wild, it is a black goat covered in earth. Oh! it is earthy alright. Scorched earth, baked mud patties doused with petrol, dried red chilli flakes. It has a subtle fruitiness, grape juice with slices of lychee, but the earth is prevalent. The second sip seems earthier, yet also fruitier. Now, we find prunes, dried figs, rehydrated currants or cherries. It has a lick of candlewax and spent wick, and, eventually, smoked earth -- smoked forest floor, in fact, or orchard floor, albeit a grassless one. It appears even drier with the addition of water, with dried leaves, dried dolmas and crusted earth. Chewing dumps petrol on them, enhanced with droplets of blackcurrant juice. If there is such a thing as a smoky crème de cassis, it must taste close to this. Finish: a small slap of fruits (prunes, dates, dried grapes) exposes an intensely-earthy finish. It shakes the taste buds, wallpapers the mouth with earth, singes said earth with a hot hairdryer, and leaves the gob covered in clay before letting thick petrol flow through. That is then joined by prune juice in which someone dropped a cigarette, the smoke of which is more obvious via retro-nasal olfaction. The second gulp is bigger yet. Next to smoked cherry stones, we find an ashtray full of fag ashes. One rollie is stuck in a side indentation, consuming slowly. Water adds currant soaking water gone lukewarm, tarry earth going very tarry, maybe seaspray during a black tide, and it ends with ciggie ashes. It is fruitier today than it has ever been, but it remains a big, hairy, beastly motherfucker of a dram. 9/10