Reviews

Bunnahabhain 12 Year Old begins not with the roar of a peated fire, but with the quiet contemplation of a coastline on a cool morning. From the glass, a fresh, maritime breeze carries the subtle scent of sea spray and damp earth, quickly joined by the warm, sweet aromas of a Christmas kitchen—notes of dried fruit, cinnamon-poached apples, and a hint of chocolate orange revealing the tale of its time in two different casks. The story deepens on the palate, where a buttery, syrupy texture carries an intricate plot. A nutty, sherried quality leads the way, but a vibrant burst of tropical fruit and a distinct, savory coastal tang provide a counterbalance, creating a complex, evolving narrative where sweet and salty notes dance in elegant harmony. As the final chapters of the story unfold, the whisky offers a long and resonant conclusion. The finish lingers with the comforting warmth of mochaccino and the rich spice of a Christmas cake, punctuated by the faint echo of the sea's salt-laden air. It is a truly cohesive and satisfying end, one that ties every element of the journey together, from the quiet shores of Islay to the bold influence of the sherry casks. This is a dram for both the casual admirer and the dedicated aficionado—a liquid storyteller that reveals more of its quiet, layered personality with every passing moment in the glass.

The story of Cragganmore 12 Year Old begins not with a bold announcement, but with a quiet invitation from the Scottish countryside. The nose is a gentle opening chapter, a delicate, aromatic bouquet of heather and wild flowers from a Speyside meadow, its creamy texture promising softness. Beneath this floral greeting, a rustic aroma of stemmy hay and smoked almonds hints at a deeper, more grounded character, while a vibrant fruit salad of apples and pears suggests a spirited sweetness yet to be revealed. ​The narrative unfolds on the palate, where the full, honeyed richness takes center stage. It is a tale of abundance, with the soft, medium-bodied mouthfeel delivering notes of luscious stone fruits, culminating in the distinct warmth of honey and toffee. This sweetness is masterfully balanced by a subtle undercurrent of roasted nuts and a gentle whisper of cinnamon and vanilla, ensuring the dram remains approachable and elegantly composed. The character is a symphony of flavors, each playing its part without vying for dominance, creating an "even-handed" experience that is both simple and profoundly satisfying. ​As the story reaches its conclusion, the finish is an elegant, lingering echo that leaves a lasting impression. The initial warmth of fruit and honey slowly fades, giving way to a delicate wisp of wood smoke and a faint, peppery spice that adds a final layer of complexity. This gentle finale serves as a testament to the whisky's balanced nature, a smooth and satisfying denouement that leaves a desire for the next chapter, solidifying its reputation as a well-regarded, approachable, and truly classic Speyside malt.

My journey with Laphroaig began, as it does for many, with a swift kick to the senses. The classic 10 year old, a fiery peat bog, a saline-soaked rope, a medicinal iodine bomb, was a punchy, unapologetic affair. It was the whiskey equivalent of a grizzly bear hug; you knew it was coming, and you braced for the impact. I learned to love it, in a masochistic sort of way. It was a single malt for the bold, a liquor for the weathered. But I’ve never been one for convention. When I heard whispers of a new Laphroaig, one that had dared to cozy up with a sherry cask, my curiosity was piqued. I imagined the brutish peat and the sweet sherry in a bare-knuckle brawl, a clash of titans with my taste buds as the arena. I uncorked the bottle and a softer, more alluring scent wafted out. Gone was the sharp, medicinal air, replaced by something… delicate. A field of white gardenias, their petals plump and sweet with dew, had somehow blossomed in the midst of the peat bog. I leaned in closer, a strange sense of cognitive dissonance taking hold. My first sip was a revelation. It was still Laphroaig, unmistakably so, with a familiar warmth of a crackling bonfire. But it was a bonfire built with different wood. The brash, saline assault had been replaced by a subtle, creeping heat. Like a quiet, slow-burning chile-infused honey, it coated my tongue, a gentle warmth that promised something more. A hint of orange rind, like a sunbeam through a stained-glass window, brightened the smoky darkness. Then came the surprise. A quiet sweetness, a deep, dark fruitiness emerged. It was the sherry, of course, but it wasn't the cloying, jammy sweetness I'd expected. It was the sophisticated, almost-bitter sweetness of a dark chocolate bar, its richness tempered by the earthy notes of the peat. And within that chocolate, a hidden treasure: the succulent, dark heart of a fig, a whisper of a promise of things to come. This Laphroaig was not the grizzly bear I'd grown to love. This was a different beast altogether. It was a paradoxical creature—a gentle giant, a delicate brute. It was a whiskey for a quiet evening, a thoughtful dram that invited you to sit back and ponder its many layers. It was Laphroaig, but it had grown up, softened its edges, and learned a few new tricks. And I, for one, was very happy to have met this new, unconventional friend.

This made me want a Reuben sandwich, so it's definitely a good rye whiskey. The nose is rye bread, lemon, brown sugar and herbs. The palate matches, but as you chew on it a bit the brown sugar notes become more prominent. Finally, the oak makes an appearance at the end. Not overpowering, but a nice and welcomed addition. The finish is a lovely, rye, brown sugar and oak mix. Definitely enjoyed.

Barell 88, bottle 147, proof 108. On the nose it has solvent, candied covered milk chocolate (think m&ms), dusty corn, candied cherry, a hint of honey, and some cardboard. I enjoyed the nose once I got past the solvent smell. The palate was a let down. Astringent alcohol and fairly simple. It did not live up to the nose. The finish was basically non-existent. It is a young whiskey, and may have a bit of heads and gone too deep into the tails. Still, I enjoyed the nose immensely!! Then again I love m&ms.

I like this whiskey, it's not shy or smooth. It grabs you by the collar and smacks you around a bit. The 1920 is the Old Forester standard release's big brother. Definitely in the same family, very sweet, but bolder and more dynamic. You don't so much drink this whiskey as chew it. Highly recommended.

This is a decent rye made from a mash bill of 33% corn 53% rye and 14% malted barley. You can really taste the rye, without the all too common pickle taste. It's not a complex whiskey and not the most interesting straight sipper. On the other hand it makes a great Old Fashioned or Manhattan. It's not a bad whiskey to have in your home bar.

If there was ever a dessert whiskey this is it. Picture peach cobbler with vanilla ice cream. This is a malt whisky and not. It has nuances of a single malt as well as a bourbon. It has a nice sweet finish. It is not complex but could make something nice to have with your after dinner coffee.