Tastes

TEELING IRISH WHISKEY SHOWDOWN Teeling Small Batch Rum Casks Teeling Single Cask Sherry Cask I’ve been spending more time with Irish Whiskey recently, and I’m pleasantly surprised with Teeling. Their whiskies show an attention to detail and quality, as well both tradition and innovation. Teeling produce several bottlings, ranging from the entry-level Rum Casks to Single Barrel to limited editions. What follows is a review of the only two that I’ve tried from their portfolio. However, I had to open three other bottles from three different producers for comparison to make sure my head was screwed on straight (or rather, so that my tongue wasn’t tied, or my nose narcotized); so in a sense this is a five-part Showdown, but I didn’t go into depth with the three non-Teeling whiskies. Teeling Small Batch Rum Casks Medium straw color (Pantone 124). Tropical fruit nose shows grapefruit, papaya, guava, and banana, along with white raisins, fruitcake, gardenia, and some ethanol, with a little vanilla layered in. It actually smells a little like a resposado tequila, which sounds unusual but is in sync with the other descriptors. It’s also rum-like, which makes more sense given the rum cask finishing. I also get a honey-lemon note analogous to a Hall’s cough drop, but without the menthol (similar to the note I find when nosing Nikka Coffey Malt, only lighter; I opened the Nikka and tasted it to check, and a similarity is there). The mouthfeel has some viscosity, and the palate is very fruity, with more white raisins. The 46% ABV shows itself on the back end at an appropriate volume, and there’s more honey lemon, butterscotch, and some vanilla on the finish, with a subtle espresso undertone (like espresso with a bit of sugar and a twist of lemon). I like this entry-level Teeling, but it takes some time to open up (I nosed and tasted it for nearly 40 minutes). It’s unconventional to me, even given my somewhat limited (but growing) experience with Irish Whiskey. Sipping it is like wandering through a maze, with welcome unexpectedness around each corner. In addition to the Nikka Coffey Malt nose, it reminds me of a junior version of Compass Box Hedonism (which I’ve never cared for nor rated well; but I opened it too, and found some similarities, though the Compass Box was far more viscous and vanilla-y). Where else are you going to find a complex Irish whiskey at 46% ABV which is non-chill filtered, intellectually satisfying, and under $40? I’d venture no where aside from this offering. Would I buy it again? Yes. I’ll be looking for a replacement soon (my bottle’s final pour was used for this review). 4.0 on the Distiller scale. 46% ABV. Non-chill filtered. Batch # SB/61. Initially aged in bourbon casks, followed by up to 12 months in rum casks. Teeling Single Cask Sherry Cask Medium straw color—virtually identical to the Rum Casks expression. (Pantone 124). Complex nose shows honeysuckle, gardenia, Cheerios, cocoa powder, breakfast ham, butterscotch, toffee, hot cross buns, candied cashews, bacon, dates, and buttered pancakes. The mouthfeel has an oily richness, and the palate shows a similar grapefruit and papaya aspect. The 62.6% ABV is noticeable and grabs your attention, yet remains suave and debonair (not unlike Pierce Brosnan, the Irish James Bond). The grapefruit continues on the finish, and like the Rum Casks expression, a slight espresso bitterness appears underneath, but this is complimentary rather than disparaging. The Teeling Sherry Cask is fuller, richer, and more expressive than the Teeling Rum Casks (as expected), boosted by the higher APV. Tasting it reminds me of drinking an age-worthy cab before its time—it comes across as focused, but a little tight. If it were a wine, this would resolve and mellow in time (of course as a whiskey, that won’t happen in the bottle). So I decided to pour a little Redbreast Lustau, which is another Irish whiskey finished in sherry casks (albeit at a much milder 46% ABV). They are very different; the Lustau is smoother, like Macallan 18’s country cousin (as I wrote in my most recent review on it). The Teeling Sherry Cask is far more floral and fruity, and even sharp (grapefruit). It is very complex. This limited-release Teeling expression can be found for around $115 (only in duty-free shops, as far as I know). This bottle was a generous gift from a good friend, but would I buy it? Yes. 4.25 on the Distiller scale. 62.6% ABV. Distilled 2016; Bottled 10/2023. Limited release. Both of these Teeling expressions are atypical—so much so that I brought the three aforementioned additional whiskies to the table for comparison. Both Teelings share a tequila aspect on the nose (reposado for the Rum Casks; añejo for the Sherry Cask), and I’d bet that with the Rum Casks especially, tasted blind next to the right reposado, an experienced taster would be hard pressed to tell the difference (I’ll have to try that combination too, I suppose). Teeling is a brand that I’ll be paying attention to, and I’m eager to try additional bottlings. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

This review is for my soon-to-be ex-wife and her attorney, whom I’ve recently learned are monitoring my reviews to track “depletion of assets.” Not kidding. Enjoy, ladies! This one’s for you. I’ll address the financials in due course, counselor (and client). But if you’ll accommodate once again this intractable hard-ass for a few brief moments, I must first provide my five-man audience (up from four yesterday!) with a proper review. Bright copper orange color (Pantone 152—thanks for the help, sincerely, Home Depot paint associate). Cornbread, dark peanut brittle, chocolate-covered cherries (Godiva, of course), oak, vanilla, orange oil, and that sweet-ink smell of newly minted Benjamins, which is not off-putting (and let’s face it, not surprising either given the three glasses of 2005 Rochioli West Block pinot I pregamed with Tom Rochioli himself on FaceTime beforehand). The palate is smooth and lush (fertilized, shall we say, with that Russian River terroir); there’s honey sweetness, and the oak and vanilla reappear on the back end. The 100 proof is well integrated—not so much a Kentucky Hug as a Bardstown kiss—with cinnamon stick and a pungently sweet and dark Kopi luwak espresso note on the medium-length finish. Ah, Bali, and that weekend with my…strike that. I digress. I bought this bottle for $629.82 all-in, according to my records (counselor, you’ll never find the blockchain ledger). While my drinking buddies gift me bottles of bourbon regularly in lieu of the cover charge for all of the college football bacchanals that I host—Pat McAfee dropped by for the last one—this bottle was not derived from that bribing provenance. I paid cash money. I’d been searching high and low for this über-rare three-quarter liter of bluegrass sweetness for months. Unable to locate it amongst the dozen or so local shops I haunt—I know each manger on a first-name basis, have them in my contacts, and use a special ringtone for their inbound calls in case I need to briefly exit a meeting (“Excuse me, but that’s my son calling from his school”)—I was coerced to pay inflated secondary prices to an opportunistic vulture in one of the 27 whisk(e)y groups I’m a member of on Facebook (10 bourbon, 17 scotch). The seller, a pleasant but persnickety businessman in Shanghai who insisted I negotiate the complicated details of the transaction on his 4:15 PM “Baiju break” (GMT+8!, i.e., 3:15 AM EDT), charged a 3% convenience fee, a 4% f/x fee, a special “import tax,” and a modest (his words) insurance derivative through his brother’s startup on the Kowloon side of Hong Kong, in case the bottle was damaged in transit. And he talked me into paying overnight shipping, of course. What’s a bourbon hunter to do? Let’s face it: this is a rounding error compared to the wine deliveries I have shipped to my friend’s house. Would I buy it again? Hell yes I would. Plus another for inventory! 4.25 on the Distiller scale. 100 proof. 7-year age statement. Appears to be chill-filtered, because I just brought it out from my barn where it’s around 40°, and the bourbon is clear, with no cloudiness. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass (forgot $29 upcharge from seller’s glassworks).

