Tastes

Mortlach 16-year-old is bottled at 43.4% ABV and is a mix of whisky aged in refill bourbon, first fill bourbon, and European oak sherry casks. It sells for around $100-140. This is a Mortlach. There have been many releases of Mortlach that are not Mortlachs, and many of those have been official releases by Diageo. When a Mortlach is a Mortlach, it is a spectacular whisky. A Mortlach needs some age, and probably some sherry influence, to become a Mortlach. This has both. The 16 years is right around the time Mortlach’s mature, and I haven’t tried any NAS releases or anything much younger than 16 years that have been worthy of the Mortlach on the label. The sherry influence in this whisky is prominent, and if the casks were a little sulfered, it is hidden well by Mortlach’s own characteristic sulfur profile. Dried shitake mushroom is a beautiful complement to a rich chicken broth. This whisky gives me memories of that broth, with molten, orange-scented candlewax, ripe plums, and rotting cardboard left out in a rainstorm. The palate is still meaty, with chocolate covered clementines that lead up to a burst of spiciness, followed by a long finish of just-burnt matchsticks, taro root, and prunes. In 2024, I am compiling a list of widely available and reasonably priced single malts that are of exemplary character. So far, I only have the Port Charlotte 10, the Bunnahabhain 12, and this Mortlach 16. Buy this one.

Lagavulin 11 year old, Offerman Edition, Caribbean Rum Cask Finish is a limited edition (the 4th edition) peated single malt that spent 8 months being finished in ex-Caribbean rum casks. It is bottled at 46% ABV and sells for around $80-100. Would Nick Offerman, the epic character who he embodies, do this? Would he take a classic Islay spirit matured in good old American oak, and put it into a Caribbean rum cask? I don’t think so. The marketing doesn’t make sense, and the actual whisky doesn’t make sense. Yes, you can taste the rum influence, especially if you have this side by side with the Lagavulin 11 year old, charred oak cask, which is a lovely Lagavulin, superior to the modern 16 year old. Side plug, buy the charred oak cask. This Caribbean rum cask edition has tropical notes in the beginning. There’s tequila, lime, lemon, crème brulee, and perhaps a salt rim from a poor-life-choices margarita. These notes only serve to disturb the poise of a proper Lagavulin that tries to reclaim control towards the end of the palate and throughout the finish, which features honey, vanilla, cigarette ash, and hickory smoked bacon. Poor 11 year old Lagavulin. You could have just been released as is, and instead you were hit in the head with a Caribbean rum cask. They should have called this the concussion edition, or the brain damage edition. This may be what Nick Offerman would try to release after he gets drunk and falls while dancing to Caribbean music after he drank too much of a proper Lagavulin (liked the charred oak cask); and this may be the secret to this whisky. If you’ve drank so much good Islay Scotch that you’re ready to dance, try this flamboyant expression. Or don’t. I recommend that you don’t.

Edradour Caledonia 12-year-old is bottled at 46% ABV. It is a single malt that spends around 8 years in ex-bourbon casks before spending its remaining time maturing in ex-Oloroso sherry casks. This sells for around $75-100. I am reviewing the 2020 bottling. I rarely mention the color of a whisky, because I usually don’t care, but this bottle has the words “natural colour” on it, and it is the color of an old Macallan 18. It even has some of that legendary aroma: figs, sultanas, and coffee - quintessential old school sherry up the wazoo. And then there’s some malt, oak, and alcohol nip, reminding you that there’s some whisky in this sherry. The amount of sherry influence on the nose and opening of this whisky is stupid. Stupid in its sheer amplitude, and stupidly enjoyable. Bravo, for making me feel like a desperately single 45-year-old British woman haunting the classier university pubs. But, it’s not quite Macallan 18. The sweet dark fruits dissipate, and the ending has harshness and bitterness; salty dark chocolate, if I’m being optimistic, but an alcohol-soaked burnt sugar bit of flotsam, if I’m being real. Boo, for making me feel like a desperately single 45-year-old pirate with scurvy and a wooden leg. Overall, this is not bad, and Edradour deserves to be able to charge a few more dollars above the typical 12-year-old single malt price curve because this is a fairly memorable experience. It’s like they poured a nice sherry into a whisky. This is a mixed drink. The sherry obliterates any notion of an ex-bourbon matured whisky at the beginning, and then a rather average and young tasting whisky emerges to reclaim this mix in the end.

