17/01/2024 Laphroaig

I bought this twenty years ago to the day, for a princely sum that, without naming a number, may well seem ridiculous by today's standards, but, at the time, was, by far, the most I had ever paid for a bottle of whisky -- or indeed for anything. I vividly remember the solemn look of the clerk, when I told her what I was after*, the dead silence and the punters staring in the (busy) shop when they took the bottle out of the glass cabinet, and the stunned look of the person who was with me when I was given a total price (I bought a thirty-year-old, a couple of fifteen-year-olds, and a tinned haggis at the same time).

(*) I actually asked for bottle #303, which they did not have: this was their last bottle. She assumed that would be a deal breaker, and looked a little disappointed, until I confirmed I would take this one anyway.

Laphroaig 40yo 1960/2001 (42.4%, OB, 3300b, b#0905, LJA/AFE): nose: it is a lot peatier than I remembered it, even if, after forty years in cask, and twenty-two years in glass, it is hardly a peat onslaught. We have all sorts of lichens and mosses, the unmistakable, trademark TCP, crusty mud, smoked on the fire place, gauze, muscle strap, yet also clay floors and dunnage warehouse, to some extent. None of that is shouting, mind. It is all subdued, integrated, and downplayed. It is simply there, comfortable in the knowledge that what it does, it does in perfect harmony. We note a whisper of after-shave balm, carried by sea air full of iodine, dried saxifrage, and vague traces of fruit (canary melon, rosehip). It takes a bit of effort to see more than a mildly-peated nose, but the reward is worth the attentive taster's trouble. Pretty soon, we are back on medicinal territory, with merbromin-stained bandages, and muscle-relief poultice. Suddenly, a fairly-clear slap of fresh fruits lands on the olfactory appendage: blush orange, pink grapefruit, papaya, smoked rambutan, then warm mixed peel, none shouty in the slightest, and probably easily overlooked, if one does not pay close attention. We never step too far from moist turf and moss, however. Breathing time gives the second nose a succulent side, with candied orange segments, chewy dried-mango slices, smoked plantain crisps, and kumquats, amongst new plasters and fragrant magnolia and saxifrage -- the latter growing on limestone. Well, it could also be scented pencil erasers, you know. The medicinal notes, on the other hand, have retreated to the background, where they are now barely noticeable. Even in a covered glass, the nose does not survive ninety minutes. You have been warned! Mouth: the lush and juicy attack presents candied orange segments, mixed peel, and honey-glazed melon scoops, until dried lichen and smoked mosses join in, accompanied by delicate medicinal touches -- droplets of tincture of iodine, distant ether, and surgical alcohol that comes close to xylene. It has a dusting of burnt wood, and the bitterness of smoked grapefruit peel. The second sip is sooty to start, then unexpectedly turns into a fruity debauchery, with mouldy-blue tangerines, ash-sprinkled pears and plums, mouldy mangoes, and rancio-y elderberry. That is right: mould and decay abound, which signals the rise to prominence of a medicinal profile, penicillin and all. We even spot mouldy bread, and the afore-mentioned tincture of iodine is augmented with Iso Betadine. How is that for medicinal? Smoked cherries flash up fleetingly, borderline chocolate-y, which is always welcome, in this taster's opinion. Finish: phwoar! More than twenty-two years in glass, and it seems to not only not have lost anything, but to actually have gained quite a bit. It now has a large proportion of fruit (melon again, papaya, dragon fruit), and ash by the wheelbarrow. Then, a pronounced bitter layer takes over, for a moment (smoked avocado skin, maybe?), before it turns into a comfortable warmth, to put it simply. Retro-nasal olfaction brings up an incredible feel of wood fire in a forest clearing in November, and that takes me back forty years, spending days in the woods, lumbering before the winter. Perhaps more prosaically, it has cigar ash, and warm cigar leaves. The second sip has a cordial quality to it, with blackcurrant and elderberry paving the way for smoked blackberry and myrtle. Repeated quaffing adds juicy dark cherries and luscious dark chocolate for a mouth-watering death. Every time I think of this whisky, I convince myself that it was bottled past its prime, and that my previous judgements (e.g., here, here, and here) were mostly emotional. Then I try it again, and it reminds me it is the stuff of legends. Once again, a well-deserved top score. 10/10

16/01/2024 Redbreast

We continue our January exploration of all things non-Scots Single Malt Whisky.

Redbreast Lustau Edition (46%, OB, Oloroso Sherry-Seasoned Butts Finish, L722031303): nose: sweet, sweet Irish, choc-full of marzipan, candied cherries, and dusty mixed peel. It does not play many more than those three notes, but it does that well. Perhaps it has chewy tree bark, and a gentle spice mix (part galangal, part cassia bark, part gingerbread), and a whiff of timid rancio. It inexorably goes back to marzipan, dried cherries, and dusty mixed peel, though. Here is a nose that reminds me of Pogues', all in all. The second nose sees cedar-wood sheets and cinnamon sticks, which signify it is woodier, all of a sudden. There is even faint warm cigar ash, and either dark-pot-pourri pouches, or a dark fruit tea blend. Mouth: fresh and stripping, this is undeniably young, and drier than anticipated. Bitterer too. Stale cassia bark, cloves by the bucket, memories of peppermint, and cherry stems, more than any fruitiness. If looking for it, one may decipher traces of marzipan, barely recognisable, because so hardened. The second sip has some tannins, real or imagined, and remains dry, even drying. We have cracked cocoa beans, or dark-chocolate shavings, toasted cloves, and a drop of pressed elderberry or pressed, dried redcurrant. The more one sips this, the clearer the picture becomes of a fruit tea. Finish: pleasantly marzipan-y, it only takes a second to turn dry and bitter -- hardened marzipan, then. Retro-nasal olfaction offers a whisper of red-wine Schorle, though it is less tannic, now. Repeated quaffing adds dark chocolate, and the whole becomes a strange, wine-infused, dark-chocolate bite, sprinkled with ground cloves. That chocolate turns milkier, over time, augmenting a nice, deep-steep fruit tea. This is not bad, yet also nothing to rave about. 6/10 (Thanks for the dram, SL)

12/01/2024 Buton

Far from me the idea of partaking in Dryanuary, yet after the deluge of good drams in December, why not prolong this break from Scots whisky? Well, at least for another few days, that is. Then, we will have an occasion to mark.

