Glen Garioch 46yo 1958/2004 (43%, OB Limited Edition Bottling, 336b, b#117, L045209 007): nose: is it too soon or too early to say: "phwoar?" Because it is truly justified. Here are aromas of fruity sweets and earth in a way that takes us to farmland in the 1950s. At first, it is rasp- and strawberries, fresh, dried and sliced, yet also as bubble gum or toothpaste flavouring. Then, almost simultaneously, but with a fraction of a second's delay, it is dry earth from a pine-tree clearing, followed by the remnants of a camp fire on a spring morning. We go back to fruitier tones, this time chewy citrus jellies (with but little added sugar), then charred-wood gratings in Indian ink. That ink ventures towards sea water, never reaches it, and rushes to puddle water instead, dotted with droplets of diesel. Indeed, it is suddenly a puddle of water with a film of diesel on the surface that looks like a rainbow. However, it changes again, now becoming lukewarm black coffee with too much sugar in it. And dry earth returns, with a few roots thrown in for shits and giggz (beetroot peels, sugar beets), and a splash of a delicious nut liqueur. The second nose is earthier yet; dark earth caked between the tracks of tractor tyres, mocha ground, a hay bale full of field dirt, and tobacco ashes. It even has a whisper of gas, in the long run, which gives another farm-y, manure-like allure to this too. I dare not say, "septic-tank-like" for fear it could be seen as a negative trait when it is not. To punctuate that, it peddles orange concentrate. Mouth: a mellow entry introduces something calm, yet more powerful; a sleeping warrior. Already, it has a root-y, earthy bitterness (chicory, beets, endives). Chewing adds fleeting ink, then pumps in a bold sweetness to balance the bitter touch. Cold chicory infusion would be the logical descriptor, yet that is not all. It is more root-y than it is bitter and the sugar one would expect of a chicory infusion oscillates between strawberry bubble gum and maple syrup -- and either would be unusual in one such infusion. There is a thin smoke rising in the background, as if coming out of a steaming Moka pot, and the bitterness grows, which supports that hypothesis. Bringing the glass close to one's ear while chewing, one can hear some Frenchman somewhere regretting the low ABV. In truth, it does not distract one much and, let us face it, if this was diluted at all, it must have been by one or two percent at most: after forty-six years in a cask, a whisky tends to be in the low forties, in terms of strength. The second sip feels more acidic, if not stripping. It is still earthy and fruity, with new fruits: we now spot fresh pineapple, unripe tangerine and citrus bark. Chewing revives the root-y infusion, now closer to mocha than chicory, and it is accompanied by a gentle smoke to coat the gob. On the late tip, we even detect discreet lychee. Finish: chicory infusion augmented with maple syrup. It is warming, sticky, sweet and bitter in equal measures, and satisfying to a point that is hard to describe other than with a sigh of comfort. A very, very long finish that tops the tongue with a veneer of earth, then sprays a Mokatine solution on the roof of the mouth. The second gulp has more Mokatine, this time intertwined with citrus flavours, more acidic and bitter than they are sweet: citrus bark (blush orange front of stage), dried pulp, pink-grapefruit slices dunked in sangria, then air-fried to a crisp, cinnamon sticks and star aniseed soaked in blush-orange juice. Repeated quaffing dares introduce heather brush, lavender twigs and tropical fruits (rambutan, lychee), which supplements the gentle smoke, mocha and citrus in a way that will make some giddy. This is un-fucking-believable. 10/10
I thought I would have time for a second dram, but I am mentally exhausted. Also, we had the Bowmore from Unifinished business a little over a year ago.
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