Tastes

Color is a clear and bright Pantone 123. Here we have a veritable cornucopia of cinnamon: all three cassia types—Indonesian, Chinese, and Saigonese—as well as Sri Lankan (formerly Ceylon) cinnamon. The cinnamon manifests itself in both ground and curled-stick forms, and there’s even some nuzzling against clove and nutmeg adjacencies, respectively, as if printed on a spice-themed periodic chart. The impression is familial, ranging from the overpriced Red Hots that you bought for your 8th-grade girlfriend at the local movie theater to Grandad’s overspiced mulled cider to your sister’s Home-Ec Christmas cookies. The palate has a glycerin mouthfeel, with a viscosity reminiscent of the finest Extra Virgin Olive Oil from the Gaiole region of Chianti. And the finish? Not quite Red Hots, but rather the third or possibly the second inner ring of Atomic Fireball Jawbreakers. The uninitiated may be unaware of the fact that Fireball is produced by Sazerac—yes, THAT Sazerac. Speculation varies as to the whiskey component, with some insisting it is a lower rickhouse reserved for Weller 12; others saying that it is a combination of Blanton’s and Elmer T. Lee; and still another group stating that there’s a little Pappy 23 in the mashbill because everyone has realized that the 23 is nothing but overpriced tannic wood secretions which has forced Sazerac-owned Buffalo Trace to write it off on their balance sheet and unload the extra inventory—hence the “Collector’s Edition” designation. Dear reader, don’t take my word for it: no less an authority than the Master Taster at whisky.com, Horst Leuning, goes positively apoplectic over Fireball (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wc5qr5v0BZk). And his drooling is over the mere regular bottling rather than the Hell-influenced Collector’s Edition label, adorned with a spawn of Satan that is part Chinese Fuzanglong and part Dante’s demon half-frozen in ice in the ninth circle of hell (this latter image intended for those drinkers who choose to enjoy their whiskey on the rocks). The more pedestrian bottlings of Fireball can be had for around $15 retail. However, the limited-release Collector’s Edition reflected in this tasting is offered only in years where the last two digits are a prime number, and are thus far more scarce. Would I buy it again? Yes. 3.0 on the Distiller scale. 33% ABV. Natural cinnamon flavor (multiple geographies). N.B. All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

I’ve been a Hibiki fan for a long time. A few years back, I bought numerous bottles of Hibiki 12. I loved drinking it, but as it increased in price and was ultimately discontinued because it ran out, I traded several bottles I had in inventory for other whiskies that I’d been unable to find. I wished I still had a bottle or two, but sadly, they’re all gone. I’ve had the Harmony, of course, which is readily available (if overpriced). I used to have a bottle of the Hibiki 17, which I adored, but it is also gone, much to my chagrin (insert sad tearful emoji here). My only previous experience with Hibiki 21 was at an incredible night at Milroy’s in London just as Covid was getting underway (pic below). This bottle used in this tasting is on loan from a generous friend. Color is a clear and rich Pantone 130. The nose is forthright, as if it anthropomorphically wants to shake your hand (or nose), greeting you with an almost-pungent soy-vinegar dumpling sauce, sandalwood, brown sugar, coconut, orange oil, a cured-meat-soppressata element, some vanilla, almond croissant, and an aroma that evokes the incense I used to burn when I lived in Korea decades ago. Sweet Lord Jesus! I want to nose this all night. Palate has just the right amount of viscosity, with honey and sweet candied orange joining the party. The finish is long, prefaced with a mild spice and continuing with marzipan and vanilla. Rich, mellow, and sophisticated—I’m not too fond of that term as a descriptor, but it is apt in this case. The soy-vinegar dumpling sauce is pervasive and foundational. I nosed it several times over a half hour and reached the same conclusion. It’s somewhat analogous to a tangy barbecue sauce note—something that I’ve noted a few times in other whiskies—but that probably seems offputting to the three people that read this review. That soy-vinegar element is the basso continuo upon which the rest of the olfactory concerto is grounded. Hibiki 21 typically retails for well north of $1,000, if you can find it. Would I buy it? Yes—after I win the lottery. 5.0 on the Distiller scale—for what it’s worth, this is just the second perfect score I’ve ever given (the other being 2019 William Larue Weller (reviewed June 30, 2022). I understand that Suntory produces a 30-year Hibiki; but I’ve yet to see that one in person. 43% ABV.

