We need something suitably special, today. And we rock the dickhead glass for it too.
The soundtrack, on its anniversary, by complete coincidence:
Buckle up.
Springbank 30yo Hedley G. Wright (38%, OB, b.1980s): nose: what remarkable depth, with ink, watercolour, wood paint, yet also chestnuts and, more and more discernible, baked tropical fruits (mango, cherimoya, plantain, papaya). In the space of a couple of minutes, it becomes a staggering tapestry of mushy tropical fruits coming out of the oven (oooh!) That takes place in a newly-fitted kitchen all made of wood. The wood has just been oiled after the fit-out. Rambutan and maracuja rear their fruity heads, as does pan-seared dragon fruit. For such a low ABV, the nose is incredibly loquatious. So much fruit! Lush orange segments and orange fruit jellies round off this first pass. The second nose is even fruitier; it places carambola, guava and spearmint into a plastic container (Tupperware). Maracuja and cherimoya quickly claim the top seat, though, with salmiakki or Beluga hunting vodka sitting calmly in a dark corner of the same room. Mouth: thick in a fruit-jam way (apricot, peach, orange marmalade), it is bold in the wood department -- or so it seems, at first. Chewing offers a fistful of orange fruit jellies, with bits of green ones too -- or is that candied angelica? Wood manifests itself with a gentle bitterness, but it is the fruity caramelised stickiness that catches one's attention, even if orange peels become louder, eventually. Yes: it is chewy and bitterer, now, but it is not rubber. Maybe a drop of crude oil found its way into the fruit jellies. The second sip confirms the tame bitterness. It could be liquorice allsorts, although nowhere near as fierce and divisive. This is actually closer to pressed prunes, earthy, fruity. That said, it still tickles the tropics. Finish: of course, the low strength is most obvious here, as half of France is lamenting. Regardless, it is not stupidly weak. It is also less fruity: we do find petrolic orange peels and burnt orange segments, but, if any of the tropical fruits remain, it would be mango skins, baked for too long, turned chewy and rubbery. The second gulp ventures towards prunes, syrup and all. It also leaves the gums fresh and throbbing, maybe due to a pinch of cinnamon powder. In the long run, other spices show up, ground cloves and sumac, delicate, subtle, yet they build up and cover maracuja and guava. This is excellent! 9/10
Springbank d.1963 (46%, OB imported by Preiss Import, b. ca.1985): nose: phwoar! This leaps out of the glass. Heaps of citrus foliage; Kaffir lime leaves, pomelo leaves, tangerine leaves. It also has carambola and, suddenly, ashes. Ashes that prove a fertile base for fungi: this turns musty, very much like a dank basement in which the walls are covered in black mould. But, since someone is growing green citrus in said basement, no-one is complaining. Unripe lime, unripe Shaddock, bergamot or unripe Kaffir lime; they are not juicy yet, but fragrant? Yes, sir! A mineral note joins the scene too, in pure Springbank fashion, grated chalk or limestone, quarry dust blown by the wind into a pine-forest clearing, bone-dry citrus zest. There might be a herbaceous touch as well, lemon thyme, hawthorn or rosemary, it is unclear. It gradually moves away from the fruity side to focus on the dry, mineral notes, and that is fine. The second nose mashes the earlier fruits into a custard, with little vanilla to speak of, and an unfathomable freshness. That custard is topped with a spoonful of lime marmalade, pine-wood sawdust and white pepper. It is a nose to fall in love with, really. Mouth: holy smoke! Patchouli and incense are first, quickly joined by carambola, guava and half-baked cherimoya. Chewing pours honey on all that and a drop of wood varnish because of course. That brings out a soft bitterness that could hardly be further from plant sap or rubber. No! it is much more gentle than that. The second sip pumps even more green into this, with candied angelica, Key-lime pie, green fruit jellies and chewy cough drops. Chewing adds somewhat-dried lime and pomelo peels, chewy, rubbery, yet still fruity. Repeated sipping sees a fleeting glimpse of blush orange that serves only to introduce all the greenery. Finish: astonishingly, the dilution is more perceptible that it was in the thirty-year-old (which was, in all likelihood, undiluted). Still, we have pouring honey, oily chestnuts and hazelnuts, and a drop of teak oil. The latter especially coats the palate for the longest time, and that allows retro-nasal olfaction to pick up the volatile compounds, some of which point back to tropical fruits -- including green maracuja, this time, a nice complement to carambola and guava. It has lime juice too, merely a drop to enhance everything else, rather than to shine on its own. The second gulp too peddles green chewy drops, sweet, coated in caster sugar, but also a trifle herbaceous and bitter. At a push, one could see similarities with a sugary or honeyed fruit-flavoured green tea, the perfect blend of sweet, acidic and bitter. tOMoH tends to find the odd years of the 1960s even better than the even years, when it comes to Springbank. This 1963 supports that view: so good it is unreal. I initially scored it 9, today, as if I were hard to please, but this deserves... 10/10
