Tastes

First offering I’ve had from Battlehill and it makes me really appreciate the independent bottling side of scotch. This peated Bunnahabhain smells youthful and barley forward. The nose is also tangy and offers an enticing sourdough yeast note along with peat, fresh thyme, and the scent of kilning earthenware. The palate reveals more thyme, lemon custard, hayfield in the rain, salted nuts (including a peanut note that is unique to my scotch experience). I also get sweeter notes of raspberry crème brûlée and pear ginger tart. The mouthfeel is just slightly oily against the backdrop of a remarkable peat moss clarity. The finish is impeccable, with a beautiful burn that leaves peat smoke on the palate as if begging not to be forgotten. Storied, considered, existentially interesting, and all that despite the relative age. A unique and interesting malt.

A delightful nose of dried papaya and banana and vanilla cream. The palate continues the tropical fruit notes and adds orange peel and nectarine. The flavors of the palate open further with lovely floral notes of heather, jasmine oolong, and even hempflower. At the same time, the barley foundation carries these lighter, fruity notes gracefully. There’s a paraffin mouthfeel, while the finish is refreshing and cleansing with a slightly salty but definitively floral accent. A delicious everyday Irish whiskey for an affordable price.

An accessible single malt, and while it’s not phenomenal, I’m more than satisfied by its quality. A sweet, fruity nose gives aromas of red currants, homemade cranberry sauce, and overripe black plum. The palate is sweet as well, with treacle, banana tart tatin, milk chocolate, and boxed raisins carrying it. Interesting notes of fennel frond, sunburnt leather, and smoked sausage show up as well. The raisiny, cherrywood finish is rather syrupy sweet. While smooth, it lacks the depth and power that a slightly higher ABV would remedy. A good bottle to keep around.

Scorch is a bold experiment whose outcome is far more interesting than the hypothesis could have imagined. The aromas allure: burnt vanilla sugar, a peat fire, dark chocolate, wild thyme, and chile ristra. On the palate, a surprise beyond: tart raspberry, smoky pepper, steamed langoustine, candied orange peel, and suggestions of tar. Morphing on the palate is a double vectored mouthfeel, as if the viscosity spreads out across every surface before lighting to an astringent, charcoal cleanness. The charring deceives, making it hard to believe the spirit is only 46 percent. Somehow the finish is smooth and mellow, sweet and smoky, leaving the raspberry, chocolate, and chili flavors dancing gently. I’m glad to have partaken in this discovery, shared with Charles in gratitude for his helping me paint a new home.

I’m delighted to have tried this new gem from the Isle of Raasay. Thanks for sharing, Alex. The nose is spritely, with notes of springtime moss and coneflower lifting from the glass. Given the youthfulness of the whisky, its taste is malty and pleasantly wort driven. Flavors of yellow pear, fresh lemon zest, and sunflower seed arrive as the scotch comes to the cooler outdoor temperature. The finish is barley-centric and ozonic. Raasay has offered the best first-batch, young scotch I’ve ever tasted, and, already reminiscent of Tobermory and Arran, it promises to be a worthy peer among the Hebrides distilleries.

Cherrywood, pungent, smoked bacon, danoise des fruits confits.

My first of the Islay Barley series — and an impressive start. The color is a gold with unmatched clarity and brightness. I smell uniqueness: echinacea, brine, sphagnum moss, and dried pineapple. The palate is explosively multifaceted. The dried pineapple of the nose flares gooey pineapple upside down cake on the tongue. I taste wild blueberries, salt of sunflower seeds, wild yeast, and nori, too. My favorite aspect of this scotch is the finish. At 100 proof, it never stops expanding, like a little universe in your mouth that grows perpetually after the first star fuses into existence. With notes of inchoate peat, it spreads in an unending, estery wave, making sense of why this is called a spirit. The aftertaste that remains is a smoky vanilla grounded by sweet malt. The most interesting scotch I’ve had a bottle of in a long time, Bruichladdich never ceases to amaze.

Edradour 10 has been on my wishlist for a long time, not only for being from the smallest scotch operation, but also for its supposed uniqueness. It pours as astonishingly dark in the glass as it looks in the bottle: storied mahogany. Edradour is aromatically complex; I sense blackwood, dried cherry, rain-soaked fallen log, salted brown butter, oiled leather, and a mushroomy pungency. The palate adds flavors of sweet plantain, sumac, and hickory nut. Together, nose and palate give the impression of an early morning at wood’s edge on the verge of autumn — you return home and your boots are wet from the dew. The mouthfeel is dully medicinal, while a sweetly earthy and mossy finish offers a fitting denouement. The aftertaste is like breathing inside a humidor. I wonder what a slightly higher proof might do to emphasize some of these impressive notes. All in all, it’s a dram that deserves time and treasuring.

Till now, Glen Scotia was the only of the three Campbeltown distilleries whose spirits I have not tried. The dark amber liquid and the complex nose give the impression of an antiquated painting — aged canvas and crackling oil paint. I smell black peppercorn, cedar heartwood, thyme, dried apple, and — departing from the dryness — a deep mossy note. On the palate, Glen Scotia 15 is at base exquisitely malty, with notes of salted pretzel, caramel, and nougat. Orange zest and treacle come to mind as well. This scotch balances funk and malt as perfectly as a good abbey ale, with the sweet and rich notes of the palate being tempered by the oily and briny mouthfeel. A tangy and salubrious tamarind finish burns slowly and softly down, like a glowing cedar ember. Glen Scotia 15 is a wonder of a whisky, even if it falls a hair behind Springbank 15 and Kilkerran 12 for me. However, it’s not a matter of craft but of preference. The tang and dry salinity of Glen Scotia can be compared with the richness and decadence of Springbank and the fruity-salty complexity of Kilkerran. At any rate, this won’t be my last bottle.