REDBREAST SHOWDOWN Redbreast 12-Year Redbreast 15-Year Redbreast Lustau Edition Redbreast Tawny Port Cask Edition Redbreast 12 was one of a small handful of whiskies that I cut my teeth on over two decades ago. Back then I used to travel to Dublin on business occasionally, and an Irish friend of mine here in the states would always ask me to bring him back a bottle or two of Redbreast 12, which was unavailable in the U.S. at the time. That would give me an excuse to bring one back for myself as well. I recall liking it, but not loving it as my friend did; and after a brief romance, I put aside the Redbreast in the name of additional whiskey exploration. But lovebirds always find a way of coming back together—so here we are. Redbreast 12-Year Clear amber color (Pantone 143). Lots of vanilla on the nose, as well as some honey-lemon notes, similar to those that I experienced with the Nikka Coffey Malt Whisky (reviewed 9/21/23), though not as pronounced, along with papaya, hot candied peanuts, some light clove, and toast. The palate reengages the hot candied peanuts, or pralines, followed by a tickle of spice and light vanilla on the finish. Tasting the Redbreast 12 following the other three, I find that it comes across a little thin. It’s a shame that such a classic Irish Whiskey—with a 12-year age statement, no less—is bottled at a paltry 80 proof. I’ll go a step further and call it appalling. This is not mass-market, base-level Jameson or Bushmills: it’s $70 whiskey. Would I buy it again? I want to say yes. R12 is foundational in an Irish Whiskey collection. However, it’s a poor value on a relative basis. It’s a nice whiskey, and I’ll happily drink it, and enjoy it as well. 3.5 on the Distiller scale. 40% ABV. 12-year age statement. Redbreast 15-Year Deep, robust amber, nearly the burnt orange of the Lustau (still Pantone 144). There’s a sweet cotton-candyish note on first nosing—not cloying, but intriguing. That note slips into raspberry chocolate truffles, buttered Irish scones, Concord grape juice, sandalwood, applesauce, caffè latte, orange oil, and Christmas cake. Apricot as well, after tasting the Tawny Port Edition. The palate shows a light viscosity, and the olfactory and flavor profile pivots from fruity to more woody and spicy, finishing with papaya, vanilla, and baking spices. The Redbreast 15 is very, very good. Its complexity and sophistication hint at what the 12 could be with a little higher proof. The 15-year can be found for around $140. Would I buy it again? Yes. 4.5 on the Distiller scale. 46% ABV. 15-year age statement. Redbreast Lustau Edition Burnt orange color and like the 15, darker than the 12-year, as would be expected from the sherry cask finish (Pantone 144). Unmistakable sherry influence: dried figs, mulled cider, prunes, clove, molasses, a little vanilla. These aspects show as more savory on the palate, with a little salinity as well, and a light oiliness. Dates, brown sugar, and some chili spice on the finish. Redbreast Lustau Edition tastes like dapper Macallan’s country cousin: a little rougher around the edges, but exhibiting familial characteristics (I’ll have to do a separate Showdown to confirm that hypothesis). It can be found for around $75. Would I buy it again? Absolutely. 4.25 on the Distiller scale. 46% ABV. NAS. Redbreast Tawny Port Cask Edition (To clarify: The “Tawny Port Cask Edition” here is not cask strength). Similar deep amber Pantone 144 color. The nose is not as forthcoming as the Lustau, and initially shows a kind of dusty funk which then manifests as hazelnutty tawny port itself, before shifting to brown sugar, French toast with cinnamon, cut grass, chive, and cool spearmint. It’s a little vegetal; there’s even a green pepper undernote. The mouthfeel is lightly viscous, and is sharply focused with brown sugar and walnut notes. The alcohol is less integrated than the Lustau on the palate, and the finish shows a little sorghum syrup and a touch of woody tannic bitterness. The Tawny Port Edition, like the other Redbreast expressions, is packaged in an attractive box. But this one is a mauve pink, which is suggestive of a ruby rather than a tawny port. Were I the head of the marketing department, I would have opted for something in the tan spectrum. But I digress. I tasted each of these together over the course of three days, and my experience with the Tawny Port Edition declined somewhat. This Redbreast expression currently retails for $99. Would I buy it again? Maybe. 3.75 on the Distiller scale. 46% ABV. NAS. With this Showdown, I’ve been digging into the Redbreast offerings to become more familiar with the brand (which is part of the Pernod Ricard portfolio). Their website has some polished, if misguided, branding. There’s even a QR code on the 12-year box that provides a “virtual experience” whereby you can see the Redbreast robin superimposed on the camera on your phone: meaning you can point your phone in any direction, looking through it, and the robin appears, along with a separate birdhouse, and cues to point the camera in different directions. I was unable to click on either, or get any interaction (and I’m a tech guy). So essentially you look through your phone and see the robin mascot and a birdhouse superimposed on whatever you’re pointing your camera at. Why? The website has a menu called “Drinks” which showcases various high-end cocktails. What Madison Avenue ad wizard concocted this? Redbreast’s base offering is the 12-year, which retails for $70. Who is going to use a 12-year-old, $70 whiskey in a cocktail? Certainly there are those who can afford it, and I’m a believer in using quality ingredients for hand-crafted cocktails. But are they seriously trying to position age-statemented whiskey as premium or super-premium mixers? This is not mass-market whiskey; nor is not vodka (that’s another story). Redbreast’s website appears to be focused on age statements (12-, 15-, 21-, and 27-year bottlings), which are historically aimed at whiskey enthusiasts. From a business inventory perspective, distillers cannot afford to have massive stockpiles of old whiskey; as the ages get older, the stocks decline exponentially. Pernod Ricard wants to have inventory sit for 12 years and then dilute it to 40% ABV and suggest cocktails? From a business perspective: make an NAS offering and position that as your cocktail whiskey. The vast majority of cocktail drinkers won’t care, and Pernod Ricard will make more money by not having all the age-statemented whiskies (or at least the 12-year) sitting in inventory before it can be monetized. I’ve spent my entire career in finance, and I just don’t get the business model. There’s a huge disconnect between the marketing side and the business side. I could go on, but I’ll get off my soapbox for now. Back to the whiskey: the clear winner here is the 15-year, followed by the Lustau, the Tawny Port, and the 12-year. I’m sure the 12 would be much better at the 46% ABV that the others share (Redbreast does produce a cask-strength version of the 12-year—thankfully!—that I’ve not come across in the wild, but would love to try). I admire Redbreast’s forays into these different finishing casks, and would love to see the Lustau as part of its permanent portfolio. These are pricier whiskies. The Lustau is easily the best value here—and in terms of whiskies generally—and the 15-year is very good. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