Very pale clear straw-like Pantone 121. Funky nose: I get soy sauce, some herbaceous quality (green pepper), a whiff of smoked meat, subtle tangy barbecue sauce, and some sweet vanilla. Incredibly unctuous palate, with some sweet vanilla-infused simple syrup, leading to copious white pepper and a long finish with coconut, vanilla, and a little woody tannic bitterness. I last reviewed this bottle on June 28, 2022, and I rated it 2.25—which as I mentioned then is probably due to the very high expectations I had due to the 97 Distiller rating. The palate and finish are massive improvements over the nose. Had I nosed this blind—even looking at its very pale color—I’d not even know where to begin, or what to do with it. There is no tell-tale typicity of anything. A detailed breakdown of this whisky can be downloaded from https://www.compassboxwhisky.com/whiskies/hedonism. The components are as follows: • 31.1% 20-year-old first-fill bourbon barrel single grain from Dumbarton distillery • 29.8% 14-year-old first-fill bourbon barrel single grain from Cameronbridge distillery • 15.2% 13-year-old first-fill bourbon barrel single grain from Cameronbridge distillery • 14.8% 18-year-old first-fill bourbon barrel single grain from Strathclyde distillery • 9.2% 26-year-old first-fill bourbon barrel I don’t get the hype. And as I noted on my aforementioned review, I take issue with marketing that proclaims “RICH-VANILLA-ALLURING” in all caps on the front label. Compass Box can be found for about $130. Would I buy it again? No. No, No, No. I would drink it if offered, though, just to blend in. 2.5 on the Distiller scale. 43% ABV. Non chill filtered. No added coloring. Series MMXVI-C.

SPOT SHOWDOWN Green Spot Single Pot-Still Irish Whiskey Red Spot 15-Year Single Pot-Still Irish Whiskey While I’ve reviewed Green Spot before (August 25, 2022), I’ve never reviewed Red Spot, nor have I reviewed them side-by-side. Of the four broad whisk(e)y groups (American whiskey, Irish whiskey, Scotch whisky, and Japanese whisky), I’m least experienced with Irish Whiskey, which I’m attempting to rectify. Spot Whiskey gets its name from the distillery’s practice of making each barrel with a “spot” of green, blue, yellow, or red paint, based on its contents. Green Spot Single Pot-Still Irish Whiskey Clear Pantone 138 in color. Fruity but mild nose brings an initial hit of Granny Smith apples, along with a little melon and orange marmalade, a little coolness, and a whiff of ethanol despite the low ABV. (The “spot-on banana popsicle” from my previous review is there as well). There is an initial apple tartness on the palate, followed by sweet honey, a little cinnamon, toasted oak, and a slight bitterness on the finish. There’s a lot to like here. The biggest obstacle in the way of Green Spot is economics: 40% ABV will never make a great whisk(e)y. Of course, a whiskey must have the flavor profile to support a higher proof. Additionally, “great whiskey” may not be Green Spot's objective. It isn’t cheap; it currently retails for just under $60. (It should be noted that Middleton produces some special editions of Green Spot aged in various wine casks which are offered at 46% ABV). Would I buy it again? No, but purely on an economic and value basis. It’s very good, but expensive for a 40% ABV whiskey. 3.75 on the Distiller scale. 40% ABV. NAS. Red Spot 15-Year Single Pot-Still Irish Whiskey Virtually identical Pantone 138 in color, which is a bit surprising given the 15-year age statement. Dramatically different nose than the Green Spot, with much warmer tones of sandalwood, chocolate, banana bread, walnuts, vanilla extract, and biscuits, as well as some of the same orange marmalade that I picked up on the Green Spot, but more intense. The palate has a mouthcoating oiliness and amazing depth of flavor, mimicking the same items on the nose. There is some mild spiciness, and the alcohol is well-concealed. Long finish with papaya, vanilla, and a little bittersweet cocoa. Red Spot is a special whiskey—the best Irish Whiskey I’ve had thus far. It is by no means a daily sipper, but if you’re serious about whisk(e)y in general, and Irish Whiskey in particular, it’s a must-have. Red Spot can be found for about $200. Would I buy it? (Not again, as this one is on temporary loan from a friend). Yes. 4.5 on the Distiller scale. 46% ABV. 15-year age statement. Non-chill filtered. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