Buton Prunella (40 gr., OB, b.1940s): nose: to paraphrase or quote JS: "when one is in the presence of greatness, one knows it." This is obviously a fruit brandy, and this is obviously not yer run-off-the-mill. It has depth, richness, and complexity alright. Prunes, dark grapes, rehydrated sultanas, lingonberry compote, yet also mushrooms and moist humus. One would be easily convinced that this has rubbery tree bark too. We see a gardener, in the early spring, potting tagetes with green rubber gloves, and snacking on prunes, in between pots. The second nose brings steamed onion skins into view, which is unusual to say the least. Mouth: my word! They are not lying with the "liquore finissimo" denomination. Despite being bottled at 40% ('gr.' stands for 'gradi', which means 'degrees', and equate to % ABV, in case that was not clear), this is sweet, syrupy, and intense as a liqueur. Unlike the Southern Comfort from the other day, however, this one is elegant, and delicious, all glowing natural fruit sugars. Prunes, rehydrated dried dates, figs, soaked currants, date syrup, and dark honeys dripping from the spoon. We also find caramelised-apple tart dripping syrupy juices. The second sip adds lily-of-the-valley and jasmine, and piles on more thick syrup, however inconceivable that may read. Treacle tart, maybe? Cotton candy too? I want to say grenadine, but that does not seem right. If grenadine tasted like this, I would drink more of it. Finish: phwoar! How good is this? Imagine a thirty-year-old Matusalem Sherry, dump buckets of raisins into it, and you will get an approximation of this here "liqueur." Long, coating, undeniably sweet, yet elegant nonetheless. Raisins, prunes, juicy figs, rehydrated dried dates, tatters of lychee, all coated in lovely pouring manuka honey. Repeated gulping unveils a dollop of chestnut purée in a bowl of honey that is poured onto raisins. Beyond that, and a little hidden, really, is the distinctive taste of fresh cranberries -- and that is the final touch that lingers for a long, long time. Unexpectedly breath-taking. 9/10 (Thanks for the sample, WhiskyLovingPianist)

10/01/2024 Southern Comfort

N.W. Neron's Southern Comfort Original (35%, OB, 10328624, b. ca. 2017): nose: bah! Chemically sweet. Chewy sweets from a non-recyclable plastic wrapper, new rubber, liquorice allsorts, and artificial blackcurrant flavouring. Not a good start. One can smell diabetes in this. Irn Bru, fizzy "fruit" drinks, containers of which can be found in most parks of the capital, discarded half full. It is that bad that even those who willingly buy (or steal) it do not drink it. Later, we have acrylic paint, and chewy, currant-flavoured gums, then purple jello left outside overnight, and turning hard. Every passing second makes the nose more pronounced, and more intolerable. Mouth: jello is right. Cholesterol levels going through the roof! Here are more artificial flavouring (currants, cherries), and chewy sweets, now flirting with (dodgy) cough drops. Corn syrup, industrial syrup (made with zero maple), and a distant wood bitterness. That may also be drums of paint, actually. Finish: is there any redeeming quality to this? Sickly sweet, teeming with artificial sweeteners and flavouring agents (berries, cherries, currants), this finish disappears in no time (it is still too long), leaving but a bitter after-taste. As one breathes a sigh of relief, it comes back via retro-nasal olfaction, radiating ultra-processed sugars and syrups of vulgar kinds. Only then does one realise the whole mouth is coated in jello on steroids. In the long run, herbs vaguely cling on, so submerged in fake sugar that it is hard to figure out which (wormwood, maybe). Headache in a glass. 3/10 (Thanks, ME)

08/01/2024 Knob Creek

Knob Creek Smoked Maple (45%, OB): nose: "smoked maple," they said. Hardly a well-kept secret, then: this is cloying maple syrup -- so cloying, in fact, it is nigh-on paralysing! My arteries are clogging up just smelling this. We have some smoked fruits, in the background, tinned peaches, prunes and grapes, not unlike a Cognac -- a heavy, not-particularly-refined Cognac. Smoke from burning exotic woods (oily teak or mahogany), peachy coffee, and treacle-like hot chocolate. The second nose is a notch drier, a mix of warm sawdust and pony dung competing with cured prunes. How quaint! Mouth: ooft! It combines an intense fruitiness (peaches, cured grapes), thin smoke, and so much maple syrup it is insane, and frankly artificial. Amusingly, it is also a little dry and desiccating, in the same way a heaped spoonful of caster sugar will trigger thirst. A vague woodiness reoccurs, though it is likely maple-syrup cookies, rather than wood, all things considered. The second sip is a little juicier, and it adds a touch of metal akin to licking a Swiss Army knife (though it tastes of neither cheese, nor inferior chocolate). Chewing releases a geyser of sweet syrup, however. Finish: sickly sweet, warming, and rather vulgar. Imagine those maple-syrup cookies pumped with more ultra-processed maple syrup and indistinct booze. It has a vague notion of warm wood, more than smoke. Warm sawdust, in fact. Repeated sipping focusses on the carcinogenic sweetness of ultra-processed maple syrup, at the detriment of all else. Only the one dram for me, thanks. 5/10 (Thanks, ME)