REDBREAST SHOWDOWN Redbreast 12-Year Redbreast 15-Year Redbreast Lustau Edition Redbreast Tawny Port Cask Edition Redbreast 12 was one of a small handful of whiskies that I cut my teeth on over two decades ago. Back then I used to travel to Dublin on business occasionally, and an Irish friend of mine here in the states would always ask me to bring him back a bottle or two of Redbreast 12, which was unavailable in the U.S. at the time. That would give me an excuse to bring one back for myself as well. I recall liking it, but not loving it as my friend did; and after a brief romance, I put aside the Redbreast in the name of additional whiskey exploration. But lovebirds always find a way of coming back together—so here we are. Redbreast 12-Year Clear amber color (Pantone 143). Lots of vanilla on the nose, as well as some honey-lemon notes, similar to those that I experienced with the Nikka Coffey Malt Whisky (reviewed 9/21/23), though not as pronounced, along with papaya, hot candied peanuts, some light clove, and toast. The palate reengages the hot candied peanuts, or pralines, followed by a tickle of spice and light vanilla on the finish. Tasting the Redbreast 12 following the other three, I find that it comes across a little thin. It’s a shame that such a classic Irish Whiskey—with a 12-year age statement, no less—is bottled at a paltry 80 proof. I’ll go a step further and call it appalling. This is not mass-market, base-level Jameson or Bushmills: it’s $70 whiskey. Would I buy it again? I want to say yes. R12 is foundational in an Irish Whiskey collection. However, it’s a poor value on a relative basis. It’s a nice whiskey, and I’ll happily drink it, and enjoy it as well. 3.5 on the Distiller scale. 40% ABV. 12-year age statement. Redbreast 15-Year Deep, robust amber, nearly the burnt orange of the Lustau (still Pantone 144). There’s a sweet cotton-candyish note on first nosing—not cloying, but intriguing. That note slips into raspberry chocolate truffles, buttered Irish scones, Concord grape juice, sandalwood, applesauce, caffè latte, orange oil, and Christmas cake. Apricot as well, after tasting the Tawny Port Edition. The palate shows a light viscosity, and the olfactory and flavor profile pivots from fruity to more woody and spicy, finishing with papaya, vanilla, and baking spices. The Redbreast 15 is very, very good. Its complexity and sophistication hint at what the 12 could be with a little higher proof. The 15-year can be found for around $140. Would I buy it again? Yes. 4.5 on the Distiller scale. 46% ABV. 15-year age statement. Redbreast Lustau Edition Burnt orange color and like the 15, darker than the 12-year, as would be expected from the sherry cask finish (Pantone 144). Unmistakable sherry influence: dried figs, mulled cider, prunes, clove, molasses, a little vanilla. These aspects show as more savory on the palate, with a little salinity as well, and a light oiliness. Dates, brown sugar, and some chili spice on the finish. Redbreast Lustau Edition tastes like dapper Macallan’s country cousin: a little rougher around the edges, but exhibiting familial characteristics (I’ll have to do a separate Showdown to confirm that hypothesis). It can be found for around $75. Would I buy it again? Absolutely. 4.25 on the Distiller scale. 46% ABV. NAS. Redbreast Tawny Port Cask Edition (To clarify: The “Tawny Port Cask Edition” here is not cask strength). Similar deep amber Pantone 144 color. The nose is not as forthcoming as the Lustau, and initially shows a kind of dusty funk which then manifests as hazelnutty tawny port itself, before shifting to brown sugar, French toast with cinnamon, cut grass, chive, and cool spearmint. It’s a little vegetal; there’s even a green pepper undernote. The mouthfeel is lightly viscous, and is sharply focused with brown sugar and walnut notes. The alcohol is less integrated than the Lustau on the palate, and the finish shows a little sorghum syrup and a touch of woody tannic bitterness. The Tawny Port Edition, like the other Redbreast expressions, is packaged in an attractive box. But this one is a mauve pink, which is suggestive of a ruby rather than a tawny port. Were I the head of the marketing department, I would have opted for something in the tan spectrum. But I digress. I tasted each of these together over the course of three days, and my experience with the Tawny Port Edition declined somewhat. This Redbreast expression currently retails for $99. Would I buy it again? Maybe. 3.75 on the Distiller scale. 46% ABV. NAS. With this Showdown, I’ve been digging into the Redbreast offerings to become more familiar with the brand (which is part of the Pernod Ricard portfolio). Their website has some polished, if misguided, branding. There’s even a QR code on the 12-year box that provides a “virtual experience” whereby you can see the Redbreast robin superimposed on the camera on your phone: meaning you can point your phone in any direction, looking through it, and the robin appears, along with a separate birdhouse, and cues to point the camera in different directions. I was unable to click on either, or get any interaction (and I’m a tech guy). So essentially you look through your phone and see the robin mascot and a birdhouse superimposed on whatever you’re pointing your camera at. Why? The website has a menu called “Drinks” which showcases various high-end cocktails. What Madison Avenue ad wizard concocted this? Redbreast’s base offering is the 12-year, which retails for $70. Who is going to use a 12-year-old, $70 whiskey in a cocktail? Certainly there are those who can afford it, and I’m a believer in using quality ingredients for hand-crafted cocktails. But are they seriously trying to position age-statemented whiskey as premium or super-premium mixers? This is not mass-market whiskey; nor is not vodka (that’s another story). Redbreast’s website appears to be focused on age statements (12-, 15-, 21-, and 27-year bottlings), which are historically aimed at whiskey enthusiasts. From a business inventory perspective, distillers cannot afford to have massive stockpiles of old whiskey; as the ages get older, the stocks decline exponentially. Pernod Ricard wants to have inventory sit for 12 years and then dilute it to 40% ABV and suggest cocktails? From a business perspective: make an NAS offering and position that as your cocktail whiskey. The vast majority of cocktail drinkers won’t care, and Pernod Ricard will make more money by not having all the age-statemented whiskies (or at least the 12-year) sitting in inventory before it can be monetized. I’ve spent my entire career in finance, and I just don’t get the business model. There’s a huge disconnect between the marketing side and the business side. I could go on, but I’ll get off my soapbox for now. Back to the whiskey: the clear winner here is the 15-year, followed by the Lustau, the Tawny Port, and the 12-year. I’m sure the 12 would be much better at the 46% ABV that the others share (Redbreast does produce a cask-strength version of the 12-year—thankfully!—that I’ve not come across in the wild, but would love to try). I admire Redbreast’s forays into these different finishing casks, and would love to see the Lustau as part of its permanent portfolio. These are pricier whiskies. The Lustau is easily the best value here—and in terms of whiskies generally—and the 15-year is very good. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