SPOT SHOWDOWN Green Spot Single Pot-Still Irish Whiskey Red Spot 15-Year Single Pot-Still Irish Whiskey While I’ve reviewed Green Spot before (August 25, 2022), I’ve never reviewed Red Spot, nor have I reviewed them side-by-side. Of the four broad whisk(e)y groups (American whiskey, Irish whiskey, Scotch whisky, and Japanese whisky), I’m least experienced with Irish Whiskey, which I’m attempting to rectify. Spot Whiskey gets its name from the distillery’s practice of making each barrel with a “spot” of green, blue, yellow, or red paint, based on its contents. Green Spot Single Pot-Still Irish Whiskey Clear Pantone 138 in color. Fruity but mild nose brings an initial hit of Granny Smith apples, along with a little melon and orange marmalade, a little coolness, and a whiff of ethanol despite the low ABV. (The “spot-on banana popsicle” from my previous review is there as well). There is an initial apple tartness on the palate, followed by sweet honey, a little cinnamon, toasted oak, and a slight bitterness on the finish. There’s a lot to like here. The biggest obstacle in the way of Green Spot is economics: 40% ABV will never make a great whisk(e)y. Of course, a whiskey must have the flavor profile to support a higher proof. Additionally, “great whiskey” may not be Green Spot's objective. It isn’t cheap; it currently retails for just under $60. (It should be noted that Middleton produces some special editions of Green Spot aged in various wine casks which are offered at 46% ABV). Would I buy it again? No, but purely on an economic and value basis. It’s very good, but expensive for a 40% ABV whiskey. 3.75 on the Distiller scale. 40% ABV. NAS. Red Spot 15-Year Single Pot-Still Irish Whiskey Virtually identical Pantone 138 in color, which is a bit surprising given the 15-year age statement. Dramatically different nose than the Green Spot, with much warmer tones of sandalwood, chocolate, banana bread, walnuts, vanilla extract, and biscuits, as well as some of the same orange marmalade that I picked up on the Green Spot, but more intense. The palate has a mouthcoating oiliness and amazing depth of flavor, mimicking the same items on the nose. There is some mild spiciness, and the alcohol is well-concealed. Long finish with papaya, vanilla, and a little bittersweet cocoa. Red Spot is a special whiskey—the best Irish Whiskey I’ve had thus far. It is by no means a daily sipper, but if you’re serious about whisk(e)y in general, and Irish Whiskey in particular, it’s a must-have. Red Spot can be found for about $200. Would I buy it? (Not again, as this one is on temporary loan from a friend). Yes. 4.5 on the Distiller scale. 46% ABV. 15-year age statement. Non-chill filtered. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

HIGH WEST SHOWDOWN High West American Prairie Bourbon High West Campfire High West A Midwinter Night’s Dram, Act 6 Scene 4 Continuing to work through whiskies in my collection that I’ve yet to review. High West is a Utah-based distiller that uses sourced whiskies in addition to their own distillate. To my knowledge, they don’t white-label any single sourced product; rather, they blend different whiskies. I became a fan when I acquired my first version of A Midwinter Night’s Dram, and I’ve since purchased a couple others. While each of these are quite different—one is a bourbon, one is a whiskey, and one is a blend of straight rye whiskies—their components are uniquely combined by the same producer. High West American Prairie Bourbon Color is a clear, bourbonesque Pantone 153. Nose evokes caramel, graham cracker, sawdust, and a light herbaceous note, along with cooling spearmint. Sweet palate with honey, candied orange, with an oaky spiciness that leads to a vanilla finish with good length. American Prairie Bourbon (now labeled “High West Bourbon”) uses sourced bourbon from both MGP and Kentucky. According to their website (the label directs you there for the specifics), the MGP mashbill is 75% corn, 21% rye, and 4% malted barley. Another (non-MGP) is 84% corn, 8% rye, and 8% malted barley. Additionally, it notes that “Other whiskey components are undisclosed due to contractual reasons.” I’m fine with this. Contracts are contracts. But there’s no obfuscation; no smoke and mirrors (well, there is smoke in the Campfire whiskey, below). They take pains to be clear and forthright. And my bottle notes that 10% of the bottle’s after-tax profits go to the American Prairie Reserve. APB offers sweetness, spice, complexity, 92 proof points, and can be found for just over $30. There are few if any bourbons in the market offering that combination and value. Would I buy it again? Yes. Without hesitation. Pour it neat, turn on the TV to “Yellowstone,” and embrace your inner cowboy. 4.0 on the Distiller scale. 46% ABV. NAS. Batch 17J27. Non chill filtered. No added coloring. High West Campfire Whiskey Color is slightly lighter than the American Prairie Bourbon, and registers around Pantone 138. Nose shows smoke and honey, honey and smoke, some clove, and cool spearmint. Smoke and honey, honey and smoke: High West Campfire is the Islay of the Rockies. The unique combination of smoke and sweetness is unlike the sweet and smoke of some Ardbeg offerings, or Lagavulin Distiller’s Edition. It is uniquely High West, who is to be commended for blazing new whiskey trails and merging disparate distillates (and flavor profiles) with aplomb. Campfire retails for $80. There is nothing like it, anywhere. Would I buy it again? Yes. 4.0 on the Distiller scale. 