Tastes

My final verdict in what I think of a whisky almost never comes on the day I crack open a bottle. Never, that is, unless the whisky is abysmal, which, now that I do my research before buying anything, is rare. Kilchoman isn't available in my state aside from special order, so a friend in Chi-city picked this up for me. I had expressed an interest ever since Whisky Advocate had awarded this a 95. I'm an Islay fan, and the intensity of cask strength, these days, is right up my alley. My friend surprised me with it actually. Over the course of the pandemic, we've had periodic FaceTime calls where we sip whisky and reflect on the state of our lives, and I'd expressed an interest in this, and he went out and got it for me and got it to me. He wanted the two of us, he said, to open the bottle together, over FaceTime, and have the same experience. And I was down with that, so one night back in late-June, with the wife and kids in bed, I dialed him up and we indulged. "That an Islay," I thought, "It's definitely a cask strength Islay." Profound, isn't it? The complexity of my initial assessment? I wasn't sure what I thought. The first whiff took a few nose hairs with it, but that was to be expected. What else was I getting? We discussed: obviously, with an Islay, the usual suspects are peat, sea salt, iodine with a little bit of citrus mixed in. For me, I'm going to say there's a lemony tinge. And with certain scotches that lemony tinge can go south quick, but here's it's refreshing. Less Pine Sol (here I'm thinking of Cutty Sark, which isn't fair since that's a blend and a Speyside, I believe) than an actual burst of fresh lemon like you'd squirt on your cod. I was also getting a little bit of strawberry on the back end of the nose, though now, sitting before the screen, trying to sum up my experience of Kilchoman's Machir Bay Cask Strength 2020 Festive Edition, that berry scent is muted with the combination of the lemon and saline scents coming through stronger. I'm also detecting at times the faint trace of rubber, though it's not disgusting, tires peeled out on the road after a quick stop rubber so much as new toy fresh out of the box trace of childhood nostalgia rubber that's more appealing, and because it's not quite prominent, I'm digging on it, and in all honesty, it's mingling with what might be the medicinal iodine quality so prevalent in Islay scotches, and that makes it more appealing somehow, even though I can't explain how because sometimes words just fail to measure up to the reality of the five senses, don't they? I have to admit, of course, I wasn't getting as much of this on my first encounter as I would after living with the bottle for three months. It was mostly just, "It's an Islay. Definitely a cask strength Islay." Though it was also difficult because, although I loved opening the bottle with my friend in a different city on the other end of the line, I wanted to offer a more impressive critique than, "It's an Islay. Definitely a cask strength Islay." After all, in the discussions leading up to this moment, I'd been on the other end of the call recommending whiskies to him. While I never would have positioned myself as an aesthete (there are plenty of people out there with far more sensitive, finely developed palates than mine), I do a great deal of background research before diving into my drams, and I can generally suggest something in a person's wheelhouse if I know what whiskies they've enjoyed in the past. In any case, after a moment of taking in the aroma, we moved on to the taste. And I'm sorry to say that my first impression of the palate didn't have more to offer than what I was getting on the nose (i.e., burnt hairs and intensity). Now, of course, here's the thing I should explain about how I opened my short essay on Machir Bay here, stating that I can't come to a final verdict until I've lived with a whisky over time. A week later, while my dad was over, I offered him a taste of this, and he liked it. And for a comparison, I poured him a measure of Ardbeg's Wee Beastie, and the Wee Beastie, which we'd previously enjoyed (and which I had formerly recommended to the friend who bought me the Kilchoman) was like drinking a glass of water next to the Kilchoman. Flavors that seemed prominent when starting off with the Wee Beastie were