Tastes

Okay, okay! This whisky comes from barley of the Concerto variety, grown at Lorgba Field and Irene’s Field on an Octomore Farm on the island of Islay by a guy named James Brown, the white and alive one; not the black and dead one. Okay, okay. The maturation is for 5 years and involves primarily first fill ex-American whiskey barrels and, secondarily, second fill European oak casks from the Riversaltes region of France and the Ribera del Duero region of spain. I suspect wine casks, but they don’t say. The phenol level is 129.3, and the ABV is 61.1%. How much do I care about this information? Not a whole fucking lot. But I have found, in these modern times, divulsion of details is akin to pride in production; and, simply allowing the whisky consumer to nerd out is strong evidence to a quality product. Also, the price of having a singular, memorable dram for the experienced whisky lover is steep today. Octomore 13.3, in the United States, will be over $300. That may be an unsurmountable barrier for a 5-year-old whisky to most, but I continue to fuck with Octomores because they continue to offer undeniable panache that is not present in cheaper whiskies. Octomore comes out with four versions of whiskies each round of releases, and their x.3 is always the prize for true aficionados, because these are completely produced locally, and feature a refreshing combination of exotic casks. These Octomores have had a recent paradigm shift from dominating casks and huge peat influence to a more balanced approach. I am sipping Octomore 13.3 alongside Octomore 8.3, and these are unmistakably different whiskies. Octomore 8.3 is a barrage of peat and red fruits from the outset, and is a unrelenting and mouthwatering diva the entire time. Octomore 13.3 is a more nuanced and structured experience, with a barley-forward cereal and flaxseed oil experience at the beginning; and a young pinot noir, chalky, mineral, raspberry, cantaloupe experience in the middle; followed by a finish dry ash and soot. I prefer to Octomores of old. 6.3 was the absolute pinnacle. But anything from the 5-7 range was well worth shelling out $150-250. Now that these fuckers have surpassed $300, let’s re-evaluate. It’s not that Bruichladdich and Octomore are putting out better products – they have gotten slightly worse – it’s that their competitors have become worse faster. Lagavulin, Laphroaig, and Ardbeg simply no longer put out products that can compete with Bruichladdich, and this is the price you must pay for excellence. Octomore 13.3 was worth it for me. It featured the barley more than prior experiences with Octomore. I will compare this change with Springbank Local Barley and Waterford Irish Whiskey. If either of those float your boat, and you’re interested in one of those blasted with ludicrous amounts of peat, than Octomore 13.3 might be worth it for you. If you like peat, but have no idea what I’m talking about, than maybe stick to Nick Offerman Lagavulin. I’ve decided not to give ratings for my reviews anymore. And I’ve decided that the whiskies I review are only going to be those I can recommend to friends; but I realize that some people will be looking for more accessible whiskies; and some fucking weirdoes will be looking for more esoteric drams. So, instead of my usual rating, I will end reviews with alternative, but similar, options. Cheaper, and more accessible, alternative to Octomore 13.3: Port Charlotte 10 year. This is the new standard for an entry level, heavily peated, Islay offering. You can taste a little bit of the Octomore 13.3 DNA in there. Crazier, harder to obtain alternative to Octomore 13.3: Octomore 6.1 or 6.3. This was the absolute pinnacle. 6.1 and 6.3 are masterpieces that, I’m sure, will never be surpassed by any future Octomore.