46% ABV. Batch 17R15 High West A Midwinter Night’s Dram Rye Whiskey, Act 6 Scene 4 This whiskey is the darkest of the bunch, with deep russet hues that show as Pantone 160. The nose greets you with copious brown sugar, mulled cider, baked apples, some oaky vanilla (in a non-cacophanous way), and a pleasantly unambiguous sweet rye note. The whiskey meets the tongue with a light oiliness, melding into classic rye spice, finishing long, with more vanilla. Superb. A Midwinter Night’s Dram has a few releases each year: “Act” refers to the year since the first release, and “Scene” refers to the iteration of that year’s release. According to the distiller, this bottling begins with the High West Renezvous Rye (which includes both High West and sourced distillate) and is finished in both tawny and ruby port barrels. “Words, words, words” said The Bard whom the title references. “Rye, rye, rye” says the humble writer of this paean to the Utopians of Utah. Or, not quite homonymically: “aye, aye, aye.” I bought this bottle some time ago; apparently now the current release retails for about $250, according to an Internet search, although High West’s website shows a retail price of $125. I think I paid around $90 a few years back (this particular bottle was in my inventory, unopened until tonight). Would I buy it again? Aye. Even if I had to sell something. 4.25 on the Distiller scale. 49.3% ABV. There’s much to like about High West Distillery. Their bottles are rustic, with air bubbles within the glass, uneven bottle floors, and dappled surfaces. The labels feature ragged-edged fonts. Their products feature Western-themed names, with the exception of A Midwinter Night’s Dram—and who am I to have a beef with channeling Shakespeare? Rugged with a touch of sophistication. And it’s not just the marketing. High West’s whiskies are non-chill filtered and have no added coloring. The labels are specific in mashbills; disclose sourcing details when they are contractually allowed; and spin stories that have no need for the literary suspension of disbelief. The point-size of the copious fine print crammed into the back labels suggests a friendly transparency and warm embrace. There is nothing to hide here. High West doesn’t sell any watered-down 80-proof whiskies, which suggests not only a commitment to quality, but the concomitant high proof is symbiotic with their rough Western vibe. They have a philanthropic ethos. All of this suggests a vision that is committed to quality—and even art, considering their consistent marketing themes. Horace Greely had it right: “Go West, young man!” N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

HIGH WEST SHOWDOWN High West American Prairie Bourbon High West Campfire High West A Midwinter Night’s Dram, Act 6 Scene 4 Continuing to work through whiskies in my collection that I’ve yet to review. High West is a Utah-based distiller that uses sourced whiskies in addition to their own distillate. To my knowledge, they don’t white-label any single sourced product; rather, they blend different whiskies. I became a fan when I acquired my first version of A Midwinter Night’s Dram, and I’ve since purchased a couple others. While each of these are quite different—one is a bourbon, one is a whiskey, and one is a blend of straight rye whiskies—their components are uniquely combined by the same producer. High West American Prairie Bourbon Color is a clear, bourbonesque Pantone 153. Nose evokes caramel, graham cracker, sawdust, and a light herbaceous note, along with cooling spearmint. Sweet palate with honey, candied orange, with an oaky spiciness that leads to a vanilla finish with good length. American Prairie Bourbon (now labeled “High West Bourbon”) uses sourced bourbon from both MGP and Kentucky. According to their website (the label directs you there for the specifics), the MGP mashbill is 75% corn, 21% rye, and 4% malted barley. Another (non-MGP) is 84% corn, 8% rye, and 8% malted barley. Additionally, it notes that “Other whiskey components are undisclosed due to contractual reasons.” I’m fine with this. Contracts are contracts. But there’s no obfuscation; no smoke and mirrors (well, there is smoke in the Campfire whiskey, below). They take pains to be clear and forthright. And my bottle notes that 10% of the bottle’s after-tax profits go to the American Prairie Reserve. APB offers sweetness, spice, complexity, 92 proof points, and can be found for just over $30. There are few if any bourbons in the market offering that combination and value. Would I buy it again? Yes. Without hesitation. Pour it neat, turn on the TV to “Yellowstone,” and embrace your inner cowboy. 4.0 on the Distiller scale. 