muted, faded, when set against the Machir Bay. This makes sense, naturally, because of Machir Bay's proof, so it's almost not fair to compare them, but the act of tasting one Islay next to the other was also the beginning of me moving beyond such simplistic thoughts as “That’s an Islay. Definitely a cask strength Islay.” For example, the Beastie has less of a fruitiness and more of a butterscotch/Werther's Original aroma, which flows to the palate. This allows me to pinpoint that what I like about the Kilchoman is actually not the qualities I usually associate with Islay but the fruitiness. The finish of the Kilchoman is also spicy in a way the Beastie isn’t, and this past weekend, I also tasted the Kilchoman against the Ardbeg 10, which is more refined than Beastie, being older, and the 10 doesn’t have that sweetness nor do either the 10 or the Beastie have the spiciness on the back end that the Machir Bay does. Honestly, I’m not going to knock either of the Ardbegs because Wee Beastie is good enough for the $43 price tag you can get it for in my region (and this month it was on sale for $37) and Ardbeg 10 is a classic, but the Machir Bay is a cask strength, so it’s difficult to tell how the flavor would compare if the proof was lowered to be equivalent to those (like I've said, Kilchoman isn't readily available in my region so I can't get the regular version of Machir Bay unless I special order it). The more proper comparison would likely be if I could taste the Machir Bay next to Uigeadail, which I had last fall and which may be one of my favorite whiskies I’ve ever tasted, but at the moment running out to buy Uigeadail isn’t in the budget (I’m actually saving my splurge bottle to be the Laphroaig 2021 Cairdeas Pedro Ximenez Cask that’s slowly arriving in my state but hasn’t hit any of the local stores yet, but if I still have the Machir Bay Cask Strength when I get it, that might be an interesting comparison too). But I’m belaboring the point of simply stating that this is a damn fine whisky. Because it was a gift, I’m going with the list price here (I don’t actually know how much it cost my friend). If you can find one of these for $75, pick it up. And if you have a friend who buys a bottle for you? Well, you’ve got a friend for life. And given the friend who picked this up for me has been my friend since we were roommates back in a study abroad program in Rome in ’99, I had no doubt of that anyway. Good whisky is something to share, even if you can only do it over FaceTime, and every time I pour a glass of this, I think of him. I raise it and give him a toast before my first sip. It’s the least I can do.

“This makes me think I might need to reconsider bourbon…” I’m not sure if that’s a direct quote, so perhaps I should remove the quotation marks. Perhaps I’m paraphrasing, but this is something my dad said last Sunday when we switched from drinking Dewar’s 21 to drinking Woodford Double Oak after halftime of the Eagles v. Falcons game. My dad isn’t a bourbon fan, nor is my brother-in-law, and they’re the two people I drink whisky with most often. Too sweet, they both protest, too much…corn. I have two explanations here as to why they have this prejudice. The first is that it’s all in their heads. For example, last summer, I had purchased Jack Daniel’s Single Barrel Select, and after an afternoon spent drinking Scotch, I worked it in with my brother-in-law, didn’t tell him what it was. He thought it was interesting, complex. He took it seriously and drank it in a way he never would have if I’d told him straight up it was an American whisky (I believe technically that Tennessee whiskies aren’t bourbon, but they’re still predominantly distilled from corn, so To-may-to, to-mah-to, right?; we’re talking in the same ballpark, especially with someone like my brother in law). I should point out that if it sounds devious like I set out to trick him, I never would have done so if he weren't so adamant that he didn't like bourbon to the point of refusing to taste even the bourbons I insisted were great (I should also point out, my dad isn't like this; I don't have to trick him into tasting bourbon; he's always willing to change his mind). The second is the availability and pricing of lower quality bourbons like Jim Beam White Label. I imagine these types of bourbons are