Tastes

2oz pour Had an interesting experience with this one at a bar. For me, this was a pretty good dram. I’d buy a full bottle if I saw it for ~$150, but it’s nothing I’d hunt down or pay way over retail for. But the couple sitting beside me was curious, and the height of their whisky experience was Glenlivet 18 and Macallan 15. I let them smell, and they were mind blown, and ended buying their own glass. The hook of Japanese whisky, and why demand is so high, is there is stunning beauty on the nose, but the palate is soft and approachable. And the finish is gentle but lasting. It’s Geisha-esque. This particular dram had an intoxicatingly rich butterscotch vanilla cream essence that you could smell 6 feet away from the glass. Smoke is there to add support, but is almost unnoticeable. The palate is soft and juicy, and the juiciness continues into the finish, which is wonderfully fruity and not at all drying, unlike most Scotches. To the beginner malt drinker still singing praises for the Glenlivets and Macallans, Scotches don’t stand a chance. 91.5 / 100

Curious indeed. Apples and bacon are a time-honored combination, and this offers that and more. On the nose, it’s not much. Some inky smoke and Speyside fruitiness, tea and butter. Nothing special. But the palate really raises the eyebrows. Lovely texture. A slimy fruitiness, like nectarines and papayas, immediately and completely overwhelmed by a savory and ashy peatiness. But the seaspray salt/iodine is lacking, which is interesting. Curious indeed. The finish is dry and ashy, lacking the maritime soul of Islay. I recommend this bottle. Benriach is one of the distilleries that are getting better. This dram is a proper Speyside interpretation of a peat monster. PRESUMPTIVE MARK: 87/100.

This is not a review. The bottle is very interesting. The contents are interesting too. But not as much as the bottle, which is ironic. The bottle misses the irony, as well. It should be labeled “This is not luxury.” The famous painting this Compass Box release draws inspiration from is a Rene Magritte painting of a cigar pipe that reads “Ceci n’est pas une pipe (This is not a pipe).” And it’s not a pipe. The painting is an abstraction of the object. This bottle of whisky is an object, and luxury is the abstraction. Hence, potentially, Compass Box could have had the clever, artful flip, scrutinizing an object representing the abstraction; the opposite of Magritte’s painting. But they missed the cleverness. “This Is Not a Luxury Whisky” is just a clunky reference that feels like a gimmick. And the message telling you that a whisky is about the liquid, and it should be drank is nauseating exposition. “This Is Not Luxury” would have been the perfect name. No exposition. I mean, you can include notes and objective information. But I hate being told how to interpret something. And it’s not luxury. It’s got grain in it. 40 year old grain whisky, but it’s grain whisky, and I’m not into it. Not my thing. Most of this whisky is 19 year old Glen Ord malt, and that gives this blend a Highland fruity and floral base. But I can’t escape the feeling that when you mix 40 year old grain with a 19 year old malt, you get something that tastes like a 15 year old whisky. It’s those acetone, banana notes. It’s richer and more oily here, but it’s not something I immediately am going to like. Yeah, I’m not sure about the grain. It’s one of those things that is interesting for me, but not necessarily attractive. Like dwarves. Anyways, the grain loses its grip on the spotlight quickly, and things get better. The finish is one of the most dynamic and complex of any whisky I’ve had. The Islay minority that was suppressed on the nose, and the arrival, starts to unpretty this whisky, and it just goes back and forth between salty and savory, and sweet and toffied for a long time. And at 53.1% ABV, you get some great aftertastes if you exhale the right way. Water in a blend generally kills the oldest components first. So, on the one hand, I may actually enjoy this more without the obvious contribution from the grain; on the other hand, adding water makes this more common, and less worth the price tag. This is a great whisky. Is it worth two Flaming Hearts? No. PRESUMPTIVE MARK: 94/100.