REDBREAST SHOWDOWN Redbreast 12-Year Redbreast 15-Year Redbreast Lustau Edition Redbreast Tawny Port Cask Edition Redbreast 12 was one of a small handful of whiskies that I cut my teeth on over two decades ago. Back then I used to travel to Dublin on business occasionally, and an Irish friend of mine here in the states would always ask me to bring him back a bottle or two of Redbreast 12, which was unavailable in the U.S. at the time. That would give me an excuse to bring one back for myself as well. I recall liking it, but not loving it as my friend did; and after a brief romance, I put aside the Redbreast in the name of additional whiskey exploration. But lovebirds always find a way of coming back together—so here we are. Redbreast 12-Year Clear amber color (Pantone 143). Lots of vanilla on the nose, as well as some honey-lemon notes, similar to those that I experienced with the Nikka Coffey Malt Whisky (reviewed 9/21/23), though not as pronounced, along with papaya, hot candied peanuts, some light clove, and toast. The palate reengages the hot candied peanuts, or pralines, followed by a tickle of spice and light vanilla on the finish. Tasting the Redbreast 12 following the other three, I find that it comes across a little thin. It’s a shame that such a classic Irish Whiskey—with a 12-year age statement, no less—is bottled at a paltry 80 proof. I’ll go a step further and call it appalling. This is not mass-market, base-level Jameson or Bushmills: it’s $70 whiskey. Would I buy it again? I want to say yes. R12 is foundational in an Irish Whiskey collection. However, it’s a poor value on a relative basis. It’s a nice whiskey, and I’ll happily drink it, and enjoy it as well. 3.5 on the Distiller scale. 40% ABV. 12-year age statement. Redbreast 15-Year Deep, robust amber, nearly the burnt orange of the Lustau (still Pantone 144). There’s a sweet cotton-candyish note on first nosing—not cloying, but intriguing. That note slips into raspberry chocolate truffles, buttered Irish scones, Concord grape juice, sandalwood, applesauce, caffè latte, orange oil, and Christmas cake. Apricot as well, after tasting the Tawny Port Edition. The palate shows a light viscosity, and the olfactory and flavor profile pivots from fruity to more woody and spicy, finishing with papaya, vanilla, and baking spices. The Redbreast 15 is very, very good. Its complexity and sophistication hint at what the 12 could be with a little higher proof. The 15-year can be found for around $140. Would I buy it again? Yes. 4.5 on the Distiller scale. 46% ABV. 15-year age statement. Redbreast Lustau Edition Burnt orange color and like the 15, darker than the 12-year, as would be expected from the sherry cask finish (Pantone 144). Unmistakable sherry influence: dried figs, mulled cider, prunes, clove, molasses, a little vanilla. These aspects show as more savory on the palate, with a little salinity as well, and a light oiliness. Dates, brown sugar, and some chili spice on the finish. Redbreast Lustau Edition tastes like dapper Macallan’s country cousin: a little rougher around the edges, but exhibiting familial characteristics (I’ll have to do a separate Showdown to confirm that hypothesis). It can be found for around $75. Would I buy it again? Absolutely. 4.25 on the Distiller scale. 46% ABV. NAS. Redbreast Tawny Port Cask Edition (To clarify: The “Tawny Port Cask Edition” here is not cask strength). Similar deep amber Pantone 144 color. The nose is not as forthcoming as the Lustau, and initially shows a kind of dusty funk which then manifests as hazelnutty tawny port itself, before shifting to brown sugar, French toast with cinnamon, cut grass, chive, and cool spearmint. It’s a little vegetal; there’s even a green pepper undernote. The mouthfeel is lightly viscous, and is sharply focused with brown sugar and walnut notes. The alcohol is less integrated than the Lustau on the palate, and the finish shows a little sorghum syrup and a touch of woody tannic bitterness. The Tawny Port Edition, like the other Redbreast expressions, is packaged in an attractive box. But this one is a mauve pink, which is suggestive of a ruby rather than a tawny port. Were I the head of the marketing department, I would have opted for something in the tan spectrum. But I digress. I tasted each of these together over the course of three days, and my experience with the Tawny Port Edition declined somewhat. This Redbreast expression currently retails for $99. Would I buy it again? Maybe. 3.75 on the Distiller scale. 46% ABV. NAS. With this Showdown, I’ve been digging into the Redbreast offerings to become more familiar with the brand (which is part of the Pernod Ricard portfolio). Their website has some polished, if misguided, branding. There’s even a QR code on the 12-year box that provides a “virtual experience” whereby you can see the Redbreast robin superimposed on the camera on your phone: meaning you can point your phone in any direction, looking through it, and the robin appears, along with a separate birdhouse, and cues to point the camera in different directions. I was unable to click on either, or get any interaction (and I’m a tech guy). So essentially you look through your phone and see the robin mascot and a birdhouse superimposed on whatever you’re pointing your camera at. Why? The website has a menu called “Drinks” which showcases various high-end cocktails. What Madison Avenue ad wizard concocted this? Redbreast’s base offering is the 12-year, which retails for $70. Who is going to use a 12-year-old, $70 whiskey in a cocktail? Certainly there are those who can afford it, and I’m a believer in using quality ingredients for hand-crafted cocktails. But are they seriously trying to position age-statemented whiskey as premium or super-premium mixers? This is not mass-market whiskey; nor is not vodka (that’s another story). Redbreast’s website appears to be focused on age statements (12-, 15-, 21-, and 27-year bottlings), which are historically aimed at whiskey enthusiasts. From a business inventory perspective, distillers cannot afford to have massive stockpiles of old whiskey; as the ages get older, the stocks decline exponentially. Pernod Ricard wants to have inventory sit for 12 years and then dilute it to 40% ABV and suggest cocktails? From a business perspective: make an NAS offering and position that as your cocktail whiskey. The vast majority of cocktail drinkers won’t care, and Pernod Ricard will make more money by not having all the age-statemented whiskies (or at least the 12-year) sitting in inventory before it can be monetized. I’ve spent my entire career in finance, and I just don’t get the business model. There’s a huge disconnect between the marketing side and the business side. I could go on, but I’ll get off my soapbox for now. Back to the whiskey: the clear winner here is the 15-year, followed by the Lustau, the Tawny Port, and the 12-year. I’m sure the 12 would be much better at the 46% ABV that the others share (Redbreast does produce a cask-strength version of the 12-year—thankfully!—that I’ve not come across in the wild, but would love to try). I admire Redbreast’s forays into these different finishing casks, and would love to see the Lustau as part of its permanent portfolio. These are pricier whiskies. The Lustau is easily the best value here—and in terms of whiskies generally—and the 15-year is very good. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