a lot of people’s first experience with the style, and to me, White Label has always been disgusting. A friend of mine did a blind bourbon tasting back in the aughts and I was able to pick Jim Beam White out of the lineup. My note: “Tastes what I imagine a diabetic’s urine would taste like.” The reveal: it was White Label. Aside from the putrid aroma, flavor, and finish of such starter bourbons, I also imagine that for many, this is the first type of whisky you got waaaaayyyyy too drunk and vomited from imbibing as a youth, leaving you with bad memories you don’t wish to revisit (I still can’t eat funnel cake for this exact reason). But bourbon has its variety, its complexity, and while I’ve been willing to investigate that, my favorite people to drink whisky with have not. At least, until I broke this out during the second half of the game last Sunday. Now, I just did a write up for Dewar’s Double Double 21 Year, which we started the game with, and as I mentioned in that review, I have difficulty with 375 ml bottles because they don’t always allow me to space out the whisky over time, to live with it, to get an idea of how it changes with individual tastings. But the positive side of the 375 ml size is that I can taste a whisky I’m interested in where I might rather spend the price of the 750 bottle on something else. This, for example. After all, the full bottle goes for around $60, and I got the 375 ml for $26.99 on sale this month, plus tax. That’s a huge difference in cases where you’re not sure you’re going to love it and you’d rather drop $60 on something tried and true like that new Maker’s Mark FAE 01 2009 KDFH 7-18-938H Row 1937 Section ZeroOneNiner. I’m kidding around, but honestly, I really do look forward to the Maker’s special releases and would choose those every time over this, even though this is a damn fine bourbon. But what exactly had my dad saying he needed to reconsider bourbon with this one? Well, it’s odd, because I’m with everyone else here in my judgment that, although this is double oaked, it’s not particularly oaky. The aroma is really sweet, but not overly sweet. It’s got a lot of baking spice, candied cinnamon (as in not the spice but the Red Hots variety, which I suppose could also be a combination of baking spice cinnamon and cherry). But that’s what has me thinking my dad was reconsidering: there’s nothing of corn or grain about the aroma. The funny thing is that what’s weakest here is the palate. The initial hit on the tongue makes me think of something I read in another review here about Old Overholt 114 that Stephanie Moreno wrote, “There’s something missing in the middle.” To me that’s what keeps this bourbon from going over the top entirely. It’s a bit thin in the middle. What really brings this over the top is the finish. I love the finish on this. The Distiller expert review says, “pleasant citrus, like a lemon poppy seed muffin” and reading that with a glass in hand, I could certainly see that (there's certainly a citrusy profile), though my first thoughts, watching my team finish off their opponent 32-6 in the football game Sunday, was toffee, caramel, and those packets of flavored sugar called “Fun Dip” that I ate with that chalky spoon when I was a kid. Would I buy this again? Probably. But it would have to be on sale, and the sale on this is usually $5 off. I’m not sure I want this for $55 but I might be willing to pick it up at $50. Then again, there are so many other bourbons to explore, this might be a one-and-done, I can’t say. Certainly, I favor special releases over whiskies available year-round. But if this has changed my dad’s mind on bourbon, maybe I can get him drinking some of the other special stuff I have on my shelves that I break out just for me: my Evan Williams Single Barrel and Elijah Craig store select picks. I just managed to get my hands on Larceny Barrel Proof, which is now quite difficult with it winning WA’s Whisky of the Year 2020. And I’m interested in all of that. So it might be nice if I can have my favorite person to drink whisky with join me on that journey. As for the Woodford, if you have someone in your life who doesn’t like bourbon but likes Scotch and rye, this just might be the gateway. It just might be… If you have suggestions for bourbons with a similar flavor profile, let me know.

