Tastes

TALISKER SHOWDOWN Talisker Storm Talisker 10 Talisker Distiller’s Edition Talisker 18 Continuing to work through whiskies in my collection that I’ve not yet reviewed. I’ve had various Talisker expressions many times over the years—it was one of the first single malts I enjoyed over two decades ago—and again I’m surprised that I’ve yet to review any of them. The four listed above are the ones I currently own. I recall not liking the Storm as much the last time I tried it, and also recall liking the 10-year a bit more than the Distiller’s Edition and the 18-year. On the whole, Talisker has been one of my favorite distillers, not only from my history but also on what I feel to be its own merits. Talisker Storm Rich, bold amber color, akin to Pantone 130. The nose shows sweet honey, apricot, smoky peat, iodine, and salt. There is an immediate spiciness on the palate, with a sweet undernote, and a slightly viscous mouthfeel. The finish is long, and shows a healthy amount of continued white-pepper spiciness, quickly transitioning to some iodine and plenty of smoke, which begins as a smoky peat but also shows char on the long finish. I like the Storm better than I recall. I believe that my prior not-quite-dislike was due to an incorrect belief that it was finished with added wood, like the added staves used by Maker’s Mark in their wood-finished series. At the time, I viewed this negatively, as I was influenced by the use of wood chips by some California wineries, which was viewed as “cheap.” Maker’s Mark has been able to pull off a small miracle with their wood-finished series, which does use added staves, but I have no information that Talisker Storm employs that approach regardless. Talisker Storm is a nice balance of sweetness and smoke. It currently retails for a little over $50. Would I buy it again? Yes, if for no other reason to complement the 10-year. 4.0 on the Distiller scale. NAS. The light color suggests that there is no coloring added, though neither the bottle nor website mention this. 45.8% ABV. Talisker 10 Color is a few shades darker than the Storm; burnt orange, near Pantone 138. The nose is more effusive than the Storm, with an added fruity intensity, showing light honey, some lemon custard, dates, clove, ocean salt, smoky peat, and even a Laphroaig-like Band-Aid aspect. Again, there is a gentle palate viscosity, and added intensity, and an almost-acidic citrus element. The finish lacks the Storm’s length, with lighter smokiness, and also shows a touch of sweet vanilla and orange bitters. I’ve noted in several reviews my distaste for the relatively low ABV in some whiskies; 40% ABV is the minimum allowed, and several distillers bottle at 43%. The higher ABV in each of these Talisker impressions is not only appreciated in terms of a (perceived) focus on craftsmanship vs. economics, but it also amplifies the complex flavors. Talisker 10 is available for around $60 retail. Would I buy it again? Unequivocally. 4.0 on the Distiller scale. Talisker Distiller’s Edition The Distiller’s Edition is darker still than the 10-year, due to the sherry-cask aging; clear Pantone 153. Wonderfully complex nose shows chocolate-covered cherries, bacon jam, a whiff of cool menthol, and evident vanilla, which suppresses (but does not eliminate) the smoky peat of the 10-year. The palate has a little glycerin, honey, dried orange peel, liquified pralines, and Honey-Nut Cheerios. A gentle spiciness leads to a slightly smoky peat, some leather dryness, and a cereal note. The Distiller’s Edition combination of peat and sweet is a kinder, gentler version of an Ardbeg Uigeadail or Corryvreckan, and it reminds me of a story. A few years ago, a friend who was not a whisky enthusiast took me to Milroy’s in London’s SoHo. In order, we had a 60.4% ABV Chichibu bottled exclusively for Milroy’s; a Glenfarclas 24, also for Milroy’s; a Hibiki 21; a Nikka Pure Malt 21; a Glendronach 25; and then the Ardbeg Corry, as I’d wanted him to experience a sweet-peat whisky. It was a mistake, and was entirely incongruous with those that preceded it, rendering the Corry (which I like) offputting. In fact, I may have disabused him of any appreciation of peated whisky as a result (the upside of that is one less purchasing competitor). In hindsight, the Talisker Distiller’s Edition would have been more appropriate, as it shows the same sweet and smoke in a more restrained manner. Would I buy the Talisker Distiller’s Edition again? Yes. 4.25 on the Distiller scale. Diageo’s “Distiller’s Editions” employ additional aging in sherry casks. The Talisker in particular takes the 10-year expression which is then double-matured in Amoroso casks. 45.8% ABV. This bottle distilled in 2009 and bottled in 2019. Talisker 18 The 18-year is lighter in color than the Distiller’s Edition, but darker than the 10-year, which one would expect with eight years of additional age; clear Pantone 144. The nose is sweet, with brown sugar and vanilla, gentle and creamy lemon custard, and very gentle peat smoke. The palate is sweet, but a different sweetness than the Distiller’s Edition: honey, crème brulee, and even a little bananas Foster. The finish is white pepper, which lingers long, as well as some smokiness manifesting as bacon. The peat is there, but it pales in comparison to the Storm (which I tasted again immediately following this). Talisker 18 is a special whisky, and can be found for about $180. For me, it’s more of a special occasion dram. It needs to be appreciated for what it is: an aged whisky from the Isle of Skye which shows the power of the ocean with the finesse of 18 years of aging. Would I buy it again? As long as I had the discretionary income, yes. 4.25 on the Distiller scale. 45.8% ABV, consistent with the other Talisker expressions here. I enjoy writing these “showdown” reviews, but the intent is not necessarily to rank order them, but rather to compare similar whiskies side-by-side in order to better delineate their respective differences and merits (or lack thereof). The general pattern here, from first to last, is decreasing smokiness and increasing complexity. And while my qualitative quantification of scores varies, this is not to state that any of these are intrinsically “better” than any of the others; all are good, but they have differing qualities. I would keep each one on hand. Talisker has a loyal following, and there’s not much I can add to the opinions of those who already enjoy it (I am among that group). The Storm is about smoky peat; the “Storm” naming is apt. The 10-year is about the added complexity of a 10-year age statement (and the “softening” of the smoke). The Distiller’s Edition is about the added sweetness of sherry-cask finishing, and its complex interplay with the peaty smoke. The 18 is about the added complexity of additional aging. With additional age comes less ostentatiousness, and thus more introspection; and on a pensive and cloudy day interspersed with rain, I find that the 18 is the most intellectually rewarding. On the whole, these are very good in the aggregate, but not quite as good as I’d recalled. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