46% ABV. NAS. Batch 17J27. Non chill filtered. No added coloring. High West Campfire Whiskey Color is slightly lighter than the American Prairie Bourbon, and registers around Pantone 138. Nose shows smoke and honey, honey and smoke, some clove, and cool spearmint. Smoke and honey, honey and smoke: High West Campfire is the Islay of the Rockies. The unique combination of smoke and sweetness is unlike the sweet and smoke of some Ardbeg offerings, or Lagavulin Distiller’s Edition. It is uniquely High West, who is to be commended for blazing new whiskey trails and merging disparate distillates (and flavor profiles) with aplomb. Campfire retails for $80. There is nothing like it, anywhere. Would I buy it again? Yes. 4.0 on the Distiller scale. 46% ABV. Batch 17R15 High West A Midwinter Night’s Dram Rye Whiskey, Act 6 Scene 4 This whiskey is the darkest of the bunch, with deep russet hues that show as Pantone 160. The nose greets you with copious brown sugar, mulled cider, baked apples, some oaky vanilla (in a non-cacophanous way), and a pleasantly unambiguous sweet rye note. The whiskey meets the tongue with a light oiliness, melding into classic rye spice, finishing long, with more vanilla. Superb. A Midwinter Night’s Dram has a few releases each year: “Act” refers to the year since the first release, and “Scene” refers to the iteration of that year’s release. According to the distiller, this bottling begins with the High West Renezvous Rye (which includes both High West and sourced distillate) and is finished in both tawny and ruby port barrels. “Words, words, words” said The Bard whom the title references. “Rye, rye, rye” says the humble writer of this paean to the Utopians of Utah. Or, not quite homonymically: “aye, aye, aye.” I bought this bottle some time ago; apparently now the current release retails for about $250, according to an Internet search, although High West’s website shows a retail price of $125. I think I paid around $90 a few years back (this particular bottle was in my inventory, unopened until tonight). Would I buy it again? Aye. Even if I had to sell something. 4.25 on the Distiller scale. 49.3% ABV. There’s much to like about High West Distillery. Their bottles are rustic, with air bubbles within the glass, uneven bottle floors, and dappled surfaces. The labels feature ragged-edged fonts. Their products feature Western-themed names, with the exception of A Midwinter Night’s Dram—and who am I to have a beef with channeling Shakespeare? Rugged with a touch of sophistication. And it’s not just the marketing. High West’s whiskies are non-chill filtered and have no added coloring. The labels are specific in mashbills; disclose sourcing details when they are contractually allowed; and spin stories that have no need for the literary suspension of disbelief. The point-size of the copious fine print crammed into the back labels suggests a friendly transparency and warm embrace. There is nothing to hide here. High West doesn’t sell any watered-down 80-proof whiskies, which suggests not only a commitment to quality, but the concomitant high proof is symbiotic with their rough Western vibe. They have a philanthropic ethos. All of this suggests a vision that is committed to quality—and even art, considering their consistent marketing themes. Horace Greely had it right: “Go West, young man!” N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

HIGH WEST SHOWDOWN High West American Prairie Bourbon High West Campfire High West A Midwinter Night’s Dram, Act 6 Scene 4 Continuing to work through whiskies in my collection that I’ve yet to review. High West is a Utah-based distiller that uses sourced whiskies in addition to their own distillate. To my knowledge, they don’t white-label any single sourced product; rather, they blend different whiskies. I became a fan when I acquired my first version of A Midwinter Night’s Dram, and I’ve since purchased a couple others. While each of these are quite different—one is a bourbon, one is a whiskey, and one is a blend of straight rye whiskies—their components are uniquely combined by the same producer. High West American Prairie Bourbon Color is a clear, bourbonesque Pantone 153. Nose evokes caramel, graham cracker, sawdust, and a light herbaceous note, along with cooling spearmint. Sweet palate with honey, candied orange, with an oaky spiciness that leads to a vanilla finish with good length. American Prairie Bourbon (now labeled “High West Bourbon”) uses sourced bourbon from both MGP and Kentucky. According to their website (the label directs you there for the specifics), the MGP mashbill is 75% corn, 21% rye, and 4% malted barley. Another (non-MGP) is 84% corn, 8% rye, and 8% malted barley. Additionally, it notes that “Other whiskey components are undisclosed due to contractual reasons.” I’m fine with this. Contracts are contracts. But there’s no obfuscation; no smoke and mirrors (well, there is smoke in the Campfire whiskey, below). They take pains to be clear and forthright. And my bottle notes that 10% of the bottle’s after-tax profits go to the American Prairie Reserve. APB offers sweetness, spice, complexity, 92 proof points, and can be found for just over $30. There are few if any bourbons in the market offering that combination and value. Would I buy it again? Yes. Without hesitation. Pour it neat, turn on the TV to “Yellowstone,” and embrace your inner cowboy. 