Dewar’s, to me, has long been a staple of the end-of-year office holiday party. I get in line with my coworkers, wait for the open bar, and the hotel, or bowling alley, or boat, or restaurant will generally offer three whiskies in the holiday party package: Jameson, Jack Daniels Black Label, or Dewar’s White Label. Sometimes I’ll opt for Jameson. I wouldn’t touch Jack Daniels, even in my younger and less discerning years, but most of the time, even now, I’ll order Dewar’s on the rocks. I’m not sure there’s a valid reason why. Perhaps it simply rolls off the tongue more smoothly than saying "Jameson on the rocks," effectively allowing me to order my drink more quickly. Plus of the blended Scotches without an age statement, I’ve never minded Dewar’s. It’s better than Johnnie Walker Red, less expensive than Chivas (which, on further reflection, has a 12-year age statement), and when compared to Cutty Sark…well, Cutty has always struck me as vilely medicinal like a lemon menthol cough drop. Though really, if you let the ice melt in almost any Scotch, you can drink it without noticing as you listen to office gossip and make wise cracks about the latest HR initiatives that obviously aren’t going to have an effect on morale and are just for show. As for having a bottle of Dewar’s in my house, I haven’t purchased White Label, even for mixing, in over a decade. Last year, I copped a bottle of Dewar’s 12 Year for $22, and despite the low community rating here, I quite enjoyed it, especially for that price. And in the middle of 2019, I noticed this Dewar’s Double Double 21 on the shelves at my local FW&GS shop with the nice package, the ornate bottle. It was enticingly presented, and I almost bought it before I realized it was 375 ml. Not that it isn’t an alluring prospect: getting 375 ml of a 21 year old whiskey for $50. After all, in the single malt category, most 21 Year Old varieties are beyond what I’m willing to spend. But at the time, I wanted more bang for my buck. I was already aggregating scores from various whisky websites, then comparing aggregate scores against local pricing before making my decision, and buying this then simply didn’t make sense when there were cheaper whiskies with better ratings to be had. But I never forgot about it, not entirely. Not until it looked like the stores were out of stock, and I’d missed the opportunity. Oh well, I thought, you can’t taste every single whisky you have a slight interest in. You have to pick and choose. Then, of course, Whisky Advocate selected this as their #2 of 2019, and I noticed that a limited quantity had made its way back into my local stores, and my interest was piqued again. I try to get new and interesting whiskies whenever September rolls around. Football season is coming back around. I’ve mentioned this in other reviews, but my dad and I watch the games together, and while we watch, we sip whisky. So, the question was, what do we start the season with? And I figured a 21 Year Old Scotch should do the trick. The community reviews here could be lukewarm to great, but I wouldn’t know until I found out for myself, would I? And so Sunday the 12th came, the Philadelphia Eagles fielded a team we fans had little knowledge and even less expectations of, and my dad and I took our seats on my back porch with the TV set up on the deck table (our post-COVID setup that allows us to socially distance while watching outside to allow the sunlight to hopefully kill any virus that might otherwise pass between us). I cracked the bottle and poured a bit for me, a bit for him, and a bit for my wife, who while not interested in football, had helped me set up the deck for watching and who had cooked Blondies for us to enjoy with our whisky. And the first thing she said, having tasted it, was “Smoky.” Now, I should say, that wasn’t the first of the aromas to hit me, but that might be because of how frequently I sip on Islay Scotch and how muted the smoke is compared to what you’d find in an Islay, but it’s reminiscent of the smoke you’d get from other Highland Scotches such as Highland Park. What stuck out to me was how honeyed the nose is, how sweet. Reading through the Distiller review as I sip again, the touch of brininess noted here is certainly present and enjoyable, but not overwhelming and certainly, again, not of the sort you’d get with an Islay, but overall, it’s got a nice solid aroma, certainly mouthwatering, and I enjoyed a few whiffs, as I watched my team drive down the field and score, much to my surprise. The palate wasn’t quite as smooth as I was expected for a 21 Year Old Scotch, however. I can’t say it’s disappointing. It retains the honeyed sweetness on the tongue, but I suppose I wasn’t expecting the bite that comes with. It’s not the kind of thing where I’d decline the offer of a glass of this based on that, but it is the type of situation where I’m not sure I’d feel the need to buy another bottle based on sheer enjoyment. Drinking this Sunday, comparing notes with my dad, I said that the palate adds berries and chocolate, though having a taste now, a few days after the fact, I’m not sure I taste the chocolate I noted anymore, making me question whether it was there at all or if it faded now that the liquid has had a little exposure to the air. To some extent, to write about a whisky with knowledge, to form an opinion I’ll