Dewar’s Signature is a blended Scotch whisky with no age statement, bottled at 40% ABV. It sells for around $200-300. The Dewar’s version of things is that “the heart” of this blend is a 27 year old Aberfeldy. The heart probably does not mean the majority, or they would have used more precise wording. The heart of a human being, for example, is less than 1% of a human being, by mass. What I am trying to suggest is that how can Dewar’s afford to put anything except Mott’s Apple Juice, mixed with moonshine, mixed with less than 1% twenty-seven year old Aberfeldy when this whisky is put in an extraordinarily heavy bottle in an extraordinarily shiny lacquered wooden box, and not charge like $500? And yet they managed. This whisky is very Aberfeldy, and quite aged. There are undoubtedly some grain whiskies in this blend, but they are not there to cut costs, and add to the overall experience. Honestly, if I was trying this blind, with the false information that Compass Box composed this blended Scotch, I would believe it. The only cheap ingredient in here is water. The majority of this whisky is water. If you can tolerate a 40% ABV dram, then this one shouldn’t be too disappointing. It is, display box and all, certainly a pleaser for the masses. Most often, I get beautiful notes of orange peel, milk chocolate, honey, and sponge cake. Cake is probably the theme of this whisky. Its layers of complexity can all be reminiscent of various light cakes: peach cobbler pound cake, fresh apple cake, Rice Crispies cake. The secondary theme is flowers. You can imagine some rose in here, but mostly even lighter flowers, such as freesia, lavender, and gardenia. All of this is appropriate for this time of the year (beginning of summer). Would this be a better whisky at a higher ABV? Yes. Recently, I have been appreciative of lower ABV expressions, and wondering how much of the quest for full cask-strength expressions is just alcoholism. 40% ABV is plenty of ABV for average people, who will probably even add an ice cube to cool this “beast” down, but I have not yet returned to such plebeian behavior. I can imagine that, if this Dewar’s Signature was at 46%, it would have my full endorsement. 46%, or a heavy metal stopper. This current stopper is plastic, which is a little bit of an embarrassment. The stopper is the shoes of a luxurious whisky presentation. This is like showing up in a bespoke tailored suit from Milan and Kenneth Cole shoes. The headline for this review could be “Dewar’s Signature is surprisingly good, will appeal to most people, and you can only dislike it if you are a whisky snob AND an alcoholic”, or “Dewar’s signature is mostly water, in a bottle, with a plastic stopper.”

Ardbeg BizarreBQ is a no-age-statement peated single malt Scotch bottled at 50.9% ABV. It is matured in “a combination of double charred oak casks, Pedro Ximenez sherry casks and our unique BBQ casks.” It sells for $80-90 at MSRP, and I found one at this price. Those fuckers have done it. They have made a good Ardbeg at a reasonable price. They can make a good Ardbeg at a reasonable price. I still buy bottles of Ardbegs because they are fun to collect, even if they are horribly overpriced ripoffs for the liquid that you get. While Macallan selects only the rarest and most distinguished casks from Spain ad nauseum, Ardbeg sends Scotches into space, and uses BBQ casks. I don’t care what a BBQ cask even is. Did it contain BBQ sauce? Fine with me. Ardbeg BizarreBQ combines so much simplicity with forcefulness; it is barbaric. So imagine BBQ sauce, cherry wood smoked beef brisket, and just fucking cigarette ashtray. The finish is bacon burnt to a crisp. Cancer. I definitely get notes of malignancy. I don’t care if this was 5 years old. I don’t care if the PX influence was of poor quality and tastes like plastic. This whisky does not care. It is on a mission to bring you the smoke and bring you the BBQ. Fuck what you want because this is what you will get. From the marketing present before you open the bottle to the finish on the aftertaste, this whisky announces clearly what it is, and that has been missing from Ardbeg for so long. I remember at the start of my whisky journey being amazed at Lagavulin 16, for how meaty and manly it felt. This whisky is a whole new level of meat, BBQ sauce, smoke, and ash. If Nick Offerman has not tried this, loved this, and endorsed this, what is he even talking about?