4.0 on the Distiller scale. 46% ABV. NAS. Batch 17J27. Non chill filtered. No added coloring. High West Campfire Whiskey Color is slightly lighter than the American Prairie Bourbon, and registers around Pantone 138. Nose shows smoke and honey, honey and smoke, some clove, and cool spearmint. Smoke and honey, honey and smoke: High West Campfire is the Islay of the Rockies. The unique combination of smoke and sweetness is unlike the sweet and smoke of some Ardbeg offerings, or Lagavulin Distiller’s Edition. It is uniquely High West, who is to be commended for blazing new whiskey trails and merging disparate distillates (and flavor profiles) with aplomb. Campfire retails for $80. There is nothing like it, anywhere. Would I buy it again? Yes. 4.0 on the Distiller scale. 46% ABV. Batch 17R15 High West A Midwinter Night’s Dram Rye Whiskey, Act 6 Scene 4 This whiskey is the darkest of the bunch, with deep russet hues that show as Pantone 160. The nose greets you with copious brown sugar, mulled cider, baked apples, some oaky vanilla (in a non-cacophanous way), and a pleasantly unambiguous sweet rye note. The whiskey meets the tongue with a light oiliness, melding into classic rye spice, finishing long, with more vanilla. Superb. A Midwinter Night’s Dram has a few releases each year: “Act” refers to the year since the first release, and “Scene” refers to the iteration of that year’s release. According to the distiller, this bottling begins with the High West Renezvous Rye (which includes both High West and sourced distillate) and is finished in both tawny and ruby port barrels. “Words, words, words” said The Bard whom the title references. “Rye, rye, rye” says the humble writer of this paean to the Utopians of Utah. Or, not quite homonymically: “aye, aye, aye.” I bought this bottle some time ago; apparently now the current release retails for about $250, according to an Internet search, although High West’s website shows a retail price of $125. I think I paid around $90 a few years back (this particular bottle was in my inventory, unopened until tonight). Would I buy it again? Aye. Even if I had to sell something. 4.25 on the Distiller scale. 49.3% ABV. There’s much to like about High West Distillery. Their bottles are rustic, with air bubbles within the glass, uneven bottle floors, and dappled surfaces. The labels feature ragged-edged fonts. Their products feature Western-themed names, with the exception of A Midwinter Night’s Dram—and who am I to have a beef with channeling Shakespeare? Rugged with a touch of sophistication. And it’s not just the marketing. High West’s whiskies are non-chill filtered and have no added coloring. The labels are specific in mashbills; disclose sourcing details when they are contractually allowed; and spin stories that have no need for the literary suspension of disbelief. The point-size of the copious fine print crammed into the back labels suggests a friendly transparency and warm embrace. There is nothing to hide here. High West doesn’t sell any watered-down 80-proof whiskies, which suggests not only a commitment to quality, but the concomitant high proof is symbiotic with their rough Western vibe. They have a philanthropic ethos. All of this suggests a vision that is committed to quality—and even art, considering their consistent marketing themes. Horace Greely had it right: “Go West, young man!” N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

BLENDED SCOTCH WHISKY SHOWDOWN Dewar’s White Label Pig’s Nose Johnnie Walker Green Label Continuing to work through whiskies in my collection that I’ve yet to review. While this trio may appear incongruous—the Dewar’s and Pig’s Nose are bottom-shelf, while the Johnnie Walker 15 is top-shelf—they are the only blended scotch whiskies that I own. Further, the Dewar’s and Pig’s Nose are technically Blended Scotch Whisky, which means that they are comprised of both malt and grain whiskies. The Green Label is a Blended Malt Whisky, which contains only single-malt whiskies. I’ve not had any of these in quite some time (i.e., years). Based on what I recall, I believe the scores will be ranked in ascending order as I sample them alphabetically. Let’s find out. Dewar’s White Label Color is a clear Pantone 129. Very muted nose shows light pear, saline, and hay notes. There’s some surprising viscosity on the palate, which has a sweet honey element, transitioning to gentle white pepper and even a little vanilla on the medium-length finish. I’ve