Tastes

Musty like an old books collection in a library. Butterscotch candies. Maple syrup. Woodspice. Deliciousness.

Butterscotch on the nose, all day long. The palate is sweet too, but perplexingly it has a tropical fruit feel, like papaya. It’s hot and not-at-all smooth, oaken astringency playing an outspoken role. The burn turns to vanilla extract as it coats the tongue. The finish is pretty versatile. Tonight I get shoe polish along with the oak and the tropical fruit. All I ever wanted in a bourbon. Thanks to Tom from Philly for the tip.

I tried this for the first time with @KoryH in April, sipped on it again in late May after J and I found out we were going to be parents, savored it at the beach in July, and have spent time with it on candlelit Saturday nights and on contemplative Sunday afternoons. Last night I finished off a generous pour after an excruciating week of witnessing the deepest evils humans are capable of. Much like life as I’ve experienced it lately, this 2016 limited release whisky from Springbank is a nemesis, complicated and multifaceted. The analogy breaks down in that this whisky is beautiful and delightful through and through. On the nose is salted papaya, the heavy aroma of late-summer gardenia, new leather, Manuka honey, black plums, and rhubarb. The longer it sits, the more the sweet wineyness mellows out, and the maritime signature wafts up as the dram continues to open up. The palate is thick and sweet in the front – pomegranate being added to the flavors from the nose. Mid-palate, brine and spice follow the deep fruitiness. Cardamom, tarragon, cayenne-dusted cashews, crushed pepper… At the back of the mouth these sensations are tied together by a deep maltiness and luxurious roundness. This whisky is tannic and heated, numbing the cheeks and gums. The finish is a wash of berries, seawater, nuts, and maltiness, and its burn fades on the tongue only after several minutes. This exquisite whisky invokes daydreams of a chilly day at a North Atlantic beach, saturated with red wine. I’m so glad to have experienced this well-balanced and beautifully crafted single malt. Its sweetness, though tantalizing, never outshines the Springbank richness. What a memorable bottle of whisky…

Islay Barley pours a flax-colored liquid into my glass. The nose is surprising—cinnamon bread, iodine, dried orange peel, and the striking scent of fresh thyme (oily, savory, and floral sweet all at once). The palate follows well, and I get impressions of crisp gala apples, moist mellow pipe tobacco, orange–vanilla cream, and grilled fruit. A smoky and sweet tobacco-like finish with an impeccable alcohol burn lingers on the palate. The mouthfeel is simultaneously oily and cleansing. This is an afternoon dram, one that enlivens and refreshes the senses.

Similar to earlier vintages. Lovely medicinal peat, tarred rope, and sea salt. Cedarwood plays a forward role on the palate, and mellow vanilla and light fruit follow. The aromatic wood and peat character dominate, and the dram’s finish is spicy and heated. Tasted in the great company of @heymitch at Dressel’s.

It’s raining outside, a gentle shower after a midsummer thunderstorm. The trees are dripping, and thunder and lightning fade into the distance. The aroma boasts vegetal peat. It is neither oily nor meaty, neither salty nor smoky — it just smells like mossy, boggy peat, and wonderfully so. Curiositas is buttery and creamy actually, both on the palate and in the mouthfeel. I taste marzipan, fresh cracked cardamom pods, and lemon peel. With the rounded and rather malty foundation, though, there are nuances, among them the sensation of floral jasmine after a rain shower. The juniper-like and peppery finish is somehow cooling. It’s not an easygoing dram per se, but it’s certainly one that I’d introduce to peat newcomers, and is overall a stellar quotidian malt. The creamy mouthfeel is elevated and the dram becomes sweetened when accompanied by an Hoyo de Monterrey de José Gener cigarillo, as it was tonight on the front porch.

The appearance is very dark, though I’m afraid it is a result of caramel coloring. The nose is rich and sticky: cinnamon roll, candied blood orange, sherry, and anise swirl upward. The smell is the most exciting part of this dram. The initial taste is richly malty and heavy on toasted oak, and while it takes some time for other notes to show up, I eventually perceive molasses, Manuka honey, buttered bread, and ginger snaps. The mouthfeel is symptomatic of what is lacking in this whisky – up front it is thin and rather impotent, while it is syrupy towards the back in a more medicinal way. The finish is also lackluster, mostly reiterating the above notes (spice driven, oaked, and sweet) and leaving a sugar-and-spice aftertaste. This is a dessert whisky, but not one that I’d buy a bottle of. The GlenDronach, in comparison, is far more refined, nuanced, and exquisite. The difference in craft shows here. This dram sponsored by @KoryH.

I have been saving the last of my slightly mellowed bottle of Ardbeg 10 to pair with this. I’m amazed at the visuals here. Corryvreckan is amber-gold with a deep mauve hue. The nose is sticky, and the first impression is of a bottle of el refresco famoso Sangría Señorial, freshly opened. The nosing then reveals raspberry creme and sweet pipe tobacco. While the peat is shrouded behind the more vinous aromas, patience confirms that this is a seaside whisky. The elixir coats like wax, and it numbs the tongue with sticky, high-proof heat. I experience this dram as meaty and fruity, like pork tenderloin with a raspberry peppercorn glaze. Salted pecans and rich butterscotch also show up in the body, while there are lovely floral overtones like tarragon and clover. The smoldering, 114-proof finish is woody and musty and lasts a lifetime. The aftertaste betrays the wine cask influence as well as chamomile and remnant smoke. Now, to compare it to its sibling, dear Uigeadail. I would be hard pressed to say which was better. They’re both one of a kind. (I know that’s a cop-out, because my father says the same thing, but everyone knows my younger brother is the favorite.) What I can say for sure is that Uigeadail is more enigmatic, whereas Corryvreckan is more voluminous and centripetal (as it’s namesake would imply). It coalesces more, in other words; the wine casks seem to finish off this malt well, adding a flare while tying things together nicely. Like Uigeadail, Corryvreckan is an envigorating and sensational whisky. Even though I sip it slowly, its presence is gladly felt.