REDBREAST SHOWDOWN Redbreast 12-Year Redbreast 15-Year Redbreast Lustau Edition Redbreast Tawny Port Cask Edition Redbreast 12 was one of a small handful of whiskies that I cut my teeth on over two decades ago. Back then I used to travel to Dublin on business occasionally, and an Irish friend of mine here in the states would always ask me to bring him back a bottle or two of Redbreast 12, which was unavailable in the U.S. at the time. That would give me an excuse to bring one back for myself as well. I recall liking it, but not loving it as my friend did; and after a brief romance, I put aside the Redbreast in the name of additional whiskey exploration. But lovebirds always find a way of coming back together—so here we are. Redbreast 12-Year Clear amber color (Pantone 143). Lots of vanilla on the nose, as well as some honey-lemon notes, similar to those that I experienced with the Nikka Coffey Malt Whisky (reviewed 9/21/23), though not as pronounced, along with papaya, hot candied peanuts, some light clove, and toast. The palate reengages the hot candied peanuts, or pralines, followed by a tickle of spice and light vanilla on the finish. Tasting the Redbreast 12 following the other three, I find that it comes across a little thin. It’s a shame that such a classic Irish Whiskey—with a 12-year age statement, no less—is bottled at a paltry 80 proof. I’ll go a step further and call it appalling. This is not mass-market, base-level Jameson or Bushmills: it’s $70 whiskey. Would I buy it again? I want to say yes. R12 is foundational in an Irish Whiskey collection. However, it’s a poor value on a relative basis. It’s a nice whiskey, and I’ll happily drink it, and enjoy it as well. 3.5 on the Distiller scale. 40% ABV. 12-year age statement. Redbreast 15-Year Deep, robust amber, nearly the burnt orange of the Lustau (still Pantone 144). There’s a sweet cotton-candyish note on first nosing—not cloying, but intriguing. That note slips into raspberry chocolate truffles, buttered Irish scones, Concord grape juice, sandalwood, applesauce, caffè latte, orange oil, and Christmas cake. Apricot as well, after tasting the Tawny Port Edition. The palate shows a light viscosity, and the olfactory and flavor profile pivots from fruity to more woody and spicy, finishing with papaya, vanilla, and baking spices. The Redbreast 15 is very, very good. Its complexity and sophistication hint at what the 12 could be with a little higher proof. The 15-year can be found for around $140. Would I buy it again? Yes. 4.5 on the Distiller scale. 46% ABV. 15-year age statement. Redbreast Lustau Edition Burnt orange color and like the 15, darker than the 12-year, as would be expected from the sherry cask finish (Pantone 144). Unmistakable sherry influence: dried figs, mulled cider, prunes, clove, molasses, a little vanilla. These aspects show as more savory on the palate, with a little salinity as well, and a light oiliness. Dates, brown sugar, and some chili spice on the finish. Redbreast Lustau Edition tastes like dapper Macallan’s country cousin: a little rougher around the edges, but exhibiting familial characteristics (I’ll have to do a separate Showdown to confirm that hypothesis). It can be found for around $75. Would I buy it again? Absolutely. 4.25 on the Distiller scale. 46% ABV. NAS. Redbreast Tawny Port Cask Edition (To clarify: The “Tawny Port Cask Edition” here is not cask strength). Similar deep amber Pantone 144 color. The nose is not as forthcoming as the Lustau, and initially shows a kind of dusty funk which then manifests as hazelnutty tawny port itself, before shifting to brown sugar, French toast with cinnamon, cut grass, chive, and cool spearmint. It’s a little vegetal; there’s even a green pepper undernote. The mouthfeel is lightly viscous, and is sharply focused with brown sugar and walnut notes. The alcohol is less integrated than the Lustau on the palate, and the finish shows a little sorghum syrup and a touch of woody tannic bitterness. The Tawny Port Edition, like the other Redbreast expressions, is packaged in an attractive box. But this one is a mauve pink, which is suggestive of a ruby rather than a tawny port. Were I the head of the marketing department, I would have opted for something in the tan spectrum. But I digress. I tasted each of these together over the course of three days, and my experience with the Tawny Port Edition declined somewhat. This Redbreast expression currently retails for $99. Would I buy it again? Maybe. 3.75 on the Distiller scale. 46% ABV. NAS. With this Showdown, I’ve been digging into the Redbreast offerings to become more familiar with the brand (which is part of the Pernod Ricard portfolio). Their website has some polished, if misguided, branding. There’s even a QR code on the 12-year box that provides a “virtual experience” whereby you can see the Redbreast robin superimposed on the camera on your phone: meaning you can point your phone in any direction, looking through it, and the robin appears, along with a separate birdhouse, and cues to point the camera in different directions. I was unable to click on either, or get any interaction (and I’m a tech guy). So essentially you look through your phone and see the robin mascot and a birdhouse superimposed on whatever you’re pointing your camera at. Why? The website has a menu called “Drinks” which showcases various high-end cocktails. What Madison Avenue ad wizard concocted this? Redbreast’s base offering is the 12-year, which retails for $70. Who is going to use a 12-year-old, $70 whiskey in a cocktail? Certainly there are those who can afford it, and I’m a believer in using quality ingredients for hand-crafted cocktails. But are they seriously trying to position age-statemented whiskey as premium or super-premium mixers? This is not mass-market whiskey; nor is not vodka (that’s another story). Redbreast’s website appears to be focused on age statements (12-, 15-, 21-, and 27-year bottlings), which are historically aimed at whiskey enthusiasts. From a business inventory perspective, distillers cannot afford to have massive stockpiles of old whiskey; as the ages get older, the stocks decline exponentially. Pernod Ricard wants to have inventory sit for 12 years and then dilute it to 40% ABV and suggest cocktails? From a business perspective: make an NAS offering and position that as your cocktail whiskey. The vast majority of cocktail drinkers won’t care, and Pernod Ricard will make more money by not having all the age-statemented whiskies (or at least the 12-year) sitting in inventory before it can be monetized. I’ve spent my entire career in finance, and I just don’t get the business model. There’s a huge disconnect between the marketing side and the business side. I could go on, but I’ll get off my soapbox for now. Back to the whiskey: the clear winner here is the 15-year, followed by the Lustau, the Tawny Port, and the 12-year. I’m sure the 12 would be much better at the 46% ABV that the others share (Redbreast does produce a cask-strength version of the 12-year—thankfully!—that I’ve not come across in the wild, but would love to try). I admire Redbreast’s forays into these different finishing casks, and would love to see the Lustau as part of its permanent portfolio. These are pricier whiskies. The Lustau is easily the best value here—and in terms of whiskies generally—and the 15-year is very good. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