never purchased Dewar’s White Label. I recall that this bottle came as an already-opened party “gift” some years ago and has remained at its current 20% level since then. After tasting it, however, I must say that I’m surprised: there are no intrinsic flaws per se. Rather, the positive attributes that it does have are lightweight, which is merely less positive rather than overtly negative. I did not pour my falsely prejudiced swill down the drain, dear reader; my first of three Glencairn glasses now sits on my desk, empty. Still, Dewar’s White Label should not be considered an “introductory” whisky for the neophyte (Oban 14, while more expensive, is wonderful for both the newbie and connoisseur). This is a whisky intended to be cheap scotch for restaurants and parties, and for that I may one day be thankful if I find myself in a situation with no other alternative. The economics are obvious: 40% ABV is the bare minimum for a whisky designation, and ostensibly the unknown blending elements are secured on the cheap by Bacardi, it’s owner, and watered down as well. Dewar’s White Label is readily available for about $25. Would I buy it (for the first time)? No. But that doesn’t mean that I’d turn my nose up at it at my son’s frat party during Parent’s Weekend. In fact, I’d enjoy it. 3.0 on the Distiller scale. 40% ABV. NAS. Pig’s Nose Color is a touch darker than the Dewar’s; Pantone 142. Sweet honey nose, with added apples, hay, salt, and the tiniest bit of peat. Mouthfeel is slightly less viscous than the Dewar’s, but is not devoid of it. The palate exhibits more honeyed sweetness. Very little spiciness, and a short finish. Still, Pig’s Nose comes across as more robust than the Dewar’s: think simple, but at a higher volume. Whence the name? From the box: “’Tis said that our scotch is as soft and as smooth as a pig’s nose.” To continue the alliteration: not only soft and smooth, but also a quite unporcine sweet (which is not a bad thing). Perhaps the marketing department couldn’t conjure a complementary concise commentary. Pig’s Nose is widely available for about $30. Would I buy it again? No, for the same rationale behind my assessment of the Dewar’s. No lipstick on this pig, but the pork still tastes pretty good. 3.0 on the Distiller scale. 40% ABV. 5-Year age statement. Johnnie Walker Green Label Color is deeper than the Pig’s Nose; Pantone 130. Nose, palate, finish: everything about the Green Label is superior to the previous two entrants. Nose emits honey, salt, stewed-apple oatmeal, cured deli ham, a floral gardenia, and the slightest whiff of smoke. Lightly viscous palate explodes with the same flavors, with added intensity (“explodes” is not histrionic here). There’s some white-pepper spiciness, and a long finish with the sweet, salt, and smoke of bacon jam. As a blended malt whisky, Green Label is a blend of Talisker, Linkwood, Cragganmore, and Caol Ila (there may be others). After hearing several online whisky acquaintances sing the praises of Johnnie Walker Green Label, I decided to purchase a bottle (this was a few years ago). It was not an easy task, as I was unable to find one quickly. When I first tasted it some time ago, I was unable to appreciate the enthusiasm. I now rectify that shortcoming. JW Green Label retails for around $60 today, which is about what I paid for it some time ago. Would I buy it again? Yes. This is a complex whisky with a 15-year age statement (there could be older components), and significant value given these attributes. I’d love to experience it at a higher proof; the aromatics and flavor profile could certainly support it. 4.25 on the Distiller scale. 43% ABV. 15-Year age statement. Separately: @stephaniemoreno rates this whisky at 95, and I concur—kind of. Green Label is very good. But it’s also problematic that the “Tasting Notes” by Stephanie and others are on some kind of a 0-100 scale, but the actual users have a 0-5 scale in quarter-point increments. This is bad design, plain and simple: I do know a thing or two about UX, and I say this from the perspective of someone who founded (and sold) a consumer-facing software company. The scales should be the same for both expert and user. There are other ways to improve basic functionality as well, and I’ve emailed these to Distiller with little success. Off my soapbox—for now. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