Redbreast PX Cask Edition is no age statement and bottled at 46% ABV. After an initial maturation in bourbon and oloroso sherry casks, the combination is then finished in PX sherry casks for a minimum of 12 months. This is the 2013 edition. The MSRP is $100, but I have not seen this for less than $130 where I am at. This bottle convinced me that PX sherry is the perfect touch to Redbreast whiskey. After dinner, this is the perfect treat. It does not matter if you like Scotch, bourbon, or even Grand Marnier, this whiskey will appeal to you, if you can tolerate drinking a distilled spirit neat. I had a guest whose drink of choice was Grand Marnier, which I only stock because I cook with it, who got to try this bottle, Dewar’s Signature, and Grand Marnier. She liked this more than the Grand Marnier and thought that this was more like Grand Marnier than the Dewar’s. That is the level of dessert you are presented with when you have this whiskey. Although I find this far from Grand Marnier, there are definitely Grand Marnier hints in here. On the nose, there is grapes and raisins combined with maple syrup and orange zest over a backbone of buttered waffles and French toast. On the palate, it gets chocolaty and marmalady with a finish that is spicy with cloves and vanilla, with a linger of a take-your-pick delicious jam: grape, apricot, or raspberry. So, where I am, this whisky has a little bit of a secondary market markup, and I have seen it as high as $180. Get it for cheaper if you can, but even that is fair. This is a bottle that will please those who like to drink whiskey, and please those who don’t like to drink whiskey.

Redbreast Tawny Port Cask Edition does not have an age statement and it is bottled at 46% ABV. After an initial maturation in bourbon and oloroso sherry casks, the combination is then finished in seasoned tawny port hogsheads for 14-25 months. This is the 2023 edition. It sells for around $100-140. This is a serviceable whisky that suffers from a few problems that are not intrinsic to the liquid in the bottle but come to light when compared to other whiskies from the brand. One: this is a strictly inferior whisky compared to the cask strength 27-year-old ruby port. This whisky reminds me of the 27-year-old, which I picked up a few years back for ~$550, and now has climbed to around ~$700. This is still a pretty good deal for a 27-year-old cask strength release from a brand as reputable as Redbreast. And, if you can afford one bottle of the 27-year-old and want some delicious port influenced Irish single pot still whisky, I recommend buying one bottle of the 27-year-old instead of using that same money to buy 4 bottles of this Tawny Port. Alcohol is poison, and if you choose to poison yourself, make it the best tasting poison that you can afford. Or, if you can’t afford the Ruby Port, you can use the Tawny Port to see if it can inspire you to make more money, to try a thematically similar whisky that is better in every way. (I am joking. Buying more expensive bottles of whisky is a terrible reason to be inspired to make more money) Two: Redbreast should just put an age statement on this whisky. Now, I doubt they are slimy enough to put something younger than 12 years into this bottle and then charge almost twice as much as their basic 12-year-old, which is a foundational Irish whisky that I highly recommend if you have not tried it already, but this whisky feels more immature than the 12-year-old. With whisky, like with people, age does not always translate to maturity. My guess is that this is the 12-year-old Redbreast finished in seasoned tawny port casks, and these seasoned casks somehow made the final product more immature. Whereas the Redbreast 12-year-old is a mellow and relaxing experience, there is an additional dimension of overeager oakiness and spiciness to this whisky that makes it feel like it could be only 10 years old. Because I don’t consider this as good as the original 12-year-old, without an age statement, there is some paranoia that this is also cheaper to produce than the original 12-year-old, and this is a cynical consumer rip-off. Three: The Redbreast PX Edition (my next review) is a better whisky in the same price range. Redbreast should be more sherry influenced; it just goes well with the Spirit. Redbreast has never made a bad whisky, to my knowledge, because it always invokes that feeling of a freshly baked cookie with brown sugar, vanilla, cinnamon, walnuts, and butter. But the raisins and dark chocolate are what this recipe needs, and they are not provided by this tawny port finish. You get an extra hit of oranges and wood, but I don’t think that’s helping. If this Redbreast Tawny Port was the first Redbreast that I have tried, I would probably have thought that this was a flawed but promising expression, and I would have been open to trying more Redbreasts in the future. But, because I have tried other Redbreasts, I must make the following alternative suggestions: - Core range age expressions (12-year, 15-year, 21-year): All are great. The 21 year (~$400 now) is still the best Redbreast that I’ve tried so far. The 12-year can still be found on shelves for less than $70, and it is immaculate. - 12-year cask strength (~$100): Probably the best value for money Redbreast, if you’re into that kind of thing. - Redbreast PX Edition (~$150): Much better cask to finish a Redbreast with. - Redbreast Ruby Port 27-year-old (~$700): Like this Tawny Port, but infinitely better, but not as good as the 21-year-old, so I would just buy another bottle of the 21-year-old instead, if I was itching to purchase this again.