This is a review of the Famous Grouse 18 year old. This is a discontinued bottling that deserves a lil backstory. 10 years ago, I could not afford a Macallan 18 bottle. Even the 12 year olds, though, were legendary. Yet, they were being used for blends. Little did they know..: Now that most Macallans are overrated and insanely overpriced, it’s no wonder that the aged Famous Grouses, which contain a healthy portion of Macallan and Highland Park, are discontinued. I can now buy the contemporary Mac 18s without guilt, but the old 18 bottlings are over $1000, and outside of sanity for the whisky drinker. The closest thing to a bottle of the old 18 I managed is this Famous Grouse 18, for $60. This is not Macallan 18. But It contains 18 year old Macallan from before the transition to Edrington. It also has an obvious dose of Highland Park. This is probably from less desirable casks. Still, the sherry influence is overwhelming. It smells like sweetened grape juice. You just don’t get that anymore with today’s whiskies. On the palate, rich raisins and plums. Grape peels. Chocolate. Wood spices. And a definite brine from the Highland Park influence. The finish is somewhat short, and overall this suffers from being watered down. Still, if you find this on a shelf for less than $100, this is a recommended purchase. MARK: 86 / 100

This is the peatiest scotch ever at 300 bajillion parts per million! The truth is that the Octomores are getting worse. The 6 series, in my opinion, was the pinnacle. Never tried 6.2, but the 6.1 is still the cheapest and one of the best octomores here in Maryland. The 6.3 is the best octomore I’ve had period. This 8.3 is pretty good. But not worth the price of my admission (241 USD). For peat heads, I agree that this is the peatiest thing I have ever tried, and I love peat, but I prefer a little more balance. Peat reek dominates the nose, with a tropical bend. Rotting mangoes and papaya being burnt on top of rotting vegetation. Pure detritus and hydrocarbons on the palate. There is a little bit of liquorice, which I don’t like, and associate with plastic and bad casks. The finish is ashy and savory. Smoked fish that was smoked again. And then smoked again. The sin on this whisky is that it tastes like it is too young. Previous X.3 Octomores are also 5 years old, but never did I get that impression. But, if you are looking for a peat bomb, this is the Tsar Bomba. I would value this at 200 USD. I overpaid a tad. 92/100

2oz pour This is what happens when you put a good Kentucky bourbon to age on a ship for 6 months travelling the world’s oceans. It tastes like a good Kentucky bourbon. ‘MURRICA! It’s like a weary xenophobic traveler that becomes only more ingrained in its traditional Kentucky roots after languishing in the greater world. Big cask strength Kentucky hug. Vanilla, butterscotch, and dark fruits. Huge bourbon spices: cinnamon, nutmeg, and dried orange peels. Nicely balanced oak. Where’s the ocean influence? There is no brine, no salt, no “seaspray”, just Kentucky. The bottling idea is gimmicky, but the contents are a solid classic. The pricing for the non-CS releases are a little suspect, but at ~90 USD for a good CS bourbon, that’s fair, and I might pick up a bottle. 89/100.

2oz pour I’m reminded why I don’t ever buy a bottle of Laphroaig 10 anymore, even though it’s dirt cheap by single malt standards. Laphroaig is spending too much resources on catchy ads and NAS releases; and letting their 10 year old slip in quality. Lemons. Rind, zest, juice. Herbal, iodine smoke. Seaspray. This is not the tour-de-force I remember. It’s amazing how much character is lost from watering down the cask strength version. Alas, the CS is the real reason I don’t bother with Laphroaig 10, and why I won’t lament too much here. It’s ~40 USD for the bottle here. By my standards, it’s good value. It’s just that for $25 more, the CS bottling is more than worth the upgrade. 84/100

Paid $190 for this bottle. This is a bottle kill review. I will try to summarize what this bottle offered. Nose: So green! Green tapioca, underripe fruits, Granny Smith apple, grass. Best utilization of grass notes of any whisky I can remember. Palate: Sweet, as expected arrival, but then there’s an inexorable transition to smoky, spicy dryness. Burning grass. Menthol. Green tea. Finish: Woody, herbaceous. A little mezcal smokiness. Minty too. Decent linger. This can handle some water. Water will smooth out the edges and transitions. Make things taste a little more cooked. Very sad to see this bottle empty. I would love to have another at the same price. Pros: So unexpectedly charismatic for Glenkinchie. A vibrant dram for its age, with a dynamic story to tell. Cons: Bottled in 2010, and limited to 4854 bottles. Probably won’t be able to find these anymore. They aren’t really a collectible, so it’s hard to get even on the secondary market. Mark: 93/100 (range 92-95. N = 7)