TALISKER SHOWDOWN Talisker Storm Talisker 10 Talisker Distiller’s Edition Talisker 18 Continuing to work through whiskies in my collection that I’ve not yet reviewed. I’ve had various Talisker expressions many times over the years—it was one of the first single malts I enjoyed over two decades ago—and again I’m surprised that I’ve yet to review any of them. The four listed above are the ones I currently own. I recall not liking the Storm as much the last time I tried it, and also recall liking the 10-year a bit more than the Distiller’s Edition and the 18-year. On the whole, Talisker has been one of my favorite distillers, not only from my history but also on what I feel to be its own merits. Talisker Storm Rich, bold amber color, akin to Pantone 130. The nose shows sweet honey, apricot, smoky peat, iodine, and salt. There is an immediate spiciness on the palate, with a sweet undernote, and a slightly viscous mouthfeel. The finish is long, and shows a healthy amount of continued white-pepper spiciness, quickly transitioning to some iodine and plenty of smoke, which begins as a smoky peat but also shows char on the long finish. I like the Storm better than I recall. I believe that my prior not-quite-dislike was due to an incorrect belief that it was finished with added wood, like the added staves used by Maker’s Mark in their wood-finished series. At the time, I viewed this negatively, as I was influenced by the use of wood chips by some California wineries, which was viewed as “cheap.” Maker’s Mark has been able to pull off a small miracle with their wood-finished series, which does use added staves, but I have no information that Talisker Storm employs that approach regardless. Talisker Storm is a nice balance of sweetness and smoke. It currently retails for a little over $50. Would I buy it again? Yes, if for no other reason to complement the 10-year. 4.0 on the Distiller scale. NAS. The light color suggests that there is no coloring added, though neither the bottle nor website mention this. 45.8% ABV. Talisker 10 Color is a few shades darker than the Storm; burnt orange, near Pantone 138. The nose is more effusive than the Storm, with an added fruity intensity, showing light honey, some lemon custard, dates, clove, ocean salt, smoky peat, and even a Laphroaig-like Band-Aid aspect. Again, there is a gentle palate viscosity, and added intensity, and an almost-acidic citrus element. The finish lacks the Storm’s length, with lighter smokiness, and also shows a touch of sweet vanilla and orange bitters. I’ve noted in several reviews my distaste for the relatively low ABV in some whiskies; 40% ABV is the minimum allowed, and several distillers bottle at 43%. The higher ABV in each of these Talisker impressions is not only appreciated in terms of a (perceived) focus on craftsmanship vs. economics, but it also amplifies the complex flavors. Talisker 10 is available for around $60 retail. Would I buy it again? Unequivocally. 4.0 on the Distiller scale. Talisker Distiller’s Edition The Distiller’s Edition is darker still than the 10-year, due to the sherry-cask aging; clear Pantone 153. Wonderfully complex nose shows chocolate-covered cherries, bacon jam, a whiff of cool menthol, and evident vanilla, which suppresses (but does not eliminate) the smoky peat of the 10-year. The palate has a little glycerin, honey, dried orange peel, liquified pralines, and Honey-Nut Cheerios. A gentle spiciness leads to a slightly smoky peat, some leather dryness, and a cereal note. The Distiller’s Edition combination of peat and sweet is a kinder, gentler version of an Ardbeg Uigeadail or Corryvreckan, and it reminds me of a story. A few years ago, a friend who was not a whisky enthusiast took me to Milroy’s in London’s SoHo. In order, we had a 60.4% ABV Chichibu bottled exclusively for Milroy’s; a Glenfarclas 24, also for Milroy’s; a Hibiki 21; a Nikka Pure Malt 21; a Glendronach 25; and then the Ardbeg Corry, as I’d wanted him to experience a sweet-peat whisky. It was a mistake, and was entirely incongruous with those that preceded it, rendering the Corry (which I like) offputting. In fact, I may have disabused him of any appreciation of peated whisky as a result (the upside of that is one less purchasing competitor). In hindsight, the Talisker Distiller’s Edition would have been more appropriate, as it shows the same sweet and smoke in a more restrained manner. Would I buy the Talisker Distiller’s Edition again? Yes. 4.25 on the Distiller scale. Diageo’s “Distiller’s Editions” employ additional aging in sherry casks. The Talisker in particular takes the 10-year expression which is then double-matured in Amoroso casks. 45.8% ABV. This bottle distilled in 2009 and bottled in 2019. Talisker 18 The 18-year is lighter in color than the Distiller’s Edition, but darker than the 10-year, which one would expect with eight years of additional age; clear Pantone 144. The nose is sweet, with brown sugar and vanilla, gentle and creamy lemon custard, and very gentle peat smoke. The palate is sweet, but a different sweetness than the Distiller’s Edition: honey, crème brulee, and even a little bananas Foster. The finish is white pepper, which lingers long, as well as some smokiness manifesting as bacon. The peat is there, but it pales in comparison to the Storm (which I tasted again immediately following this). Talisker 18 is a special whisky, and can be found for about $180. For me, it’s more of a special occasion dram. It needs to be appreciated for what it is: an aged whisky from the Isle of Skye which shows the power of the ocean with the finesse of 18 years of aging. Would I buy it again? As long as I had the discretionary income, yes. 4.25 on the Distiller scale. 45.8% ABV, consistent with the other Talisker expressions here. I enjoy writing these “showdown” reviews, but the intent is not necessarily to rank order them, but rather to compare similar whiskies side-by-side in order to better delineate their respective differences and merits (or lack thereof). The general pattern here, from first to last, is decreasing smokiness and increasing complexity. And while my qualitative quantification of scores varies, this is not to state that any of these are intrinsically “better” than any of the others; all are good, but they have differing qualities. I would keep each one on hand. Talisker has a loyal following, and there’s not much I can add to the opinions of those who already enjoy it (I am among that group). The Storm is about smoky peat; the “Storm” naming is apt. The 10-year is about the added complexity of a 10-year age statement (and the “softening” of the smoke). The Distiller’s Edition is about the added sweetness of sherry-cask finishing, and its complex interplay with the peaty smoke. The 18 is about the added complexity of additional aging. With additional age comes less ostentatiousness, and thus more introspection; and on a pensive and cloudy day interspersed with rain, I find that the 18 is the most intellectually rewarding. On the whole, these are very good in the aggregate, but not quite as good as I’d recalled. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

TALISKER SHOWDOWN Talisker Storm Talisker 10 Talisker Distiller’s Edition Talisker 18 Continuing to work through whiskies in my collection that I’ve not yet reviewed. I’ve had various Talisker expressions many times over the years—it was one of the first single malts I enjoyed over two decades ago—and again I’m surprised that I’ve yet to review any of them. The four listed above are the ones I currently own. I recall not liking the Storm as much the last time I tried it, and also recall liking the 10-year a bit more than the Distiller’s Edition and the 18-year. On the whole, Talisker has been one of my favorite distillers, not only from my history but also on what I feel to be its own merits. Talisker Storm Rich, bold amber color, akin to Pantone 130. The nose shows sweet honey, apricot, smoky peat, iodine, and salt. There is an immediate spiciness on the palate, with a sweet undernote, and a slightly viscous mouthfeel. The finish is long, and shows a healthy amount of continued white-pepper spiciness, quickly transitioning to some iodine and plenty of smoke, which begins as a smoky peat but also shows char on the long finish. I like the Storm better than I recall. I believe that my prior not-quite-dislike was due to an incorrect belief that it was finished with added wood, like the added staves used by Maker’s Mark in their wood-finished series. At the time, I viewed this negatively, as I was influenced by the use of wood chips by some California wineries, which was viewed as “cheap.” Maker’s Mark has been able to pull off a small miracle with their wood-finished series, which does use added staves, but I have no information that Talisker Storm employs that approach regardless. Talisker Storm is a nice balance of sweetness and smoke. It currently retails for a little over $50. Would I buy it again? Yes, if for no other reason to complement the 10-year. 4.0 on the Distiller scale. NAS. The light color suggests that there is no coloring added, though neither the bottle nor website mention this. 45.8% ABV. Talisker 10 Color is a few shades darker than the Storm; burnt orange, near Pantone 138. The nose is more effusive than the Storm, with an added fruity intensity, showing light honey, some lemon custard, dates, clove, ocean salt, smoky peat, and even a Laphroaig-like Band-Aid aspect. Again, there is a gentle palate viscosity, and added intensity, and an almost-acidic citrus element. The finish lacks the Storm’s length, with lighter smokiness, and also shows a touch of sweet vanilla and orange bitters. I’ve noted in several reviews my distaste for the relatively low ABV in some whiskies; 40% ABV is the minimum allowed, and several distillers bottle at 43%. The higher ABV in each of these Talisker impressions is not only appreciated in terms of a (perceived) focus on craftsmanship vs. economics, but it also amplifies the complex flavors. Talisker 10 is available for around $60 retail. Would I buy it again? Unequivocally. 