A Port Charlotte, then, because it is a French-sounding first name, and because this expression was gifted to me by a Frenchman.
127.33 10yo 2002/2013 Mouth-numbing mountaineering dram (63.5%, SMWS Society Single Cask, Refill ex-Bourbon Barrel, 182b): nose: without surprise, it is full of bacon and grilled mud patties, clay pots out of the oven (ooooh!), and fortified wine spilled on scorched earth, yet also grilled cherries and rancio. Beside that is an obvious raging power that throbs, waiting for its moment to maim one's nose -- or bite it off, to be accurate. It also has old Indian ink, drying on ancient scrolls, and linseed oil, also rather dried. The second nose rejuvenates the ink (meaning it smells more recent), turns it red or green, adds unripe-citrus rind (lime? Pomelo?), and cranks up the farmyard, with farm paths and muddy tractor tyres. A faint herbaceous whiff joins in, likely grilled lemon mint. Even later, we find burning seal wax and dried sausage, as well as a whiff of weed ash, and rubbed Kaffir lime leaves. Just a drop of water tones this down dramatically, and it now has a flowery scent -- not in the widely-hated, perfume-y way, no! It is almost lilac. Oh! it still has plenty of ink and earth, do not be fooled, yet also much more. Mouth: a mellow attack, full of steamed plantain, but it is not long before this brute reveals its power. Scorched earth, glowing embers, ink wells, bitter and dark, creosote, soot, tar, and crushed nigella seeds. It goes from hot and burning to charred and bitter in less than a minute. The second sip is more acidic, with roasted calamansi, and a drop of citrus juice, on hot sandstone. After a second, we discover moss-covered bottles, heated to close to their melting point, more damp earth (clay, probably), burnt cake crust, and a numbing combination of surgical alcohol and Iso Betadine. Not that it is particularly medicinal; it simply feels brown and anaesthetising. With water, peppery menthol takes over, and if it does not mask the earth, it certainly balances it. Char-grilled mint stems, and char-grilled patties that were coated with a lemon-mint marinate. Finish: bold, yet not the kick one might have foreseen. Very earthy again, the finish numbs the tongue for a little while (it almost paralyses it, actually), until the taste buds wake up to all kinds of earthy touches (clay pots, mud cakes, earth patties interwoven with bacon rashers). The second sip is even earthier, if that is possible, and introduces silt, muddy stagnant water, and freshwater-algae-covered pebbles. It is warming and numbing, yet not exactly in a comforting way -- more in a medical fashion, whereby one is stuffed to the gills with anaesthetics, yet that does not bring peace of mind; it merely knocks one out. Repeated sipping adds hot seal wax, which is nice, if not clear enough to come with fruit. Hot maraschino cherries, at a push, covered in mud. Water converts this into something heavily mentholated that is now elevated by lemon mint and char-grilled flowers (lilac, both white and purple). Why would one char-grill lilac? Erm, because it works as a whisky tasting note? Retro-nasal olfaction picks up loads of barbecue scents, in fact. This is a bit much for me. I certainly like it better with water. 7/10 (Thanks for the sample, Fixou)
Epilogue: this Port Charlotte has the Cambus effect. Only one dram, and I have had a headache for thirteen hours. Downgraded to 6/10
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