BLENDED SCOTCH WHISKY SHOWDOWN Dewar’s White Label Pig’s Nose Johnnie Walker Green Label Continuing to work through whiskies in my collection that I’ve yet to review. While this trio may appear incongruous—the Dewar’s and Pig’s Nose are bottom-shelf, while the Johnnie Walker 15 is top-shelf—they are the only blended scotch whiskies that I own. Further, the Dewar’s and Pig’s Nose are technically Blended Scotch Whisky, which means that they are comprised of both malt and grain whiskies. The Green Label is a Blended Malt Whisky, which contains only single-malt whiskies. I’ve not had any of these in quite some time (i.e., years). Based on what I recall, I believe the scores will be ranked in ascending order as I sample them alphabetically. Let’s find out. Dewar’s White Label Color is a clear Pantone 129. Very muted nose shows light pear, saline, and hay notes. There’s some surprising viscosity on the palate, which has a sweet honey element, transitioning to gentle white pepper and even a little vanilla on the medium-length finish. I’ve never purchased Dewar’s White Label. I recall that this bottle came as an already-opened party “gift” some years ago and has remained at its current 20% level since then. After tasting it, however, I must say that I’m surprised: there are no intrinsic flaws per se. Rather, the positive attributes that it does have are lightweight, which is merely less positive rather than overtly negative. I did not pour my falsely prejudiced swill down the drain, dear reader; my first of three Glencairn glasses now sits on my desk, empty. Still, Dewar’s White Label should not be considered an “introductory” whisky for the neophyte (Oban 14, while more expensive, is wonderful for both the newbie and connoisseur). This is a whisky intended to be cheap scotch for restaurants and parties, and for that I may one day be thankful if I find myself in a situation with no other alternative. The economics are obvious: 40% ABV is the bare minimum for a whisky designation, and ostensibly the unknown blending elements are secured on the cheap by Bacardi, it’s owner, and watered down as well. Dewar’s White Label is readily available for about $25. Would I buy it (for the first time)? No. But that doesn’t mean that I’d turn my nose up at it at my son’s frat party during Parent’s Weekend. In fact, I’d enjoy it. 3.0 on the Distiller scale. 40% ABV. NAS. Pig’s Nose Color is a touch darker than the Dewar’s; Pantone 142. Sweet honey nose, with added apples, hay, salt, and the tiniest bit of peat. Mouthfeel is slightly less viscous than the Dewar’s, but is not devoid of it. The palate exhibits more honeyed sweetness. Very little spiciness, and a short finish. Still, Pig’s Nose comes across as more robust than the Dewar’s: think simple, but at a higher volume. Whence the name? From the box: “’Tis said that our scotch is as soft and as smooth as a pig’s nose.” To continue the alliteration: not only soft and smooth, but also a quite unporcine sweet (which is not a bad thing). Perhaps the marketing department couldn’t conjure a complementary concise commentary. Pig’s Nose is widely available for about $30. Would I buy it again? No, for the same rationale behind my assessment of the Dewar’s. No lipstick on this pig, but the pork still tastes pretty good. 3.0 on the Distiller scale. 40% ABV. 5-Year age statement. Johnnie Walker Green Label Color is deeper than the Pig’s Nose; Pantone 130. Nose, palate, finish: everything about the Green Label is superior to the previous two entrants. Nose emits honey, salt, stewed-apple oatmeal, cured deli ham, a floral gardenia, and the slightest whiff of smoke. Lightly viscous palate explodes with the same flavors, with added intensity (“explodes” is not histrionic here). There’s some white-pepper spiciness, and a long finish with the sweet, salt, and smoke of bacon jam. As a blended malt whisky, Green Label is a blend of Talisker, Linkwood, Cragganmore, and Caol Ila (there may be others). After hearing several online whisky acquaintances sing the praises of Johnnie Walker Green Label, I decided to purchase a bottle (this was a few years ago). It was not an easy task, as I was unable to find one quickly. When I first tasted it some time ago, I was unable to appreciate the enthusiasm. I now rectify that shortcoming. JW Green Label retails for around $60 today, which is about what I paid for it some time ago. Would I buy it again? Yes. This is a complex whisky with a 15-year age statement (there could be older components), and significant value given these attributes. I’d love to experience it at a higher proof; the aromatics and flavor profile could certainly support it. 4.25 on the Distiller scale. 43% ABV. 15-Year age statement. Separately: @stephaniemoreno rates this whisky at 95, and I concur—kind of. Green Label is very good. But it’s also problematic that the “Tasting Notes” by Stephanie and others are on some kind of a 0-100 scale, but the actual users have a 0-5 scale in quarter-point increments. This is bad design, plain and simple: I do know a thing or two about UX, and I say this from the perspective of someone who founded (and sold) a consumer-facing software company. The scales should be the same for both expert and user. There are other ways to improve basic functionality as well, and I’ve emailed these to Distiller with little success. Off my soapbox—for now. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.