4.0 on the Distiller scale. Talisker Distiller’s Edition The Distiller’s Edition is darker still than the 10-year, due to the sherry-cask aging; clear Pantone 153. Wonderfully complex nose shows chocolate-covered cherries, bacon jam, a whiff of cool menthol, and evident vanilla, which suppresses (but does not eliminate) the smoky peat of the 10-year. The palate has a little glycerin, honey, dried orange peel, liquified pralines, and Honey-Nut Cheerios. A gentle spiciness leads to a slightly smoky peat, some leather dryness, and a cereal note. The Distiller’s Edition combination of peat and sweet is a kinder, gentler version of an Ardbeg Uigeadail or Corryvreckan, and it reminds me of a story. A few years ago, a friend who was not a whisky enthusiast took me to Milroy’s in London’s SoHo. In order, we had a 60.4% ABV Chichibu bottled exclusively for Milroy’s; a Glenfarclas 24, also for Milroy’s; a Hibiki 21; a Nikka Pure Malt 21; a Glendronach 25; and then the Ardbeg Corry, as I’d wanted him to experience a sweet-peat whisky. It was a mistake, and was entirely incongruous with those that preceded it, rendering the Corry (which I like) offputting. In fact, I may have disabused him of any appreciation of peated whisky as a result (the upside of that is one less purchasing competitor). In hindsight, the Talisker Distiller’s Edition would have been more appropriate, as it shows the same sweet and smoke in a more restrained manner. Would I buy the Talisker Distiller’s Edition again? Yes. 4.25 on the Distiller scale. Diageo’s “Distiller’s Editions” employ additional aging in sherry casks. The Talisker in particular takes the 10-year expression which is then double-matured in Amoroso casks. 45.8% ABV. This bottle distilled in 2009 and bottled in 2019. Talisker 18 The 18-year is lighter in color than the Distiller’s Edition, but darker than the 10-year, which one would expect with eight years of additional age; clear Pantone 144. The nose is sweet, with brown sugar and vanilla, gentle and creamy lemon custard, and very gentle peat smoke. The palate is sweet, but a different sweetness than the Distiller’s Edition: honey, crème brulee, and even a little bananas Foster. The finish is white pepper, which lingers long, as well as some smokiness manifesting as bacon. The peat is there, but it pales in comparison to the Storm (which I tasted again immediately following this). Talisker 18 is a special whisky, and can be found for about $180. For me, it’s more of a special occasion dram. It needs to be appreciated for what it is: an aged whisky from the Isle of Skye which shows the power of the ocean with the finesse of 18 years of aging. Would I buy it again? As long as I had the discretionary income, yes. 4.25 on the Distiller scale. 45.8% ABV, consistent with the other Talisker expressions here. I enjoy writing these “showdown” reviews, but the intent is not necessarily to rank order them, but rather to compare similar whiskies side-by-side in order to better delineate their respective differences and merits (or lack thereof). The general pattern here, from first to last, is decreasing smokiness and increasing complexity. And while my qualitative quantification of scores varies, this is not to state that any of these are intrinsically “better” than any of the others; all are good, but they have differing qualities. I would keep each one on hand. Talisker has a loyal following, and there’s not much I can add to the opinions of those who already enjoy it (I am among that group). The Storm is about smoky peat; the “Storm” naming is apt. The 10-year is about the added complexity of a 10-year age statement (and the “softening” of the smoke). The Distiller’s Edition is about the added sweetness of sherry-cask finishing, and its complex interplay with the peaty smoke. The 18 is about the added complexity of additional aging. With additional age comes less ostentatiousness, and thus more introspection; and on a pensive and cloudy day interspersed with rain, I find that the 18 is the most intellectually rewarding. On the whole, these are very good in the aggregate, but not quite as good as I’d recalled. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

GLENDRONACH SHOWDOWN GlenDronach 12 “Original” GlenDronach 15 “Revival” GlenDronach 18 “Allardice” Continuing to work through whiskies in my collection that I’ve not yet reviewed. I’ve loved GlenDronach from my first sip way back when, and in addition to these three, I’ve been fortunate enough to have had the 21 “Parliament” and the 25 at Milroy’s in London; they distill several other expressions as well (Core, Travel Retail, Special & Limited Releases). GlenDro is in sherry-bomb territory, and for me, that’s a good territory to be in. It also speaks to the beauty of Scotch whisky: while I’m a huge bourbon lover, that whiskey is almost monolithic in terms of the breadth and depth of styles inherent of Scotch whisky, and sherry-finished or even “bombed” ones represent one part of that spectrum. GlenDronach 12 “Original” Color is a deep amber, or clear Pantone 138. Obvious sherry nose shows sweet fig preserves, candied walnuts, light petrol, quince, white pepper (aroma, not spiciness), pomander, a little vanilla, and a gentle spearmint coolness. Of the three, the 12-year is not nearly as round or generous as the 15- and 18-year expressions. There’s some saline and dates in addition to the olfactory descriptors. Ethanol arrives on the back end, leading to a little chili spice and a shortish finish. The complex nose is the high point for me. The palate lacks the roundness of its two older siblings; the ABV is lower; and the finish is shorter. GlenDro 12 can be had for about $60. Would I buy it again? Yes. 3.75 on the Distiller scale. Non-chill filtered. No added coloring. Aged in both Oloroso and PX sherry casks. 43% ABV. GlenDronach 15 “Revival” The deep burnt orange of the 15 is a few shades darker than the 12-year; Pantone 153. A nose in the glass is greeted by rich and warm aromas of Christmas pudding, brown sugar, tangy barbecue sauce, and a pinch of salt. The whisky is rounder and more expansive than the 12-year; there’s no overt viscosity in terms of mouthfeel. Similar flavors as the nose, along with pralines and a touch more saline. There’s a peanut brittle note on the finish, along with white pepper, dark honeyed yeast rolls, and gentle petrol. The GlenDronach distillery was mothballed for a few years in the late 90s and early 2000s, and the “Revival” naming of the 15-year-old expression is a reference to the distillery coming out of that period. The overall impression of this whisky is one of power, complexity, and finesse. In contradistinction to the dark, stewed-fruit aspects of many aged sherry-casked whiskies, the Revival exhibits a certain youthfulness and strength, appropriate to its name, and the history behind it. It retails for about $90 online, but I rarely see it on local shelves. The GlenDro 15 Revival is outstanding. This sherry bomb is not merely a sherry smack in the face (or palate), but a deep dive into all its complexities. I’d love to have a cask-strength version, akin to Aberlour A’Bunadh (GlenDronach does show a NAS cask-strength whisky on its website, but none with an age statement). Would I buy it again? Yes, assuming I can find it. 4.5 on the Distiller scale. Non-chill filtered. No added coloring. Aged in both Oloroso and PX sherry casks. 