stand by, I have to live with the whisky a while, taste it a few times and reflect on the experience of various rounds of tasting, and that’s the main drawback of a 375 ml bottle you plan to share with others: there’s simply not enough time to gain more than a passing familiarity with the liquor. My dad and I might have finished it that afternoon even, but I figured that after two pours each—with the Eagles heading into halftime leading 15-6—I’d take the opportunity to switch gears and try out a 375 ml bottle of Woodford Double Oak that I’d also picked up out of curiosity. And while we always need to keep in mind that taste is subjective, I think I appreciated the Woodford more than this bottle of Dewar’s. It might be it was more my speed, or simply because the finish on the Woodford, with its deep flavor of toffee and butterscotch (and might I even say a trace of those packets of Fun Dip I used to love so much as a child), was such a memorable experience. But that’s something I’ll save for my Woodford Double Oak write up. I just figured it’s always helpful to have a comparison whisky to add contrast, even if the comparison whisky is of an entirely different character. Overall, I’m not disappointed. Dewar’s Double Double 21 is tasty, and I’d concur with the community rating of 3.75 here. Worth a shot for the experience, but not a mainstay or regular whisky to stock on your shelves. It’s certainly more interesting than others here that have a similar community rating (I’m thinking Writer’s Tears Copper Pot). But overall, if I’m being offered a choice between the two whiskies I tasted that afternoon, I’m opting for Woodford Double Oak.

Because sometimes you want to listen to Beethoven and others you want The Ramones. Because sometimes it’s The Beatles and others Kendrick Lamar. But then, there are those artists where, even though everyone you know might praise them, you yourself have a difficult time finding a way into. For me, I’m thinking My Bloody Valentine who might have rocked my world if I’d discovered Loveless when it came out in 1991, but because I didn’t hear them until a decade later when a host of musicians influenced by them made me wonder what all the fuss was about, they didn’t really do it for me. Legent is the whisky version of this for me. The marketing, I should note, is top-notch. To sell this whisky as east meets west, Fred Noe’s distilling skill meets the blending expertise of Shinji Fukuyo. The bottle looks amazing, its design, its logo. And seeing it in glossies in the back of Whisky Advocate in their bourbon happy hour feature had me saying, hmmm. Really, the reason I bought this (and maybe this is a bad reason to choose a whisky but I was curious enough) was that I needed to add an additional $35 to my order to get free shipping from FW&GS when I was buying Green Spot Chateau Montelena, and this was the best reviewed whisky available in that price range: marks near 90 from all the sites I read and a 3.8 community rating here at Distiller. I wouldn’t have been surprised if this was on par with the Montelena, though as of writing, I have no idea, since I haven’t opened the Green Spot yet. Being a Beam whisky, I was curious as to how this would taste next to another produced out of the same distillery, so on the night I opened this, I sipped it next to Old Tub. It was obvious that the flavor profiles were similar with the Beam recipe as a base, but the difference was the finish, the wine cask, the sherry, which added berries on the nose and palate. It’s good. A decent sipper, but my problem is one of expectations. I was simply anticipating…more? More what? I don’t know. It’s obviously better than Old Tub, don’t think me so pedestrian as to make the argument it’s not; if by better, what we mean is more complex, more interesting, more to talk about as you sip. But… Whereas a bourbon like Old Tub feels like an any old day whisky, like something you can drink and enjoy but not think too much about, this one feels like you're supposed to engage with it, intellectualize it, mull over its varied and sundry aromas and textures. It feels like an event whisky that’s simply not quiet exciting as an event. It feels like a whisky you should want to break out when you have friends over and encourage them to taste. “See what I found, it’s new, it’s east meets west, it’s Beam-Suntory, using all the resources at their disposal on both ends to marry east and west to create something unique.” But that’s feeding your guests a company line, designed to get us talking about it. Though I suppose it is unique. I can’t think of another bourbon I’ve had that tastes quite like this. But it’s just not enough. Like discovering My Bloody Valentine in 2004 instead of 1991. When the hype dies down, you’re left with a bunch of dissonant spacy guitar soundscapes and not much else. What I found most amusing about Legent is the disclaimers in the other reviews I read (not technically a bourbon; shouldn't be called one). It reminds me of people arguing over whether Silence of the Lambs is a thriller or a horror movie. Doesn’t really matter what you call it. At the end of the day, you have a pretty standard Beam bourbon that smells and tastes like cherries, berries and wine. Not bad. It's worth the price of admission, if only as a curiosity. But it isn't a well I feel the need to dip into again.

