31/03/2021 Braes of Glenlivet

Braes of Glenlivet 22yo 1989/2011 (60.2%, The Scottish Liqueur Centre for Càrn Mòr Celebration of the Cask, Bourbon Hogshead, C#1051, 267b): nose: I remembered this as fresh and fruity. Today, it seems musty, with damp, dusty dunnage warehouse and old cork. Perhaps there are hints of tame, stone-dried orange peels ("Do you mean: dried until they become a stone, or dried on a stone, tOMoH?" Both!) Breathing opens that up a little and allows a fruitier aspect to grow (dried apricots), as well as wood (wood plane shavings). Old jam jars with rusty lids, kept in the larder of an old castle, and ivy -- that would be the castle's walls, probably. In fact, as it awakes, it suggests warm vegetation more and more clearly. My guess is that it is the alcohol talking: it is rather strong, after all. Tilting the glass reveals something citric, more mandarin foliage than Kaffir lime leaves. Spices develop over time, with crushed bay leaves, grated nutmeg, ground green pepper and powdered lemongrass with a pinch of ginger powder. It is never overwhelming, mind. With water, it smells like a warm, welcoming kitchen. No precise aroma of specific foodstuffs; just that warm feeling of entering a kitchen in which someone is lovingly preparing a meal. Perhaps some kind of broth? The early stages of a soup? That would be melting onions and/or leeks, then. Soon, white tree flowers join the dance: cherry blossom, crab-apple tree, dogwood tree. Mouth: deceptively velvety with warm banana slices, it is like a Trojan horse unleashing its Achaean warriors when one least expects them. Less metaphorically, it starts ravaging the gums a few seconds in. The sheer strength does not completely mask the flavours, though: warm, buttery pastry, apricot-and-herbs turnovers -- oh! It is herbaceous alright. There is lichen, sage, marjoram, none too loud to stop hot, jammy fruits shining. It has a metallic edge as well that balances an otherwise distinct sweetness of light muscovado sugar. Water takes the edge off, and it is now sweet and milky, with vanilla milk, not custard, crushed banana and peach yoghurt, whilst tinned pineapple is meticulously coming out of, well, its tin. Finish: the herbs are here and, this time, they are supporting a wave of melted milk chocolate. The metal is also well present, still, in a pencil-sharpener-blade kind of way, adding bitterness to the whole. Of course, at this strength, it is warming and a half, leaving the tonsils as if sunbathing. The second sip seems sweeter, yet still herbaceous (if mouldy muscovado sugar is a thing, it must taste like this). The banana slices are present, clad in tin foil and barely recognisable. With water, this becomes dangerously quaffable. It retains the warm, fuzzy feeling without the sharp alcohol bite. The herbs have all but gone, leaving sweet notes to shine. Warm peach or banana turnovers, and pulped pineapple. Tin is dialled down in the long run, which spells good news, in my opinion. Superb. 8/10 (Thanks for the dram, JS)