46% ABV. GlenDronach 18 “Allardice” The 18-year expression is the darkest of the three: a clear Pantone 159. The nose offers rich raisin paste, toasted and buttered raisin bread, vanilla, apple butter spread, prunes, crème brûlèe, cinnamon, and espresso. It is the richest of the three. The palate begins to show a little viscosity. Like the 15-year, the higher ABV is hidden with the robust flavor profile. Finishes with some smoked pulled pork, dark chocolate, and a dash of espresso bitterness. “Allardice” is a reference to GlenDronach’s founder, James Allardice. The impression of the 18-year is a deeper, richer version of its younger siblings. Not vanilla, but vanilla extract. Not raisins, but warm raisin paste (if such a thing exists). Not dark plum fruit, but prunes. Not coffee, but espresso. Not chocolate, but warm, melted dark chocolate. Quite different than the 15-year, but outstanding in its own right. 4.5 on the Distiller scale. Non-chill filtered. No added coloring. Aged in Oloroso sherry casks.46% ABV. P.S. I purchased the 50 ml nip (of an 18-year-old whisky!) shown in the photo in London; I’ve not seen those here in the U.S. Each of these whiskies, while showing obvious signs of sherry aging, are quite different. There is a progression in color and complexity. While the 12- and 15- year are stated as being finished in PX and Oloroso sherry casks, the 18 states only Oloroso—a bit surprising, since PX is darker, and the 18 is darker as well. I adore both the 15- and 18-year expressions, for different reasons. And the 12, which is significantly less expensive than the other two, is a value for an introduction to GlenDro’s house style. These are quality whiskies that command a premium price not on marketing hype, but rather on the liquid in the bottle. Highly recommended. The GlenDronach distillery, founded in 1827, has seen a few ownership changes over the years. It was most recently purchased by Brown-Forman in 2016. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

GLENDRONACH SHOWDOWN GlenDronach 12 “Original” GlenDronach 15 “Revival” GlenDronach 18 “Allardice” Continuing to work through whiskies in my collection that I’ve not yet reviewed. I’ve loved GlenDronach from my first sip way back when, and in addition to these three, I’ve been fortunate enough to have had the 21 “Parliament” and the 25 at Milroy’s in London; they distill several other expressions as well (Core, Travel Retail, Special & Limited Releases). GlenDro is in sherry-bomb territory, and for me, that’s a good territory to be in. It also speaks to the beauty of Scotch whisky: while I’m a huge bourbon lover, that whiskey is almost monolithic in terms of the breadth and depth of styles inherent of Scotch whisky, and sherry-finished or even “bombed” ones represent one part of that spectrum. GlenDronach 12 “Original” Color is a deep amber, or clear Pantone 138. Obvious sherry nose shows sweet fig preserves, candied walnuts, light petrol, quince, white pepper (aroma, not spiciness), pomander, a little vanilla, and a gentle spearmint coolness. Of the three, the 12-year is not nearly as round or generous as the 15- and 18-year expressions. There’s some saline and dates in addition to the olfactory descriptors. Ethanol arrives on the back end, leading to a little chili spice and a shortish finish. The complex nose is the high point for me. The palate lacks the roundness of its two older siblings; the ABV is lower; and the finish is shorter. GlenDro 12 can be had for about $60. Would I buy it again? Yes. 3.75 on the Distiller scale. Non-chill filtered. No added coloring. Aged in both Oloroso and PX sherry casks. 43% ABV. GlenDronach 15 “Revival” The deep burnt orange of the 15 is a few shades darker than the 12-year; Pantone 153. A nose in the glass is greeted by rich and warm aromas of Christmas pudding, brown sugar, tangy barbecue sauce, and a pinch of salt. The whisky is rounder and more expansive than the 12-year; there’s no overt viscosity in terms of mouthfeel. Similar flavors as the nose, along with pralines and a touch more saline. There’s a peanut brittle note on the finish, along with white pepper, dark honeyed yeast rolls, and gentle petrol. The GlenDronach distillery was mothballed for a few years in the late 90s and early 2000s, and the “Revival” naming of the 15-year-old expression is a reference to the distillery coming out of that period. The overall impression of this whisky is one of power, complexity, and finesse. In contradistinction to the dark, stewed-fruit aspects of many aged sherry-casked whiskies, the Revival exhibits a certain youthfulness and strength, appropriate to its name, and the history behind it. It retails for about $90 online, but I rarely see it on local shelves. The GlenDro 15 Revival is outstanding. This sherry bomb is not merely a sherry smack in the face (or palate), but a deep dive into all its complexities. I’d love to have a cask-strength version, akin to Aberlour A’Bunadh (GlenDronach does show a NAS cask-strength whisky on its website, but none with an age statement). Would I buy it again? Yes, assuming I can find it. 4.5 on the Distiller scale. Non-chill filtered. No added coloring. Aged in both Oloroso and PX sherry casks. 46% ABV. GlenDronach 18 “Allardice” The 18-year expression is the darkest of the three: a clear Pantone 159. The nose offers rich raisin paste, toasted and buttered raisin bread, vanilla, apple butter spread, prunes, crème brûlèe, cinnamon, and espresso. It is the richest of the three. The palate begins to show a little viscosity. Like the 15-year, the higher ABV is hidden with the robust flavor profile. Finishes with some smoked pulled pork, dark chocolate, and a dash of espresso bitterness. “Allardice” is a reference to GlenDronach’s founder, James Allardice. The impression of the 18-year is a deeper, richer version of its younger siblings. Not vanilla, but vanilla extract. Not raisins, but warm raisin paste (if such a thing exists). Not dark plum fruit, but prunes. Not coffee, but espresso. Not chocolate, but warm, melted dark chocolate. Quite different than the 15-year, but outstanding in its own right. 4.5 on the Distiller scale. Non-chill filtered. No added coloring. Aged in Oloroso sherry casks.46% ABV. P.S. I purchased the 50 ml nip (of an 18-year-old whisky!) shown in the photo in London; I’ve not seen those here in the U.S. Each of these whiskies, while showing obvious signs of sherry aging, are quite different. There is a progression in color and complexity. While the 12- and 15- year are stated as being finished in PX and Oloroso sherry casks, the 18 states only Oloroso—a bit surprising, since PX is darker, and the 18 is darker as well. I adore both the 15- and 18-year expressions, for different reasons. And the 12, which is significantly less expensive than the other two, is a value for an introduction to GlenDro’s house style. These are quality whiskies that command a premium price not on marketing hype, but rather on the liquid in the bottle. Highly recommended. The GlenDronach distillery, founded in 1827, has seen a few ownership changes over the years. It was most recently purchased by Brown-Forman in 2016. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