I love Old Tub, simply love it. That statement might contradict my rating of 3.25, but I’ll stand by both the statement and the rating. I love Old Tub. There’s a question whenever assessing a whisky and giving it a score like this whether you should be rating it based on all whiskies or giving it a score based on the class in which the whisky is punching. Old Tub isn’t a heavyweight. It’s not the Mike Tyson or Floyd Mayweather. It’s not a special cask strength single barrel of Four Roses or Old Forester Birthday Bourbon or Little Book. The class Old Tub finds itself punching in are the bargain bottled in bonds like Old Grandad. And because, in Pennsylvania, Old Tub goes for $16.99 a bottle, really, the only other bottles I’ve tasted that are punching in its weight class would be Evan Williams Bottled in Bond or Rebel 100. And these might be fighting words because I know EW BIB has its fans, but I’ve had the two side-by-side and in this class, Old Tub is Ivan Drago and EW BIB is Apollo Creed (the metaphor, admittedly, isn't perfect, since those two were, in fact, heavyweights, albeit fictional). To put that in context, if I were rating according to class, EW BIB would be a 2.5 and Old Tub a 5. But that’s not how I think about whisky. Or maybe it’s how I think about whisky sometimes. Let me switch gears a moment: as I get older, I drink less whisky less often. I know, I know, but certain facts have to be acknowledged. Unpleasant truths. Whisky does its damage, and if I’m going to indulge in something that does damage, I might as well make it high quality. So while, in my twenties, if I’d known about Evan Williams Bottled in Bond, it would have been my go-to bourbon on the salary I was living on then, nowadays, the budget bourbons (if I'm going to indulge in budget bourbon at all and not hold out for a better higher-priced drink) need to be better than that. And Old Tub is, simply put, better than that. It’s not the most complex drink you’ll ever have, but what it reminds me of is the carnival, the ballpark, what it reminds me of—that Evan Williams Bottled in Bond doesn’t—is summertime. On the nose there’s more oak with Old Tub, sawdust, peanuts, sweetness like cotton candy, funnel cake, and the palate follows suit with some caramel corn, yet coming off as drier and spicier than Evan Williams, more in my wheelhouse. And the finish is nice and spicy and certainly not too hot, but just right like Goldilocks’ third bowl of porridge. I tend to see whisky drinking as a communal experience, and for the reason I save my best bottles to open with friends and family. Old Tub is a settling down for the end of the night to watch a movie pour myself a finger kind of bourbon. I’m not rushing out to share this with anyone else. I’m not all that excited to spread the word, but I can’t imagine you’re ever going to find a better bourbon than this for $17.99. And so, I lift it to my nose before I sip, as the summer fades into autumn and my kids return to school and the hard days come to a close and I smell nostalgia for summers past. I wax poetic, dreaming of the 90s again, of being in my teens and heading out to baseball games. I, of course, wasn’t drinking back then, didn’t even know that whisky existed, but the scent of this brings me back to another time, a time when The Sandlot was my favorite movie, a time when, even when it was incredibly hot outside, we didn’t have air conditioning, so I’d sit on my bed, sweating, looking out the window at a bright blue sky with fluffy white clouds passing. And that can’t be all bad, can it? It's sort of my boozy version of Proust's madeleine. Can you see from this why I love Old Tub? (As an amusing side note, I see that Jim Beam Bonded has an expert rating of 90 here while Old Tub has an expert rating of 82. Jim Beam Bonded was also $16.99 last year, and I have a few bottles left—because at $16.99 you stock up, right? In any case, I’ve tasted both of these side-by-side and I have to be honest: if they’re different bourbons, the difference is too subtle for my palate to discern, and I’m too lazy to do any research to see whether the recipes are varied. I'd be curious if anyone knows/could explain whether they're different whiskies or just a rebranding/repackaging of the same whiskey. Of course, I should point out that on this site, the ratings were given by different reviewers, which wouldn't indicate any inherent contradiction if they are the same, and to each their own, right?)