The Balvenie Pedro Ximenez Cask 18-year-old is matured in American oak and finished for an undisclosed amount of time in PX sherry butts. It is bottled at 48.7% ABV. It is a travel retail exclusive that I bought crossing into Canada from Buffalo last year for $280 CAN (about $200 US). This was a nice surprise. A modern sherried whisky that is not a poor life decision is uncommon; and a Balvenie that is not $500 or more that I enjoy is rare. I still prefer a Balvenie TUN at $500 than this bottle, but the real novelty is that this is a travel retail exclusive that is not garbage and is better than the core range. This is a far more engaging whisky than the 17-year-old Double Wood or the 21-year-old Port Wood, but it is still just as approachable for the non-enthusiast. Like most Balvenies, anyone who can tolerate drinking a whisky neat will be able to tolerate drinking this whisky neat. The PX finish does its job on the nose; there is so much raisin goodness! Raisins, caramel fudge, orange zest, and cacao powder. This smells like it belongs on a sundae. Things fall apart on the palate as the brilliant sherry character on the nose struggles to remain prominent. You still get pleasant creamy, honeyed, sweet and spicy 18-year-old Balvenie, but you can tell that this could’ve used more exposure to the PX butt. This whisky recovers somewhat on the finish, as the raisins and oranges come back, and the lingering aftertaste is quite satisfying, worthy of a few post-swallow lipsmacks.

Longrow Red Refill Malbec Matured is age stated at 10 years. It is matured for 7 years in bourbon barrels and in South African refill malbec barriques for 3 years. It is a limited release of 10,000 bottles. It is bottled at cask strength, 52.5% ABV. I do not know the MSRP for this bottle, and you probably won’t be able to find this at MSRP. I bought this one on the secondary for $200. I love Longrow Red. There is something immensely pleasurable about the dirty, diesel fuel that is Longrow combined with the elegant fruits of a good red wine. Every release feels elevated because the red wine barrels that are used were actually from something drinkable, and the amount of influence from the wine is bold. This is a malbec braising liquid reduced to just short of sauce consistency on some savory, meaty cask strength Longrow. You can still smell the malbec grapes on the nose. It is macerated in diesel fuel and dirt. On the palate, there is a mouth-watering acidity from the immense wine influence, like raspberry and basalmic vinegar, but with that meaty, ashy backbone of Longrow. The transition from something bright and effervescent into something savory and umami and finally into cigar ashes is an irresistible experience. This is not the best Longrow Red, which I would have to give to the 15 year Pinot Noir, but this is a Longrow Red, and they are all pretty similar. If you’ve never had one before, I would recommend trying a pour first, because it is definitely not for everyone; and then if you like it as much as I do, seek out any bottles that you can find at a reasonable price, for which I believe the Octomore price range (~$300) is fair. It is THAT special.

Compass Box Delos is a limited release of 5,520 bottles. It is a blended Scotch that is 33.4% Imperial single malt aged in first fill bourbon, 28.5% Glen Elgin single malt aged in recharred American oak, 21.2% Miltonduff single malt aged in first fill bourbon, and 16.9% The Cameronbridge single grain aged in first fill bourbon. It is one of four releases in Compass Box’s Extinct Quartet series, which are blends that are inspired by blends of yesteryear, which are no longer released. Delos is inspired by Compass Box’s Asyla. Delos is bottled at 49% ABV and sells for around $300-350. I remember Asyla for not being memorable. It was a decent summer sipper that satisfied a craving for a mellow, vanilla ex-bourbon only Scotch that had no noise from sherry maturation or peat. Delos is an expensive take on being unmemorable. This is a flawless first fill bourbon matured whisky. Whereas “mature” was debatable with Asyla, Delos is clearly well aged. The crisp vanilla and fruitcake notes of first fill bourbon are complemented by some dusty leather, apricots, must, and an exquisitely rich honey. The mouthfeel for Asyla is thick and syrupy, like honey. There is a transition from an initially creamy, sweet profile to a grassy, herbaceous finish. This is honestly lovely. I’d imagine this is what would happen to Asyla if you put Asyla into a bourbon cask for 20 years. I dare not open a bottle of Asyla to compare it to Delos because Asyla on the secondary market is about the price of Delos, which highlights the problem with Compass Box releases: they are pricey, and they are collectible. I would not say that Delos is overpriced, because that well-aged Imperial single malt is not something you can just find on a liquor store shelf, but is opening a bottle worth it? 10 years from now, I’m not going to remember Delos except that it was a very nice whisky, and it was expensive, and, when it climbs to $1000 on the secondary market, it was a bottle that I shouldn’t have opened. Compass Box has recent releases that I do not regret opening – Vellichor was like a woman shredding an electric guitar in a library – but Delos? It’s like a woman playing a harp at a fancy restaurant. It’s nice; it’s quaint; but it’s ultimately a chunk of money for something forgettable.