GLENDRONACH SHOWDOWN GlenDronach 12 “Original” GlenDronach 15 “Revival” GlenDronach 18 “Allardice” Continuing to work through whiskies in my collection that I’ve not yet reviewed. I’ve loved GlenDronach from my first sip way back when, and in addition to these three, I’ve been fortunate enough to have had the 21 “Parliament” and the 25 at Milroy’s in London; they distill several other expressions as well (Core, Travel Retail, Special & Limited Releases). GlenDro is in sherry-bomb territory, and for me, that’s a good territory to be in. It also speaks to the beauty of Scotch whisky: while I’m a huge bourbon lover, that whiskey is almost monolithic in terms of the breadth and depth of styles inherent of Scotch whisky, and sherry-finished or even “bombed” ones represent one part of that spectrum. GlenDronach 12 “Original” Color is a deep amber, or clear Pantone 138. Obvious sherry nose shows sweet fig preserves, candied walnuts, light petrol, quince, white pepper (aroma, not spiciness), pomander, a little vanilla, and a gentle spearmint coolness. Of the three, the 12-year is not nearly as round or generous as the 15- and 18-year expressions. There’s some saline and dates in addition to the olfactory descriptors. Ethanol arrives on the back end, leading to a little chili spice and a shortish finish. The complex nose is the high point for me. The palate lacks the roundness of its two older siblings; the ABV is lower; and the finish is shorter. GlenDro 12 can be had for about $60. Would I buy it again? Yes. 3.75 on the Distiller scale. Non-chill filtered. No added coloring. Aged in both Oloroso and PX sherry casks. 43% ABV. GlenDronach 15 “Revival” The deep burnt orange of the 15 is a few shades darker than the 12-year; Pantone 153. A nose in the glass is greeted by rich and warm aromas of Christmas pudding, brown sugar, tangy barbecue sauce, and a pinch of salt. The whisky is rounder and more expansive than the 12-year; there’s no overt viscosity in terms of mouthfeel. Similar flavors as the nose, along with pralines and a touch more saline. There’s a peanut brittle note on the finish, along with white pepper, dark honeyed yeast rolls, and gentle petrol. The GlenDronach distillery was mothballed for a few years in the late 90s and early 2000s, and the “Revival” naming of the 15-year-old expression is a reference to the distillery coming out of that period. The overall impression of this whisky is one of power, complexity, and finesse. In contradistinction to the dark, stewed-fruit aspects of many aged sherry-casked whiskies, the Revival exhibits a certain youthfulness and strength, appropriate to its name, and the history behind it. It retails for about $90 online, but I rarely see it on local shelves. The GlenDro 15 Revival is outstanding. This sherry bomb is not merely a sherry smack in the face (or palate), but a deep dive into all its complexities. I’d love to have a cask-strength version, akin to Aberlour A’Bunadh (GlenDronach does show a NAS cask-strength whisky on its website, but none with an age statement). Would I buy it again? Yes, assuming I can find it. 4.5 on the Distiller scale. Non-chill filtered. No added coloring. Aged in both Oloroso and PX sherry casks. 46% ABV. GlenDronach 18 “Allardice” The 18-year expression is the darkest of the three: a clear Pantone 159. The nose offers rich raisin paste, toasted and buttered raisin bread, vanilla, apple butter spread, prunes, crème brûlèe, cinnamon, and espresso. It is the richest of the three. The palate begins to show a little viscosity. Like the 15-year, the higher ABV is hidden with the robust flavor profile. Finishes with some smoked pulled pork, dark chocolate, and a dash of espresso bitterness. “Allardice” is a reference to GlenDronach’s founder, James Allardice. The impression of the 18-year is a deeper, richer version of its younger siblings. Not vanilla, but vanilla extract. Not raisins, but warm raisin paste (if such a thing exists). Not dark plum fruit, but prunes. Not coffee, but espresso. Not chocolate, but warm, melted dark chocolate. Quite different than the 15-year, but outstanding in its own right. 4.5 on the Distiller scale. Non-chill filtered. No added coloring. Aged in Oloroso sherry casks.46% ABV. P.S. I purchased the 50 ml nip (of an 18-year-old whisky!) shown in the photo in London; I’ve not seen those here in the U.S. Each of these whiskies, while showing obvious signs of sherry aging, are quite different. There is a progression in color and complexity. While the 12- and 15- year are stated as being finished in PX and Oloroso sherry casks, the 18 states only Oloroso—a bit surprising, since PX is darker, and the 18 is darker as well. I adore both the 15- and 18-year expressions, for different reasons. And the 12, which is significantly less expensive than the other two, is a value for an introduction to GlenDro’s house style. These are quality whiskies that command a premium price not on marketing hype, but rather on the liquid in the bottle. Highly recommended. The GlenDronach distillery, founded in 1827, has seen a few ownership changes over the years. It was most recently purchased by Brown-Forman in 2016. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

GLENFARCLAS SHOWDOWN Glenfarclas 10 Glenfarclas 17 Glenfarclas 25 Continuing to work through whiskies in my collection that I’ve not yet reviewed: and while these are each quite different expressions, and thus should contain noticeable differences, they are the only Glenfarclases I have in my collection, and the “Glenfarclas” aspect is a common denominator for comparison. I’ve tasted each of them previously, several times, and my recollection is that Glenfarclas is somewhat subtle across the board, which is a bit unusual for a sherried whisky. Let’s see if my recollection is accurate. Glenfarclas 10 Color is a clear Pantone 153. The fragrant nose was immediately apparent upon pouring, with clear sherry notes: dark plums, carrot cake, dark butterscotch, and warm mulled cider. There appears to be a very thin, almost parrafin-waxy mouthcoating aspect in the mouth. The palate has some honeyed sweetness, some char, and a surprising spice for the 40% ABV. There is an almost smokey burnt orange on the finish, which is in-between short and medium in length. But keeping the mouth closed, inhaling and exhaling through the nose, an almost petroleum, tar-like phenolic element appears much later: subtle, but lingering very long (the aforementioned paraffin wax is also a derivative of the petroleum process; obviously there’s no petroleum here, but the two may be related in some way). I’ve written many times about the economics of 80-proof whisk(e)y: it is the bare minimum proof that is allowed. A distiller dilutes the distillate from the barrel with water to reach a particular proof (ABV); thus an 80-proof whisky will give the largest amount of whisky allowable from the same amount of “raw” whisky, thus increasing yield and number of bottles. That being said, this is Farclas’s entry-level whisky, and given the bottle’s age statement and the brand’s otherwise traditional, old-school craftsmanship, I can look past this shortcoming a bit. Would I prefer the more standard 43% ABV / 86 proof? Unquestionably. But as is, the whisky is complex, aromatic, and flavorful. It is without a doubt the best 80-proof whisk(e)y I’ve ever experienced, and far more complex than I remember. This is a whisky which, like Oban, would appeal to the entire spectrum of consumers, from neophyte to connoisseur; it is approachable, pleasant, and yet complex. Widely available, and priced around $50. Would I buy it again? Without question. Solid 4.0 on the Distiller scale. I feel certain that I’d rate the 12-year higher, given its 43% ABV. I can’t wait to try it. Chill-filtered; uncolored; 40% ABV. Glenfarclas 17 Surprisingly, the color of the 17 is a clear Pantone 153, despite the longer maturation; perhaps the sherry-cask aging component is of the same length as the 10-year. The initial impression is similar to the 10, but a bit more muted on the nose: it begins with both pomander and stewed cinnamon apples, unexpected strawberry jam, Christmas cake, vanilla, and dates. Whereas butterscotch was evident on the 10, it’s not nearly as noticeable here. The entry is smoother, with some caramelized sugar sweetness and a gentle espresso bitterness, and the higher alcohol is kept in check. The finish is medium in length, with a soft, wet-oak element, and a smidgin of woody tannins; but it lacks that lingering petroleum aspect that was evident with the 10. The 17-year-old Farclas can be found for around $125. It is a different whisky than the 10-year, as it should be; but the overall impression is one of more subtlety and smoothness rather than overt “betterness” per se. Would I buy it again? Not as quickly as I would the 10-year, but I’d like to think that I would, despite the significantly higher price. The extra age is always a positive, even if only intellectually. 