One of my favorite things (and I have a few of them), is to watch football and drink whisky with my dad, a ritual we established post-college when I moved out of my parents' house but still lived close enough to come back Sundays and do laundry. We're Eagles fans, which makes sense with us living in southeastern Pennsylvania, and if you're a fan of a rival team, let's save the arguments or insults for another forum because this is a spot to share our love of whisky, isn't it? Back to the subject at hand: my dad and I, for the past decade, generally drank single malt scotch. But then, tariffs were announced and prices started going up, and since my dad isn't a big fan of bourbon (doesn't like the corn sweetness), we decided to investigate the world of rye (where the sweetness is slightly less intense depending on the bottle), dabbling first with High West Double Rye and the standard Knob Creek Rye with a period of multiple bottles of Canadian Club 100% Rye and JP Wiser's Triple Barreled Rye, both of which were going for $11.99/bottle, before branching out to specialized bottlings like this one. Though this was an impulse buy for me, sort of. The expert ruling here of 82 conflicted with the 4.25 community ranking, and while the community here is 9 other users, reviews on alternate sites roused my curiosity. This is $69.99 in Fine Wine & Good Spirits shops, so that's a good chunk of change to me, but the whisky appreciators who like this one REALLY seem to like it, so why not have a go? After all, I like tequila, too. Kind of. And añejo is the tastiest tequila style, isn't it? Okay, so those last few statements are fraudulent. I don't know much about tequila at all, my preference being for whiskies. And if I can get a great tequila for $60 and a decent whisky for the same price, I'm going with the whisky every time. Still, from what I've read of Sagamore Spirits, they've done some interesting work with finishing, so I rolled the dice and purchased this bottle for the first 2021 Eagles preseason game vs. Pittsburgh. And...? It's delicious. That's the word I'd use to describe almost any whisky I'm strongly in favor of. Not be-all-end-all delicious. Not you'll-never-taste-anything-better delicious. Not last-word-in-rye delicious. But certainly if-it's-still-on-shelves-in-3-months-I'll-pick-up-another-bottle delicious. I love the mingling of agave and rye spice on the nose. The expert reviewer here isn't wrong in that the agave is overpowering the rye. It's strong with that unique honey-ish aroma that is agave syrup. But I'm not sure what's wrong with that when it's such a delectable scent. If I could get a Yankee Candle that smelled like this, I'd buy a case, which might speak to other issues I have, but this isn't the time or place for delving into that. The palate is more balanced between the two with the rye coming on stronger. As far as rye flavors go, it's got that hint of deli dill that comes through in Dickel Rye and Dad's Hat (and to a lesser extent in High West Double Rye), so if you like these, the Sagamore Spirits Tequila finish should do you right. The finish is medium in length with pepper and clove. It sticks around long enough to make you want more. Which is something I wish I could say for the Eagles' finish the night I popped this bottle open. They came out strong and dominated most of the first half with their starters and their second string (but still Super Bowl MVP; for the Baltimore Ravens, the city where Sagamore Spirits is based) quarterback Joe Flacco. Then they tested their second and third string players, as teams do in preseason, and blew it. But by then, my dad and I had turned it off, and he'd gone home. At least we had a solid whisky to see us through, and I have some exciting bottles planned for the regular season as well. Stay tuned... P.S. I should note, the following week (preseason against the Patriots), my dad brought over a Knob Creek Barrel Select Rye (115 Proof) I bought him for Father's day and the two of these, while different in flavor profile, held up well when tasted toe-to-toe. Later, I poured us each a bit of Old Overholt 114, and while I've enjoyed that whisky on its own (and will continue to do so), it didn't hold a candle to the night's other ryes (while the Overholt 114 has other things going for it like the $29.99 price tag, the flavor was simply less robust, but I suppose that's another review...).