LAPHROAIG SHOWDOWN LAPHROAIG 10-YEAR LAPHROAIG CASK STRENGTH BATCH 013 LAPHROAIG CÀIDERAS 2019 TRIPLE WOOD CASK STRENGTH LAPHROAIG 15-YEAR 200TH ANNIVERSARY I sampled these over the course of three days. Day one was the 10-year and the Cask Strength; day two was the Càideras and the 15-year; and day three was all four of them together. I took preliminary notes on the first two days. On day three, I decided to rearrange the order, from sophisticated to more pugilistic—which happened to correspond to age in descending order, and ABV in ascending order. At any rate, on the third day I initially tasted them in this order, but then went back and forth between them all randomly. LAPHROAIG 15-YEAR 200TH ANNIVERSARY Brilliant amber color (Pantone 123). More sophisticated nose than the youthful and flamboyant Càirdeas: orange zest, porridge, capocollo, grilled asparagus, peach, baked apples. Later: cantaloupe (again). Mouthfeel not very viscous despite the 15-year age statement and wood contact. Palate is sweet with pear compote, vanilla, a little butterscotch, bacon, and honey. A touch of white pepper on the finish, with honey and dry leathery notes. The 15-year displays a muted Islay typicity; its characteristics are far less ostentatious than the other three. But that doesn’t mean its lackadaisical. Think of a bell curve: somewhat subtle on the nose (though still very complex), more robust on the palate, and then finishing elegantly. Think cozy cabin or wood-paneled library, fire in the fireplace, cold fall mist outside (Scotland or elsewhere), Mendelssohn’s Hebrides overture in the background. And this whisky, neat, with the bottle handy for a second pour. Pensive, contemplative, and refined. A quick Internet search shows that this expression can be found today for $500-$600 (it was a limited release). I think I paid around $100 a few years back, and I’m happy I did. Would I buy it again? No. I’m very glad that I did buy it at a far cheaper price, though. It’s wonderful, and I’m happy to be able to experience it (I’ve got a quarter of a bottle left). 4.5 on the Distiller scale (unchanged from my review on 8/12/22). 43% ABV. 15-year age statement. LAPHROAIG 10-YEAR Subtler amber color (Pantone 142). Kelp, saline, iodine, dank basement, and yes, burning peat. Terracotta pot (oddly like a note on some sangioveses), only this pot is of course soaked in seawater. Tire shop. Burning resin. And there are faint fruity elements: apple juice and overripe banana and cantaloupe. Peanut brittle (hadn’t gotten that before). On the palate, some of that melon sweetness returns, and continues on the finish, before being covered in ash. Laphroaig is an iconic Islay whisky and can be found for around $50. Would I buy it again? Yes. 4.25 on the Distiller scale. 43% ABV. 10-year age statement. LAPHROAIG CASK STRENGTH BATCH 013 Slightly darker amber than the 10-Year (Pantone 143). How much room do we have for the litany of descriptors? Band-Aid. Engine Oil. Engine sludge. Sea-Breeze (the facial astringent) and sea breeze (the wind off the ocean). Propylene glycol (a.k.a. antifreeze). Nori. Wakame (i.e., kelp). Betadyne. Funk. Malted milk balls. Cocoa powder (especially immediately following the 10-Year). Alcohol unnoticeable on the nose. Oily and mouthcoating on the palate, with penetrating honey and candied ginger. Then the cask-strength alcohol, but held in check by everything else. Long finish: ash-coated smoky butterscotch. The Cask Strength is otherworldly. Not only does it have loads of complexity in terms of breadth, but the depth itself is deep. The bottle I own is the only LCS I’ve ever had. When I bought it, it was the only one that I’d seen in the wild. The Cask Strength can be found online for under $90. At that price, this may be the best value in the entire world of whisk(e)y. Would I buy this again? Yes. The nectar of Islay. 4.75 on the Distiller scale. 57.9% ABV. 10-year age statement. Batch 013. Bottled January 2021. LAPHROAIG CÀIRDEAS 2019 TRIPLE WOOD CASK STRENGTH Deep orange amber (Pantone 144). Peat smoke, ash, iodine, tangy barbecue sauce, wet cardboard box, tomato leaf, slightly overdone pancakes, carambola, concrete block, honeyed orange, a bit of caramel, and vanilla. On the palate: some light viscosity and sweetness, and 59.5% ABV makes a welcome appearance. Some honeyed sweetness on the finish, then white pepper, band-aid, iodine. Each expression of Laphroaig oozes complexity. Its Islay-ness terroir is far more evident than any Bordeaux or Burgundy; there’s no doubt whatsoever as to its birthplace. The Càirdeas adds another layer with the different cask finishes: bourbon, quarters, European oak, and Oloroso sherry. The quarter casks (I’m not aware of how much time the distillate is spent in them) in theory exposes more whisky to the wood, and somewhat obviates the lack of an age statement. I could nose this all night (I’d have to drink it too). It’s that good. The various releases can be found for $80-90. Would I buy it again? Yes. I rated it 4.0 on my last review (8/12/22). It’s better than that. 4.25 on the Distiller scale. 59.5% ABV. NAS. Non-chill filtered. These individual releases exhibit Laphroaig typicity, but are nevertheless distinctive. Each is a complex, thought-provoking whisky. What surprised me most about this Showdown was the fruitiness and gentle sweetness that I detected in each, which was modestly more than I’d recalled. Laphroaig’s descriptors are more than just “burning hospital.” Laphroaig’s special bottlings, like the Càirdeas, are more old-school and conservative than Ardbeg, for example, who are far more provocative with their oddball offerings. I appreciate their more traditional approach. While Laphroaig isn’t something I drink every day, I always want a few of their bottlings in my inventory. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

LAPHROAIG SHOWDOWN LAPHROAIG 10-YEAR LAPHROAIG CASK STRENGTH BATCH 013 LAPHROAIG CÀIDERAS 2019 TRIPLE WOOD CASK STRENGTH LAPHROAIG 15-YEAR 200TH ANNIVERSARY I sampled these over the course of three days. Day one was the 10-year and the Cask Strength; day two was the Càideras and the 15-year; and day three was all four of them together. I took preliminary notes on the first two days. On day three, I decided to rearrange the order, from sophisticated to more pugilistic—which happened to correspond to age in descending order, and ABV in ascending order. At any rate, on the third day I initially tasted them in this order, but then went back and forth between them all randomly. LAPHROAIG 15-YEAR 200TH ANNIVERSARY Brilliant amber color (Pantone 123). More sophisticated nose than the youthful and flamboyant Càirdeas: orange zest, porridge, capocollo, grilled asparagus, peach, baked apples. Later: cantaloupe (again). Mouthfeel not very viscous despite the 15-year age statement and wood contact. Palate is sweet with pear compote, vanilla, a little butterscotch, bacon, and honey. A touch of white pepper on the finish, with honey and dry leathery notes. The 15-year displays a muted Islay typicity; its characteristics are far less ostentatious than the other three. But that doesn’t mean its lackadaisical. Think of a bell curve: somewhat subtle on the nose (though still very complex), more robust on the palate, and then finishing elegantly. Think cozy cabin or wood-paneled library, fire in the fireplace, cold fall mist outside (Scotland or elsewhere), Mendelssohn’s Hebrides overture in the background. And this whisky, neat, with the bottle handy for a second pour. Pensive, contemplative, and refined. A quick Internet search shows that this expression can be found today for $500-$600 (it was a limited release). I think I paid around $100 a few years back, and I’m happy I did. Would I buy it again? No. I’m very glad that I did buy it at a far cheaper price, though. It’s wonderful, and I’m happy to be able to experience it (I’ve got a quarter of a bottle left). 4.5 on the Distiller scale (unchanged from my review on 8/12/22). 