4.0 on the Distiller scale. Chill-filtered; uncolored; 43% ABV. Glenfarclas 25 The clear Pantone 153 color is identical to the 17 and 10, which seems unusual given the older age. This is different: the tar that I noted on the 10-year has returned, this time on the nose, along with dark honey, apple cider, and warm spice cake—with a pat of now-melted butter (perhaps the extra wood exposure introduces some diacetyl). Like the 10-year, the butterscotch has returned, but this time it’s not Brach’s candy, but some sort of imaginary artisanal, rare, perfected butterscotch—if such a thing exists. Cocoa. Vanilla. Espresso. Chocolate-covered cherries. There’s no real viscosity on the palate; the smoothness is not in the creaminess of the mouthfeel, but rather in the flavor integration. Sweet, but not cloyingly so. Lots of sherry on the finish, as well as some drying, leathery notes. The closed-mouth, inhale-exhale tar aspect returns, having skipped a generation (the 17-year), though not as pronounced as the 10-year. There’s something special about drinking a 25-year-old whisky. Time cannot be substituted or rushed. I purchased this particular bottle a few years ago, and who knows how long it had been sitting on the shelf; the combination of these three items mean that it was distilled well before the millennium. The Farclas 25 drinks like a 25-year-old First-Growth Bordeaux: the age is apparent, but there’s plenty of gas in the tank. It’s the same “iron fist in a silken glove” that is often applied to a quality, aged Cabernet or meritage blend. Glenfarclas has 40- and 50-year old expressions available; and while I don’t know if I’ll have the opportunity to experience them, I’m willing to bet that my overall impression with be similar—a combination of youthful exuberance and aged experience, imparting the best of both worlds. Would I buy it again? I’d like to, though I’ll savor this one for some time. I’ve shared it with one or two friends on special occasions. I don’t recall exactly what I paid for it—I think it was around $150 a few years back. An Internet search reveals that it can be had for $200-250 currently. That’s certainly not inexpensive, but if you can swing it, and can take the time to delineate complexity from ostentatiousness, the answer is a resounding yes. 4.5 on the Distiller scale. Uncolored; 43% ABV. Overall summary Glenfarclas is a traditional, family-owned, old-school distillery. To my knowledge, they don’t produce NAS whisky. They also don’t employ the marketing hype or fancy packaging of some other distilleries; they just produce damn good whisky that achieves an objective goodness on its own merits. It is priced relatively lower than other whiskies with similar age statements; perhaps that’s a function of not being owned by one of the corporate behemoths like Diageo or Pernod Ricard. I’ve not enjoyed any of my three Farclas bottlings in some time—a lapse in good judgment that I’ll rectify in short order. Each of these expressions is outstanding—the 10-year in particular, given the 40% ABV, and the fact that it is the youngest of the three. Given the quality of the 10-year, I would actively seek out the 12-year: while it only possesses two extra years of aging, it has the higher 43% ABV, and I would expect an even more enjoyable flavor profile. And I’d love to have the Glenfarclas 105 cask strength, which I see rarely in my neck of the woods, and have yet to purchase. I’ll be keeping my eyes out for it. The Glenfarclas range, or at least these three bottlings, represents a different sherry-cask influence, in my experience: they’re a bit more youthful. Whereas a whisky connoisseur commonly associates dark fruit, stewed fruit, and more intense baking spices with sherry-casked drams, each of these Glenfarclas expressions emit a younger fruitiness. These aren’t sherry bombs like Aberlour A’Bunadh (which I adore) or Edradour (which I also love); nor do they exhibit the refinement of a sherry-finished whisky like Macallan 18, which, while expensive, is nevertheless a high quality benchmark. Glenfarclas to me is a bit more rustic, though certainly not rough; think “gentleman farmer” to Macallan’s urbane refinement. There was a time a few years back in my drinking experience where I was purchasing every release of Aberlour A’Bunadh, which is a cask-strength offering. Perhaps its high-octane experience jaded my palate somewhat to Glenfarclas when I would taste it (not side-by-side, but sporadically during the same period). Glenfarclas represents old-school balance—think pre-Parker overextracted wine, or pre-whatever overhopped IPAs—and is a benchmark of what a sherry-finished Highland single-malt should be. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

GLENFARCLAS SHOWDOWN Glenfarclas 10 Glenfarclas 17 Glenfarclas 25 Continuing to work through whiskies in my collection that I’ve not yet reviewed: and while these are each quite different expressions, and thus should contain noticeable differences, they are the only Glenfarclases I have in my collection, and the “Glenfarclas” aspect is a common denominator for comparison. I’ve tasted each of them previously, several times, and my recollection is that Glenfarclas is somewhat subtle across the board, which is a bit unusual for a sherried whisky. Let’s see if my recollection is accurate. Glenfarclas 10 Color is a clear Pantone 153. The fragrant nose was immediately apparent upon pouring, with clear sherry notes: dark plums, carrot cake, dark butterscotch, and warm mulled cider. There appears to be a very thin, almost parrafin-waxy mouthcoating aspect in the mouth. The palate has some honeyed sweetness, some char, and a surprising spice for the 40% ABV. There is an almost smokey burnt orange on the finish, which is in-between short and medium in length. But keeping the mouth closed, inhaling and exhaling through the nose, an almost petroleum, tar-like phenolic element appears much later: subtle, but lingering very long (the aforementioned paraffin wax is also a derivative of the petroleum process; obviously there’s no petroleum here, but the two may be related in some way). I’ve written many times about the economics of 80-proof whisk(e)y: it is the bare minimum proof that is allowed. A distiller dilutes the distillate from the barrel with water to reach a particular proof (ABV); thus an 80-proof whisky will give the largest amount of whisky allowable from the same amount of “raw” whisky, thus increasing yield and number of bottles. That being said, this is Farclas’s entry-level whisky, and given the bottle’s age statement and the brand’s otherwise traditional, old-school craftsmanship, I can look past this shortcoming a bit. Would I prefer the more standard 43% ABV / 86 proof? Unquestionably. But as is, the whisky is complex, aromatic, and flavorful. It is without a doubt the best 80-proof whisk(e)y I’ve ever experienced, and far more complex than I remember. This is a whisky which, like Oban, would appeal to the entire spectrum of consumers, from neophyte to connoisseur; it is approachable, pleasant, and yet complex. Widely available, and priced around $50. Would I buy it again? Without question. Solid 4.0 on the Distiller scale. I feel certain that I’d rate the 12-year higher, given its 43% ABV. I can’t wait to try it. Chill-filtered; uncolored; 40% ABV. Glenfarclas 17 Surprisingly, the color of the 17 is a clear Pantone 153, despite the longer maturation; perhaps the sherry-cask aging component is of the same length as the 10-year. The initial impression is similar to the 10, but a bit more muted on the nose: it begins with both pomander and stewed cinnamon apples, unexpected strawberry jam, Christmas cake, vanilla, and dates. Whereas butterscotch was evident on the 10, it’s not nearly as noticeable here. The entry is smoother, with some caramelized sugar sweetness and a gentle espresso bitterness, and the higher alcohol is kept in check. The finish is medium in length, with a soft, wet-oak element, and a smidgin of woody tannins; but it lacks that lingering petroleum aspect that was evident with the 10. The 17-year-old Farclas can be found for around $125. It is a different whisky than the 10-year, as it should be; but the overall impression is one of more subtlety and smoothness rather than overt “betterness” per se. Would I buy it again? Not as quickly as I would the 10-year, but I’d like to think that I would, despite the significantly higher price. The extra age is always a positive, even if only intellectually. 