For a whiskey lover, every whiskey you taste has a story, a reason you decided to pick up this bottle and not another. Could be you heard or read about it. Could be just the name of the brand and what it evokes: Writer's Tears. What are you drinking? I'm drinking Writer's Tears... I love Irish whiskey. AND I struggle with Irish whiskey. The flavor profiles tend to be more delicate and subtle than its brethren. Less distinctive than scotch. Less bold than bourbon. Less spicy than rye. But for many drinkers, Irish whiskey proves the gateway in the same way that many lovers of literature start off with Stephen King. And here we are, full circle, as to why Writer's Tears is so evocative for me, why I like to drink it: Lover of whiskey; Lover of books. In my early 20s, going to bars for the first time, I never knew what to order until a more experienced friend suggested Irish whiskey. And what I could afford back then (thus, what I ordered) were the standard blends: Jameson and Tullamore Dew. They were sweet, not particularly complicated. Like standard Irish blends, they tasted of apples and oats, hints of vanilla (but so many whiskeys have hints of vanilla it's like saying "birds fly"; it's the rare ones that don't). Still, the sweetness was cut by the fact I was drinking whiskey, a strong drink, a masculine drink! And because of that, for a time, Irish whiskey became MY DRINK! Two decades later, having seen Writer's Tears on the shelf, I got curious: entry-level but higher-end? $10 more than Jameson and Tully. Was it worth it? I picked this up a few months ago when a sale and coupon combination brought this down to $32.99, because I wasn't paying $39.99 for an entry-level whiskey when Knappogue Castle Single Malt 12 Year is only $3 more, are you feeling me? And now I've decided to crack the bottle open to see if even $33 is worth because, let's stop kidding ourselves, price matters (there's a reason Breaking Bourbon factors "value" into their overall score). My initial reaction? Good. Above average. It smells Irish, tastes Irish. It's got the whole apples, oats, and vanilla I've come to expect from your standard Irish bottlings, but there's a cinnamon/clove thing going on in the finish that makes it transcend your regular Irish blend. But is it that much better than the others? $10 better than the others? I keep a bottle of Tully around for mixed drinks that call for Irish, so I decided to taste them side-by-side. And...? The Tully has a weaker, but somehow slightly more astringent aroma. Writer's Tears has a more predominant vanilla note to go along with the fruit and cereal grains that characterize Irish whiskey. The palate follows course: while the Tully is perfectly fine as an entry-level to throw an ice cube in and drink at the bar in your 20s, it was never enjoyable straight. Writer's Tears, while not complex, can stand up to sipping better (though I'm detecting something metallic and coppery in the middle that I'm not fond of), so "better" doesn't necessarily mean that's the way it should be consumed. Overall, the Writer's Tears is superior, but for $10 more? No. For as much as I like the name Writer's Tears, for as much as I like that spice on the back end, $40 is too much for an entry-level whiskey when you could pick up Jameson Black Barrel or Knappogue 12 for the same price. The community rating here is almost 3.7, which strikes me as high. I'm going 2.75, which, to me, is still a good rating. After all, what are you going to say when you encounter something phenomenal if you've spent your life calling everything of solid quality amazing? This is quality, but it's 2.75 quality. Nothing more. Nothing less. Slightly above average, but still a standard blend.