43% ABV. 15-year age statement. LAPHROAIG 10-YEAR Subtler amber color (Pantone 142). Kelp, saline, iodine, dank basement, and yes, burning peat. Terracotta pot (oddly like a note on some sangioveses), only this pot is of course soaked in seawater. Tire shop. Burning resin. And there are faint fruity elements: apple juice and overripe banana and cantaloupe. Peanut brittle (hadn’t gotten that before). On the palate, some of that melon sweetness returns, and continues on the finish, before being covered in ash. Laphroaig is an iconic Islay whisky and can be found for around $50. Would I buy it again? Yes. 4.25 on the Distiller scale. 43% ABV. 10-year age statement. LAPHROAIG CASK STRENGTH BATCH 013 Slightly darker amber than the 10-Year (Pantone 143). How much room do we have for the litany of descriptors? Band-Aid. Engine Oil. Engine sludge. Sea-Breeze (the facial astringent) and sea breeze (the wind off the ocean). Propylene glycol (a.k.a. antifreeze). Nori. Wakame (i.e., kelp). Betadyne. Funk. Malted milk balls. Cocoa powder (especially immediately following the 10-Year). Alcohol unnoticeable on the nose. Oily and mouthcoating on the palate, with penetrating honey and candied ginger. Then the cask-strength alcohol, but held in check by everything else. Long finish: ash-coated smoky butterscotch. The Cask Strength is otherworldly. Not only does it have loads of complexity in terms of breadth, but the depth itself is deep. The bottle I own is the only LCS I’ve ever had. When I bought it, it was the only one that I’d seen in the wild. The Cask Strength can be found online for under $90. At that price, this may be the best value in the entire world of whisk(e)y. Would I buy this again? Yes. The nectar of Islay. 4.75 on the Distiller scale. 57.9% ABV. 10-year age statement. Batch 013. Bottled January 2021. LAPHROAIG CÀIRDEAS 2019 TRIPLE WOOD CASK STRENGTH Deep orange amber (Pantone 144). Peat smoke, ash, iodine, tangy barbecue sauce, wet cardboard box, tomato leaf, slightly overdone pancakes, carambola, concrete block, honeyed orange, a bit of caramel, and vanilla. On the palate: some light viscosity and sweetness, and 59.5% ABV makes a welcome appearance. Some honeyed sweetness on the finish, then white pepper, band-aid, iodine. Each expression of Laphroaig oozes complexity. Its Islay-ness terroir is far more evident than any Bordeaux or Burgundy; there’s no doubt whatsoever as to its birthplace. The Càirdeas adds another layer with the different cask finishes: bourbon, quarters, European oak, and Oloroso sherry. The quarter casks (I’m not aware of how much time the distillate is spent in them) in theory exposes more whisky to the wood, and somewhat obviates the lack of an age statement. I could nose this all night (I’d have to drink it too). It’s that good. The various releases can be found for $80-90. Would I buy it again? Yes. I rated it 4.0 on my last review (8/12/22). It’s better than that. 4.25 on the Distiller scale. 59.5% ABV. NAS. Non-chill filtered. These individual releases exhibit Laphroaig typicity, but are nevertheless distinctive. Each is a complex, thought-provoking whisky. What surprised me most about this Showdown was the fruitiness and gentle sweetness that I detected in each, which was modestly more than I’d recalled. Laphroaig’s descriptors are more than just “burning hospital.” Laphroaig’s special bottlings, like the Càirdeas, are more old-school and conservative than Ardbeg, for example, who are far more provocative with their oddball offerings. I appreciate their more traditional approach. While Laphroaig isn’t something I drink every day, I always want a few of their bottlings in my inventory. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

LAPHROAIG SHOWDOWN LAPHROAIG 10-YEAR LAPHROAIG CASK STRENGTH BATCH 013 LAPHROAIG CÀIDERAS 2019 TRIPLE WOOD CASK STRENGTH LAPHROAIG 15-YEAR 200TH ANNIVERSARY I sampled these over the course of three days. Day one was the 10-year and the Cask Strength; day two was the Càideras and the 15-year; and day three was all four of them together. I took preliminary notes on the first two days. On day three, I decided to rearrange the order, from sophisticated to more pugilistic—which happened to correspond to age in descending order, and ABV in ascending order. At any rate, on the third day I initially tasted them in this order, but then went back and forth between them all randomly. LAPHROAIG 15-YEAR 200TH ANNIVERSARY Brilliant amber color (Pantone 123). More sophisticated nose than the youthful and flamboyant Càirdeas: orange zest, porridge, capocollo, grilled asparagus, peach, baked apples. Later: cantaloupe (again). Mouthfeel not very viscous despite the 15-year age statement and wood contact. Palate is sweet with pear compote, vanilla, a little butterscotch, bacon, and honey. A touch of white pepper on the finish, with honey and dry leathery notes. The 15-year displays a muted Islay typicity; its characteristics are far less ostentatious than the other three. But that doesn’t mean its lackadaisical. Think of a bell curve: somewhat subtle on the nose (though still very complex), more robust on the palate, and then finishing elegantly. Think cozy cabin or wood-paneled library, fire in the fireplace, cold fall mist outside (Scotland or elsewhere), Mendelssohn’s Hebrides overture in the background. And this whisky, neat, with the bottle handy for a second pour. Pensive, contemplative, and refined. A quick Internet search shows that this expression can be found today for $500-$600 (it was a limited release). I think I paid around $100 a few years back, and I’m happy I did. Would I buy it again? No. I’m very glad that I did buy it at a far cheaper price, though. It’s wonderful, and I’m happy to be able to experience it (I’ve got a quarter of a bottle left). 4.5 on the Distiller scale (unchanged from my review on 8/12/22). 43% ABV. 15-year age statement. LAPHROAIG 10-YEAR Subtler amber color (Pantone 142). Kelp, saline, iodine, dank basement, and yes, burning peat. Terracotta pot (oddly like a note on some sangioveses), only this pot is of course soaked in seawater. Tire shop. Burning resin. And there are faint fruity elements: apple juice and overripe banana and cantaloupe. Peanut brittle (hadn’t gotten that before). On the palate, some of that melon sweetness returns, and continues on the finish, before being covered in ash. Laphroaig is an iconic Islay whisky and can be found for around $50. Would I buy it again? Yes. 4.25 on the Distiller scale. 43% ABV. 10-year age statement. LAPHROAIG CASK STRENGTH BATCH 013 Slightly darker amber than the 10-Year (Pantone 143). How much room do we have for the litany of descriptors? Band-Aid. Engine Oil. Engine sludge. Sea-Breeze (the facial astringent) and sea breeze (the wind off the ocean). Propylene glycol (a.k.a. antifreeze). Nori. Wakame (i.e., kelp). Betadyne. Funk. Malted milk balls. Cocoa powder (especially immediately following the 10-Year). Alcohol unnoticeable on the nose. Oily and mouthcoating on the palate, with penetrating honey and candied ginger. Then the cask-strength alcohol, but held in check by everything else. Long finish: ash-coated smoky butterscotch. The Cask Strength is otherworldly. Not only does it have loads of complexity in terms of breadth, but the depth itself is deep. The bottle I own is the only LCS I’ve ever had. When I bought it, it was the only one that I’d seen in the wild. The Cask Strength can be found online for under $90. At that price, this may be the best value in the entire world of whisk(e)y. Would I buy this again? Yes. The nectar of Islay. 4.75 on the Distiller scale. 