4.0 on the Distiller scale. Chill-filtered; uncolored; 43% ABV. Glenfarclas 25 The clear Pantone 153 color is identical to the 17 and 10, which seems unusual given the older age. This is different: the tar that I noted on the 10-year has returned, this time on the nose, along with dark honey, apple cider, and warm spice cake—with a pat of now-melted butter (perhaps the extra wood exposure introduces some diacetyl). Like the 10-year, the butterscotch has returned, but this time it’s not Brach’s candy, but some sort of imaginary artisanal, rare, perfected butterscotch—if such a thing exists. Cocoa. Vanilla. Espresso. Chocolate-covered cherries. There’s no real viscosity on the palate; the smoothness is not in the creaminess of the mouthfeel, but rather in the flavor integration. Sweet, but not cloyingly so. Lots of sherry on the finish, as well as some drying, leathery notes. The closed-mouth, inhale-exhale tar aspect returns, having skipped a generation (the 17-year), though not as pronounced as the 10-year. There’s something special about drinking a 25-year-old whisky. Time cannot be substituted or rushed. I purchased this particular bottle a few years ago, and who knows how long it had been sitting on the shelf; the combination of these three items mean that it was distilled well before the millennium. The Farclas 25 drinks like a 25-year-old First-Growth Bordeaux: the age is apparent, but there’s plenty of gas in the tank. It’s the same “iron fist in a silken glove” that is often applied to a quality, aged Cabernet or meritage blend. Glenfarclas has 40- and 50-year old expressions available; and while I don’t know if I’ll have the opportunity to experience them, I’m willing to bet that my overall impression with be similar—a combination of youthful exuberance and aged experience, imparting the best of both worlds. Would I buy it again? I’d like to, though I’ll savor this one for some time. I’ve shared it with one or two friends on special occasions. I don’t recall exactly what I paid for it—I think it was around $150 a few years back. An Internet search reveals that it can be had for $200-250 currently. That’s certainly not inexpensive, but if you can swing it, and can take the time to delineate complexity from ostentatiousness, the answer is a resounding yes. 4.5 on the Distiller scale. Uncolored; 43% ABV. Overall summary Glenfarclas is a traditional, family-owned, old-school distillery. To my knowledge, they don’t produce NAS whisky. They also don’t employ the marketing hype or fancy packaging of some other distilleries; they just produce damn good whisky that achieves an objective goodness on its own merits. It is priced relatively lower than other whiskies with similar age statements; perhaps that’s a function of not being owned by one of the corporate behemoths like Diageo or Pernod Ricard. I’ve not enjoyed any of my three Farclas bottlings in some time—a lapse in good judgment that I’ll rectify in short order. Each of these expressions is outstanding—the 10-year in particular, given the 40% ABV, and the fact that it is the youngest of the three. Given the quality of the 10-year, I would actively seek out the 12-year: while it only possesses two extra years of aging, it has the higher 43% ABV, and I would expect an even more enjoyable flavor profile. And I’d love to have the Glenfarclas 105 cask strength, which I see rarely in my neck of the woods, and have yet to purchase. I’ll be keeping my eyes out for it. The Glenfarclas range, or at least these three bottlings, represents a different sherry-cask influence, in my experience: they’re a bit more youthful. Whereas a whisky connoisseur commonly associates dark fruit, stewed fruit, and more intense baking spices with sherry-casked drams, each of these Glenfarclas expressions emit a younger fruitiness. These aren’t sherry bombs like Aberlour A’Bunadh (which I adore) or Edradour (which I also love); nor do they exhibit the refinement of a sherry-finished whisky like Macallan 18, which, while expensive, is nevertheless a high quality benchmark. Glenfarclas to me is a bit more rustic, though certainly not rough; think “gentleman farmer” to Macallan’s urbane refinement. There was a time a few years back in my drinking experience where I was purchasing every release of Aberlour A’Bunadh, which is a cask-strength offering. Perhaps its high-octane experience jaded my palate somewhat to Glenfarclas when I would taste it (not side-by-side, but sporadically during the same period). Glenfarclas represents old-school balance—think pre-Parker overextracted wine, or pre-whatever overhopped IPAs—and is a benchmark of what a sherry-finished Highland single-malt should be. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

GLENFARCLAS SHOWDOWN Glenfarclas 10 Glenfarclas 17 Glenfarclas 25 Continuing to work through whiskies in my collection that I’ve not yet reviewed: and while these are each quite different expressions, and thus should contain noticeable differences, they are the only Glenfarclases I have in my collection, and the “Glenfarclas” aspect is a common denominator for comparison. I’ve tasted each of them previously, several times, and my recollection is that Glenfarclas is somewhat subtle across the board, which is a bit unusual for a sherried whisky. Let’s see if my recollection is accurate. Glenfarclas 10 Color is a clear Pantone 153. The fragrant nose was immediately apparent upon pouring, with clear sherry notes: dark plums, carrot cake, dark butterscotch, and warm mulled cider. There appears to be a very thin, almost parrafin-waxy mouthcoating aspect in the mouth. The palate has some honeyed sweetness, some char, and a surprising spice for the 40% ABV. There is an almost smokey burnt orange on the finish, which is in-between short and medium in length. But keeping the mouth closed, inhaling and exhaling through the nose, an almost petroleum, tar-like phenolic element appears much later: subtle, but lingering very long (the aforementioned paraffin wax is also a derivative of the petroleum process; obviously there’s no petroleum here, but the two may be related in some way). I’ve written many times about the economics of 80-proof whisk(e)y: it is the bare minimum proof that is allowed. A distiller dilutes the distillate from the barrel with water to reach a particular proof (ABV); thus an 80-proof whisky will give the largest amount of whisky allowable from the same amount of “raw” whisky, thus increasing yield and number of bottles. That being said, this is Farclas’s entry-level whisky, and given the bottle’s age statement and the brand’s otherwise traditional, old-school craftsmanship, I can look past this shortcoming a bit. Would I prefer the more standard 43% ABV / 86 proof? Unquestionably. But as is, the whisky is complex, aromatic, and flavorful. It is without a doubt the best 80-proof whisk(e)y I’ve ever experienced, and far more complex than I remember. This is a whisky which, like Oban, would appeal to the entire spectrum of consumers, from neophyte to connoisseur; it is approachable, pleasant, and yet complex. Widely available, and priced around $50. Would I buy it again? Without question. Solid 4.0 on the Distiller scale. I feel certain that I’d rate the 12-year higher, given its 43% ABV. I can’t wait to try it. Chill-filtered; uncolored; 40% ABV. Glenfarclas 17 Surprisingly, the color of the 17 is a clear Pantone 153, despite the longer maturation; perhaps the sherry-cask aging component is of the same length as the 10-year. The initial impression is similar to the 10, but a bit more muted on the nose: it begins with both pomander and stewed cinnamon apples, unexpected strawberry jam, Christmas cake, vanilla, and dates. Whereas butterscotch was evident on the 10, it’s not nearly as noticeable here. The entry is smoother, with some caramelized sugar sweetness and a gentle espresso bitterness, and the higher alcohol is kept in check. The finish is medium in length, with a soft, wet-oak element, and a smidgin of woody tannins; but it lacks that lingering petroleum aspect that was evident with the 10. The 17-year-old Farclas can be found for around $125. It is a different whisky than the 10-year, as it should be; but the overall impression is one of more subtlety and smoothness rather than overt “betterness” per se. Would I buy it again? Not as quickly as I would the 10-year, but I’d like to think that I would, despite the significantly higher price. The extra age is always a positive, even if only intellectually. 