Springbank 23yo 1965/1989 (50%, R.W. Duthie imported by S. Samaroli Ageing Monography, 660b, b#14): nose: phwoar! This is even more impressive. A dusting of sawdust closely follows a slap of gorgeous tropical fruits -- baked papaya and mango, steamed jackfruit, stewed longan. A simmering marmalade grows in power, topped with a sprinkle of white pepper. This smells so jammy and sticky! At the same time, it has a backdrop of wash, hot, fermented, grainy. It is not porridge and it is much, much less invading than what comes out of a washback, but it somehow hints at it. But yeah. Mostly fruits, innit. In fact, it runs back to fruits, but not exactly the same ones: it is now juicy plums, well ripe, some stewed, some glazed in honey. There is a nectarine or two, lost in the punnet of plums, which this taster appreciates. As the plums ripen and reach decay, they carry an earthier vibe, rich potting soil, or a musty mushroom cave (without the dampness or claustrophobia). Is that a whiff of faint smoke, as one tilts the glass? If anything, the second nose is even more-boldly fruity and sweet. Haribo (sans vulgarity) and fruit jellies (sans sugar dusting) pave the way for the filling of a fruit turnover (apricot-apple mix, or apap, for short) and Kaffir lime leaves. After a while, it gives rehydrated dried coconut slices, the sort one usually finds in a nut mix. Rustic furniture is not far behind, which never fails to bring a grandmotherly comfort. Mouth: ridiculously lush, with pouring honey doused on yellow and tropical fruits -- alphonso mangoes, papayas, persimmons, nectarines, plums. Chewing shows just how thick this is: it is akin to a spoonful of apricot jam, in terms of texture. It clearly has smoke, here, dark, soot-y, it opens up to reveal India ink, then charred hazel wood and pressed plums, myrtles and blueberries, all so ripe, sweet and juicy it is hard to believe there is no added sugar. The second sip comes across as woodier, with old furniture that was recently oiled afresh. Chestnut husks are next, kept in check by apricot, peppered with soot and grated apricot stones. Finish: despite the jump in strength, this flows like water (or juice, really), perfectly integrated. Dark grapes, ripe plums, myrtles, plump currants, soaked prunes. It has smoke alright, yet it is similar to having a bucket of soot on the other side of the room, not at all like ingesting fumes with a straw. A long and comforting finish this is, one that convince this taster that there remain beautiful things in this world. The second gulp confirms that feeling; here are more-acidic fruits (pomelo and yuzu), jellied pistachio and baked green bananas dusted with charred-wood gratings and sprinkled with droplets of wood oil. That battle between sweet-fruity and charred-bitter is fascinating. No wonder I was bewitched in Limburg. It was not (only) the fatigue of two days' drinking that made me emotional; this is a masterpiece. 10/10 (Thanks, adc)
Springbank 30yo b.2026 (47.8%, OB Open Day 2026, Bourbon + Oloroso + Rum Oak Casks, 1572b): nose: it is in the death seat, after the Samaroli, but it works, albeit on a different level. This being distilled thirty years later, years after the other one was bottled (what a sobering thought!), it has a more-rustic nose, with cereals, farm-path dust and crusty earth. Give it a minute and that dust walks towards mud and cut fruits lying in said mud: ripe plums, nectarines, dark grapes. All of a sudden, it becomes dry and mineral, close to slate, then char-like, with soot, charred wood and charcoal. That makes room for a cleaning product or another, fleetingly: we soon find ourselves crawling in charred wood, wearing (pink) rubber gloves -- huh? The second nose has pineapple bark stripped bare with lactic acid. Then, we enter a wood-panelled room in a country house. It even has the occasional whiff of cattle in a pasture. A metallic edge rocks up, obviously the blade that cut the pineapple bark, as does indistinct citrus foliage. Mouth: lukewarm and juicy, here are plum juice, apricot juice, pressed (dark) grapes, and lychee with a spoonful of honey. Chewing stirs up more darkish juices, and it takes quite some intent to unveil traces of earth, much of it stained with fruit juice. The second sip releases Haribo Bananas, crystallised pomelo segments, unripe plums coated in honey, candied citrus foliage (tangerine, tangelo, Buddha's hand). With an open mind, one may find stem ginger too. Scratch that! It is dried whole mace in syrup. That gets the mineral treatment soon, as quarry dust sands down the palate, leaving a kind of bone-dry, smoked citrus zest to linger. Finish: still fruity, still plum, nectarine and grape, yet also a drizzle of pomelo juice, here, as well as prune syrup and pressed currants. It leaves but a tame impression, possibly a result of its position in the line-up. Even if it seems tame, it is a very positive impression. In fact, it radiates warmth for a while; it simply takes a moment to get going. This is not a shouty brat, but a distinguished bourgeois who knows how to behave in company. It even puffs a thin black smoke up the larynx for even more comforting warmth. The second gulp sees a smoky-spicy-sweet kind of fruitiness. We are once more made to think of candied mace, citrus foliage in syrup and smoked honey dusted with white pepper. Smoked hay emerges upon repeated quaffing, a little bitter and almost acrid, yet that is all kept in check by lovely acidic citrus. Dumb comparisons aside, this is beautiful. 9/10 (Thanks for the sample, SOB)
Farewell, MPD.
