21/02/2024 Clynelish

Clynelish 33yo 1973/2006 (54.3%, The Prestonfield Whisky Co. Prestonfield Highland, ex-Sherry Oak Cask, C#8912, 405b): nose: our third 'lish in a row (see episode 1, see episode 2), and a different story again. This one is a beehive, teeming with honey and wax, royal jelly and golden goodness. It does not take long to gain fruits such as physalis, apricots, and plump green grapes, or, indeed, mirabelle plums. It has an indistinct undertone of ashy white wine too (grenache). Suddenly, the above fuse to make up the most delicious-smelling plasticine, or modelling wax, with a delicate earthy tone that never goes far enough to be considered clay, much less peat. The bees promptly return, however, and we have car-body polish, light furniture wax, extra-light-amber pouring honey, and confectionary-sugar-coated daffodils and tulips. In truth, this is quite far from exuberant. But regardless of their punchiness, those aromas are very appealing. The second nose cranks up the yellow flowers, and gently simmers their petals in a broth. In addition, it has nut spread (hazelnut, walnut, almond), and gelatinous chicory infusion with a dash of almond milk. Lastly, and out of nowhere, a strong whiff of brown shoe polish storms in, forty-five minutes in, as welcome as it is unexpected... Aaaand away it goes, replaced by berry-flavoured chewing gum. Mouth: oh! boy, the palate is more intense and punchier than expected, and it is a waxy one, to state the obvious (or a cliché). Furniture wax from a spray can and car polish. We cannot find much honey, now, but more flowers (daffodils and tulips) than on the nose -- their stems, in particular. That is to say it has a drying bitterness that is a little unsettling at first. Mind you, it also has a strong mineral aspect, with quarry chippings and cut slate. With time, that is swapped for hazelnut paste augmented with a spoonful of pouring honey. The second sip has honey-glazed gravel, cobblestones coated in a blend of wax and hazelnut paste, wood oil (more walnut than mahogany or teak), and balls of shiny golden wax. Once the original intensity and bitterness have calmed down, the texture appears silky and milky, perhaps some kind of thickened almond milk. In the long run, not-quite-ripe tangerines and clementines join this lovely dance. Finish: Amazingly, it is the reverse of the mouth: a sweet and comforting hazelnut paste with honey at first, it soon turns into a mineral and bitter affair, not unlike the residue in an empty glass of citrus tonic (with remnants of crushed citrus foliage at the very bottom). The glowing warmth that radiates up the pipes is comforting and relaxing. Hot tin lids on jars of warm honey, a tulip-petal broth, and, well, lukewarm, flat, cucumber-infused tonic. The second gulp focuses on the comforting side: almond milk or cream, cocoa custard, maybe honey-topped warm porridge (although it is not exactly cereal-y). This is now a frankly-creamy finish that goes on forever. It has also lost its wax, fruits, and minerals (or they are well hidden), which, sadly, removes some of the complexity, at least for a time. It does retain shy mirabelle plum, via retro-nasal olfaction, but picking that up requires a careful analysis. No dullness here, though: repeated sipping seems to patiently and painstakingly bring back some fruit and bitterness: we end up with stewed physalis, and a spoonful of crushed Aspirin cut with aspartame. How quaint! Warm salted frangipane and chicory infusion with almond milk argue at the death. This is obviously excellent, yet it does not have the irresistible, assertive class of yesterday's, in this humble taster's opinion. 9/10 (Thanks for the opportunity, jnpons)