Tastes

Yellow Spot is abnormally complex for an Irish Whiskey or even a 12 year old whiskey. Every review and even the bottle itself give different opinions of what you can expect while experiencing this dram. It felt like I had taken a really intelligent, talented girl on a date, and throughout the evening she kept revealing new things that alternately shocked and intrigued me. I had 2.5 generous pours of Yellow Spot while I tried to sort out my feelings. Attraction, certainly. Nothing unpleasant, except a little confusion about why she’s content to be out with the likes of me. I got different things with each dram. Predominant I suppose was the sherry-soaked chocolate cake on the nose with cherries, apples and some kind of spicy heat. The palate is sweet summer fruits with bitter spices asserting themselves a bit hesitantly. It’s alternately oily, spicy and nutty, and now all three together. The finish is long and complex. I’ve had a great time. I think she’s interested in coming back to my place, but I also wouldn’t be surprised if she refused. She’s not really playing a game, she’s just not revealing everything she’s thinking. And I respect that.

I wouldn’t say there’s a lot of complexity here, but I’m ok with that. Crisp and smooth, I get the same thing every time I pull the cork on this delightful whiskey: fresh pears on the nose (along with a light grassy aroma), chewy dried pears with a breezy mouth feel, and a burst of juice from the fresh pears on the finish. It’s not overly sweet. Once I got a little Spaghetti-Os on the palate, and that was great too. I felt like a 5 year old having a snack. 5 was a good year for me. I had my first kiss with my after school babysitter’s daughter. Anyway, there’s nothing that isn’t consistently pleasant about drinking this whiskey.

There’s something of a light eclectic tea happening here. Candied lemon rind on the nose, toast that got just a smidge darker than intended. The first drop is remarkably sweet on the tip of the tongue, a slightly bitter woody spiciness emerges until the two converge as buttered toast with marmalade. The spice recedes quickly on the finish but the warmth sticks around. A dash of warm cream, black tea with a pinch of raw cane sugar. As each of the notes bids you adieu in turn, you realize the only guest left is your old friend oak. He’s been an unassuming presence, keeping what might have become unbridled levity at certain points slightly more dignified. He thanks you sincerely and excuses himself. You were glad he came. You must remember to pay more attention to him next time.

The air is fragrant with the fruit of the season on a September Sunday drive through the vineyards of Napa Valley. The sweetness is surprisingly muted upon sipping, slightly salty and oily with vanilla cake and dried pears. The bourbon casks move to the forefront on the finish with oak and mushroom broth.

Roasted corn with cilantro, smoked salami on the nose. Buttered popcorn saltwater taffy makes my mouth water as I slowly chew it. Long warm finish

An instant favorite. Ripe red grapes, delicate daffodil nectar, and a lingering misty fog on the bay greeted me even as I pulled the cork. As is my wont, I took a long initial pull so I could fully experience the character on my palate. A significant dose of sea salt delighted then gave way to an oily spice ointment with apple and horseradish. The cask strength peat was a gentle driftwood fire that warmed and dried me off after a quick dip in a tide pool overlooking the surging sea.

Nose: Korean BBQ flavored potato chips from a Japanese convenience store. A little vinegar, a little char. A newly rolled cigar. Bitter hot cocoa and my father-in-law’s fruit cake. He doesn’t realize no one appreciates his annual Christmas gift. Except me. I love it. Walnuts, hazelnuts, dried cherries and a host of other unidentifiable candied fruits. Not much of a finish, but it certainly doesn’t offend.

My 4th drink of the evening but it tastes like fucking water after Laphroaig 25. This is not a man that stands on his own 2 feet. Hard to respect a dram that bats 4th in the lineup and has a batting average of .200

Bruichladdich is to scotch what Norm MacDonald was to comedy: a uniquely beautiful and always surprising breath of fresh air. Not to mention the GOAT. I don’t know how Bruichladdich gave so much character to a 7 year old scotch. One of my very favorites. RIP Mr. MacDonald.

I’m giving this another whirl, the bottle’s been sitting for a while and I think that’s done it some good. Going to work backward here from best to worst. The finish is citrus, white peach and black pepper. Complex and mellow. The palate is sweet and smooth, almost syrupy. It’s got a lot of oak, but that almost jibes with everything else this time. The nose was off-putting. Mostly aged pee. I’m taken back to the enclosed corner outside the boys’ bathroom in elementary school. Who knows why a lot of us would go to that corner but couldn’t be bothered to take the extra few steps into the bathroom to pee. Nevertheless those were good times and so the nose wasn’t all bad.