Paid $33 for this bottle. This is a bottle kill review. I will try to summarize what this bottle offered. Nose: Young in a good way. Like Alisha Keys when she dropped her first album. Not young in a bad way. Like when Justin Bieber dropped his first album. Virgin oak is a good description. It’s oaky, and vanilla-y. But it’s virgin… y? What? That was bad. Anyways… Palate: It’s well balanced and smooth at first, and then the wood spices say eff this, and take over. Eager-to-please virgin oak. Finish: It’s a delicate balance between the bitter tannins and the vanillins. A little bit of black liquorice and nutmeg too. Interesting for an NAS. Look here, for $33, you don’t get Mizunara. But fuck Mizunara. This is virgin American oak, and it works wonders. And this shit actually regenerates, and is sustainable. For $33, this is a no brainer purchase. Mark: 81/100 (range 76-85. N = 6)

Springbank motherflubbing distillery! They keep getting better. Because they put the extra effort to do whiskies right, I’m going to be a little extra in singing my praises. The bottle I am enjoying now was bottled on March 23, 2018. You cannot hurry into an aged Springbank product, least of all Longrow 18. You pour it, and let it air for 15 minutes. This is an expensive bottle, so you don’t want to rush the experience. First, marvel at the bottle. Scotch has become about this prestige thing – feigned luxury and exclusivity; fancy clothes for fancy bottles; in these sordid whisky fests in the U.S., where your outfit better be more expensive than the expensive entry fee. Springbank is the plain-clothed marvel; white T-shirt and jeans, in a room full of Tom Ford suits and dresses. It’s all about what is inside. Confidence and character. The nose. THE NOSE! Pickled mangoes. Tangerines. Creamy and thick for something that’s only 46% ABV. The peat is floral and meaty at the same time, like flowers that have just started to wilt. Or that meat flower… whatchamacallit? I’m no botanist. Anways… a fragrant saltiness. Rather than the cool rocky coasts of Scotland, the nose takes you to a tropical island. But one where things are starting to pickle. It’s characteristic of a good Springbank, and this one nails it. Longrow 18 is not something most people will automatically like. It is what some reviewers would call challenging. It does not have the universal superficial appeal of a calendar model, a Prince Charming, a Princess Fiona before she turns into an ogress. Longrow 18 is Shrek. Good whiskies are like onions. They have layers. Missed the reference? Watch the movie (the original). You will not turn into a dapper young buck holding a dram of Longrow 18 in your hand, like if you hand an old mahogany Macallan. You may turn into an ogre, or ogress, or Ralphy. And you will be beautiful, like Ralphy. That dude – you can be him for Hallowe’en… not a bad idea for a whisky tasting theme actually. The palate. Soft, mouthcoating arrival that takes time to unravel. Tobacco, overripe starfruit, a little honey, a little citrus. Medium spice with a lot of complexity. White pepper. A little cinnamon, nutmeg, and fennel seed. And then there’s weird flavors that somehow add to the balance; the beauty of the thing. A taste like a wet sock smells, like one you’ve worn for an hour after stepping into a puddle. A seaweed umaminess… see? An onion has layers. Longrow 18 epitomizes the distillery that refuses to change. It does nothing to try to reach into new markets; to change its flavors to appeal to the common trepid consumer who likes to stay at the fringes of every adventure. This whisky will never come to you, if you are standing way over there, in the Pappy van Winkle line, like a baroque cow. You must come to it. The finish. Long, mercurial, chimeric. A peat that walks the line between a tobacco smoke and a meaty smoke. A slight matchstick Sulphur – that’s not just okay; that’s quite lovely. A potpourri of fruit jams. Some roasted nuts. It’s well rounded, and evolving. And the next sip will be something different. Like the truly great whiskies, this one changes for the better with time in the bottle, and also with time in the glass. So, what is the best distillery? Some people are offended by the question. Some have the patience to rationalize a political answer. “It’s all subjective, and depending on your taste. It’s like I might say that Brussel sprouts are the best vegetable, while you can just as assuredly say spinach. There is no single right answer.” But there is, so just stop. It’s Springbank. Mark: 96/100