4.0 on the Distiller scale. Chill-filtered; uncolored; 43% ABV. Glenfarclas 25 The clear Pantone 153 color is identical to the 17 and 10, which seems unusual given the older age. This is different: the tar that I noted on the 10-year has returned, this time on the nose, along with dark honey, apple cider, and warm spice cake—with a pat of now-melted butter (perhaps the extra wood exposure introduces some diacetyl). Like the 10-year, the butterscotch has returned, but this time it’s not Brach’s candy, but some sort of imaginary artisanal, rare, perfected butterscotch—if such a thing exists. Cocoa. Vanilla. Espresso. Chocolate-covered cherries. There’s no real viscosity on the palate; the smoothness is not in the creaminess of the mouthfeel, but rather in the flavor integration. Sweet, but not cloyingly so. Lots of sherry on the finish, as well as some drying, leathery notes. The closed-mouth, inhale-exhale tar aspect returns, having skipped a generation (the 17-year), though not as pronounced as the 10-year. There’s something special about drinking a 25-year-old whisky. Time cannot be substituted or rushed. I purchased this particular bottle a few years ago, and who knows how long it had been sitting on the shelf; the combination of these three items mean that it was distilled well before the millennium. The Farclas 25 drinks like a 25-year-old First-Growth Bordeaux: the age is apparent, but there’s plenty of gas in the tank. It’s the same “iron fist in a silken glove” that is often applied to a quality, aged Cabernet or meritage blend. Glenfarclas has 40- and 50-year old expressions available; and while I don’t know if I’ll have the opportunity to experience them, I’m willing to bet that my overall impression with be similar—a combination of youthful exuberance and aged experience, imparting the best of both worlds. Would I buy it again? I’d like to, though I’ll savor this one for some time. I’ve shared it with one or two friends on special occasions. I don’t recall exactly what I paid for it—I think it was around $150 a few years back. An Internet search reveals that it can be had for $200-250 currently. That’s certainly not inexpensive, but if you can swing it, and can take the time to delineate complexity from ostentatiousness, the answer is a resounding yes. 4.5 on the Distiller scale. Uncolored; 43% ABV. Overall summary Glenfarclas is a traditional, family-owned, old-school distillery. To my knowledge, they don’t produce NAS whisky. They also don’t employ the marketing hype or fancy packaging of some other distilleries; they just produce damn good whisky that achieves an objective goodness on its own merits. It is priced relatively lower than other whiskies with similar age statements; perhaps that’s a function of not being owned by one of the corporate behemoths like Diageo or Pernod Ricard. I’ve not enjoyed any of my three Farclas bottlings in some time—a lapse in good judgment that I’ll rectify in short order. Each of these expressions is outstanding—the 10-year in particular, given the 40% ABV, and the fact that it is the youngest of the three. Given the quality of the 10-year, I would actively seek out the 12-year: while it only possesses two extra years of aging, it has the higher 43% ABV, and I would expect an even more enjoyable flavor profile. And I’d love to have the Glenfarclas 105 cask strength, which I see rarely in my neck of the woods, and have yet to purchase. I’ll be keeping my eyes out for it. The Glenfarclas range, or at least these three bottlings, represents a different sherry-cask influence, in my experience: they’re a bit more youthful. Whereas a whisky connoisseur commonly associates dark fruit, stewed fruit, and more intense baking spices with sherry-casked drams, each of these Glenfarclas expressions emit a younger fruitiness. These aren’t sherry bombs like Aberlour A’Bunadh (which I adore) or Edradour (which I also love); nor do they exhibit the refinement of a sherry-finished whisky like Macallan 18, which, while expensive, is nevertheless a high quality benchmark. Glenfarclas to me is a bit more rustic, though certainly not rough; think “gentleman farmer” to Macallan’s urbane refinement. There was a time a few years back in my drinking experience where I was purchasing every release of Aberlour A’Bunadh, which is a cask-strength offering. Perhaps its high-octane experience jaded my palate somewhat to Glenfarclas when I would taste it (not side-by-side, but sporadically during the same period). Glenfarclas represents old-school balance—think pre-Parker overextracted wine, or pre-whatever overhopped IPAs—and is a benchmark of what a sherry-finished Highland single-malt should be. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

Continuing to work through whiskies in my collection that I’ve not yet reviewed—and I cannot believe that I’ve yet to review Maker’s Mark! Perhaps because Maker’s is the Everyman of the bourbon world. It’s not showy or ostentatious, but it gets the job done, like a utility infielder (in baseball terms), or a backup quarterback (in football terms), or a sixth man (in basketball terms), or a Ford F-150 (in pickup truck terms). It’s an iconic, omnipresent benchmark: so much so that I used it as a touchstone today in my previous review (Noah’s Mill) to double check if all of the rye elements I was getting in the NM were correct. One sip of the Maker’s Mark confirmed it. Color is a clear Pantone 138. There’s a lot of classic bourbon elements on the nose: caramel apple, cola (vanilla Coke), chocolate-covered cherries, caramel, snickerdoodle cookies, oak, and a little mint. Fruity palate shows apple cider doughnuts, vanilla, and cinnamon spice. The finish is smooth, with a nice blend of oak, char and vanilla. Straightforward and unpretentious. About ten years ago, Maker’s was considering lowering the proof from 90 to 84. As I’ve written several times, this is entirely an economic decision. More dilution equals more inventory to sell. Many drinkers use Maker’s for cocktails, so apparently management’s thought was that people wouldn’t notice or care. But notice and care they did. There was something of a public backlash among bourbon drinkers, and the decision to dilute was ditched, and Maker’s Mark remains 90 proof to this day. While there’s no magical flavor profile with 90 proof (Maker’s does offer a Cask Strength expression, as well as numerous oak-stave expressions that have a higher proof), the fact that they didn’t bow to the economic altar shows that they have a pride in their product. I respect that. And the hand-dipped red-wax bottles? Also iconic. And unnecessary. And not without cost. But they do it anyway. That, and the shape of the bottle, are probably the single-most recognizable visual-shelf elements of any bourbon out there (Blanton’s round bottle ranks highly as well, but buyers hardly ever actually see that on the shelf these days). Maker’s doesn’t have a “wow” factor. It’s not high-octane. But it’s good, and relatively inexpensive, and widely available. It can serve as a daily sipper neat, or imbibed on the rocks, or used in cocktails. No bourbon enthusiast’s collection can be complete without Maker’s Mark, and the same can be said for Maker’s 46 and several of their barrel-stave offerings. Would I buy it again? Hell yes I would. Maker’s Mark is an icon. It’s a staple. It is quintessential wheated bourbon. It’s a must-have in your portfolio. Maker’s Mark is part of the Beam Suntory portfolio. NAS. 90 proof. 3.75 on the Distiller scale. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.