57.9% ABV. 10-year age statement. Batch 013. Bottled January 2021. LAPHROAIG CÀIRDEAS 2019 TRIPLE WOOD CASK STRENGTH Deep orange amber (Pantone 144). Peat smoke, ash, iodine, tangy barbecue sauce, wet cardboard box, tomato leaf, slightly overdone pancakes, carambola, concrete block, honeyed orange, a bit of caramel, and vanilla. On the palate: some light viscosity and sweetness, and 59.5% ABV makes a welcome appearance. Some honeyed sweetness on the finish, then white pepper, band-aid, iodine. Each expression of Laphroaig oozes complexity. Its Islay-ness terroir is far more evident than any Bordeaux or Burgundy; there’s no doubt whatsoever as to its birthplace. The Càirdeas adds another layer with the different cask finishes: bourbon, quarters, European oak, and Oloroso sherry. The quarter casks (I’m not aware of how much time the distillate is spent in them) in theory exposes more whisky to the wood, and somewhat obviates the lack of an age statement. I could nose this all night (I’d have to drink it too). It’s that good. The various releases can be found for $80-90. Would I buy it again? Yes. I rated it 4.0 on my last review (8/12/22). It’s better than that. 4.25 on the Distiller scale. 59.5% ABV. NAS. Non-chill filtered. These individual releases exhibit Laphroaig typicity, but are nevertheless distinctive. Each is a complex, thought-provoking whisky. What surprised me most about this Showdown was the fruitiness and gentle sweetness that I detected in each, which was modestly more than I’d recalled. Laphroaig’s descriptors are more than just “burning hospital.” Laphroaig’s special bottlings, like the Càirdeas, are more old-school and conservative than Ardbeg, for example, who are far more provocative with their oddball offerings. I appreciate their more traditional approach. While Laphroaig isn’t something I drink every day, I always want a few of their bottlings in my inventory. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

LAPHROAIG SHOWDOWN LAPHROAIG 10-YEAR LAPHROAIG CASK STRENGTH BATCH 013 LAPHROAIG CÀIDERAS 2019 TRIPLE WOOD CASK STRENGTH LAPHROAIG 15-YEAR 200TH ANNIVERSARY I sampled these over the course of three days. Day one was the 10-year and the Cask Strength; day two was the Càideras and the 15-year; and day three was all four of them together. I took preliminary notes on the first two days. On day three, I decided to rearrange the order, from sophisticated to more pugilistic—which happened to correspond to age in descending order, and ABV in ascending order. At any rate, on the third day I initially tasted them in this order, but then went back and forth between them all randomly. LAPHROAIG 15-YEAR 200TH ANNIVERSARY Brilliant amber color (Pantone 123). More sophisticated nose than the youthful and flamboyant Càirdeas: orange zest, porridge, capocollo, grilled asparagus, peach, baked apples. Later: cantaloupe (again). Mouthfeel not very viscous despite the 15-year age statement and wood contact. Palate is sweet with pear compote, vanilla, a little butterscotch, bacon, and honey. A touch of white pepper on the finish, with honey and dry leathery notes. The 15-year displays a muted Islay typicity; its characteristics are far less ostentatious than the other three. But that doesn’t mean its lackadaisical. Think of a bell curve: somewhat subtle on the nose (though still very complex), more robust on the palate, and then finishing elegantly. Think cozy cabin or wood-paneled library, fire in the fireplace, cold fall mist outside (Scotland or elsewhere), Mendelssohn’s Hebrides overture in the background. And this whisky, neat, with the bottle handy for a second pour. Pensive, contemplative, and refined. A quick Internet search shows that this expression can be found today for $500-$600 (it was a limited release). I think I paid around $100 a few years back, and I’m happy I did. Would I buy it again? No. I’m very glad that I did buy it at a far cheaper price, though. It’s wonderful, and I’m happy to be able to experience it (I’ve got a quarter of a bottle left). 4.5 on the Distiller scale (unchanged from my review on 8/12/22). 43% ABV. 15-year age statement. LAPHROAIG 10-YEAR Subtler amber color (Pantone 142). Kelp, saline, iodine, dank basement, and yes, burning peat. Terracotta pot (oddly like a note on some sangioveses), only this pot is of course soaked in seawater. Tire shop. Burning resin. And there are faint fruity elements: apple juice and overripe banana and cantaloupe. Peanut brittle (hadn’t gotten that before). On the palate, some of that melon sweetness returns, and continues on the finish, before being covered in ash. Laphroaig is an iconic Islay whisky and can be found for around $50. Would I buy it again? Yes. 4.25 on the Distiller scale. 43% ABV. 10-year age statement. LAPHROAIG CASK STRENGTH BATCH 013 Slightly darker amber than the 10-Year (Pantone 143). How much room do we have for the litany of descriptors? Band-Aid. Engine Oil. Engine sludge. Sea-Breeze (the facial astringent) and sea breeze (the wind off the ocean). Propylene glycol (a.k.a. antifreeze). Nori. Wakame (i.e., kelp). Betadyne. Funk. Malted milk balls. Cocoa powder (especially immediately following the 10-Year). Alcohol unnoticeable on the nose. Oily and mouthcoating on the palate, with penetrating honey and candied ginger. Then the cask-strength alcohol, but held in check by everything else. Long finish: ash-coated smoky butterscotch. The Cask Strength is otherworldly. Not only does it have loads of complexity in terms of breadth, but the depth itself is deep. The bottle I own is the only LCS I’ve ever had. When I bought it, it was the only one that I’d seen in the wild. The Cask Strength can be found online for under $90. At that price, this may be the best value in the entire world of whisk(e)y. Would I buy this again? Yes. The nectar of Islay. 4.75 on the Distiller scale. 57.9% ABV. 10-year age statement. Batch 013. Bottled January 2021. LAPHROAIG CÀIRDEAS 2019 TRIPLE WOOD CASK STRENGTH Deep orange amber (Pantone 144). Peat smoke, ash, iodine, tangy barbecue sauce, wet cardboard box, tomato leaf, slightly overdone pancakes, carambola, concrete block, honeyed orange, a bit of caramel, and vanilla. On the palate: some light viscosity and sweetness, and 59.5% ABV makes a welcome appearance. Some honeyed sweetness on the finish, then white pepper, band-aid, iodine. Each expression of Laphroaig oozes complexity. Its Islay-ness terroir is far more evident than any Bordeaux or Burgundy; there’s no doubt whatsoever as to its birthplace. The Càirdeas adds another layer with the different cask finishes: bourbon, quarters, European oak, and Oloroso sherry. The quarter casks (I’m not aware of how much time the distillate is spent in them) in theory exposes more whisky to the wood, and somewhat obviates the lack of an age statement. I could nose this all night (I’d have to drink it too). It’s that good. The various releases can be found for $80-90. Would I buy it again? Yes. I rated it 4.0 on my last review (8/12/22). It’s better than that. 4.25 on the Distiller scale. 59.5% ABV. NAS. Non-chill filtered. These individual releases exhibit Laphroaig typicity, but are nevertheless distinctive. Each is a complex, thought-provoking whisky. What surprised me most about this Showdown was the fruitiness and gentle sweetness that I detected in each, which was modestly more than I’d recalled. Laphroaig’s descriptors are more than just “burning hospital.” Laphroaig’s special bottlings, like the Càirdeas, are more old-school and conservative than Ardbeg, for example, who are far more provocative with their oddball offerings. I appreciate their more traditional approach. While Laphroaig isn’t something I drink every day, I always want a few of their bottlings in my inventory. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.