On my deathbed, I will drop a snow globe and whisper “Brora.” The best, most complex Scotch ever distilled is 1970s Brora. That’s not up for debate. If you don’t agree, you’ve either never had 1970s Brora, or you should just quit drinking whisky. Kidding aside, this official 2015 bottling of 37 year old Brora (distilled 1977) is the most expensive bottle of whisky I have ever bought at $1500. I have had several other Broras, usually in the setting of 1 ounce pours at well-stocked whisky bars on my birthday or some other special occasion. From those experiences, this was my favorite bottle of Brora that I could actually obtain. In case you’re wondering, my favorite Brora that I've tried - and best whisky that I've tried - is unobtainable for me: a 1972 Brora from the Diageo Rare Malts series, which is now selling on the secondary market for well over $10,000. Every whisky enthusiast will have a price point ceiling, which tends to grow upwards, above which he or she will not spend more for a single bottle. That point for me is right around what it costs for this bottle of Brora, which is sadly also the only Brora that I own. FIRST IMPRESSIONS: I was paranoid it might be counterfeit. The price I bought it for was somewhat suspicious because all the other stores had this bottle for $1700-1800. The foil seal was also a little loose. The first pour did not instantly blow me away, contrary to my birthday memories. I did not get any peat. Brora knowledge: Late 70s Brora was decently peated, as it was supposed to be a replacement for Caol Ila, which ran into a shortage, in blends. But I could also tell that this was a very good, and expensive whisky. There were luscious tropical fruit, rich beeswax, and cacao notes that can only come with a good spirit that’s been patiently aged. It made no sense for me that a counterfeiter would fill a bottle with liquid that still should amount to hundreds of dollars. So, I started letting the dram breath for extended periods, and then the magic happened. GETTING TO KNOW A WHISKY: I have never had a drink change so much in the glass as this Brora. Whereas it begins vibrant and fruity; over time, the peat just uncoils like a python. The fruits give way to dank, farm, tar, and premium saltines. The initial fruitiness remains, but in the background, with grilled pineapple, mango, and cantaloupe. The finish is gingery and with an elegant cigar smokiness. The mouthfeel and linger on the finish are light beer compared to the 1972 Brora, but it’s motor oil when compared to your standard modern Scotch. There are levels to this shit, and I feel very fortunate to be able to drink at this level; which is close to the penthouse, but it’s not the penthouse. The best time to enjoy this after pouring, is after allowing the whisky to sit in a covered Glencairn for 60-90 minutes. This allows for the greatest balance of flavors. If you let this sit out for longer, the peat does get stronger. And it’s a lovely, full-bodied and nuanced peat. Like if peat was a fruit, this would be overripe peat; like if a block of peat could grow mold, this would be fuzzy peat. And that is a definite experience worth having, but I also feel that when the peat takes over, the sweet fruitiness is no longer there, and the whisky loses its balance. BUT HOW DOES IT DO IN A BLIND TASTING? Brora is probably not going to win any blind tastings. In the only blind tasting I have included this in, it came in third place: 1. Laphroaig 18 year old (2016 official bottling at 48.0%) 2. Caol Ila 31 year old (2015 Signatory bottling at 47.0%) 3. Brora 37 year old (2015 official bottling at 50.4%) 4. Talisker 1985 Maritime Edition (2013 official bottling at 56.1%) 5. Laphroaig 19 year old (2015 Cadenhead bottling at 54.0%) 6. Laphroaig 32 year old (2015 official bottling at 46.7%) And I recently praised the Laphroaig 18 in a review for being the cheapest, most unassuming pour winning in the above epic line up. However, unblinded, against the Brora, Laphroaig 18 can go fuck itself. The weakness of blind tastings is that it does not favor the nuanced, chimeric scotches that you can sit down with for hours, like a Brora. As these bottles are getting scarcer, I can only hope I find another bottle at a similar price. If you can only splurge on a bottle of whisky once a year, or every few years, make it a pre-1980 Brora every time. With my tongue firm in my own cheek (because this Brora is so delicious), in the $1000+ category, this is the best value for money. Score: **** (So good, it made Laphroaig 18 fuck itself) How much does a bottle cost?: ~$2000 on secondary. Maybe slightly more. How much do I think a bottle is worth?: $2000, or the entire Tullibardine distillery.

This blind tasting was clearly won by the Balblair. #1: Balblair 1999. Original bottling. Second release. Bottled 2015. 46.0% #2: Compass Box Menagerie. NAS Blended Malt. Bottled 2021. 46.0% #3: Arran 18 year old. Original bottling. Bottled 2016. 46.0% #4: Glenlivet 18 year old. Original bottling. Bottled 2019. 43.0% #5: Dalwhinnie Distiller’s Edition. Original bottling. Distilled 1997. Bottled 2013. 43.0% When Balblair was releasing their whiskies by vintages, they were probably the best distillery that no one talked about. Every release, except for the ’04, was exquisite and underpriced. I do not blame them at all for changing up their business strategy. Being the best distillery that no one talks about is not worth it for them. Rest assured, I will be buying their new bottlings, as soon as all their vintage releases are off the shelves of course. Balblair 1999, for a whisky that is 15-16 years old and priced ~$100 (I bought one bottle for $110 and a second for $130), has an unbelievable nose. A perfect nose. It’s become cliché for whisky reviewers once they try a unicorn whisky that’s over 25 years old, or over some ridiculous price point, to brag about how long they nosed the whisky before they actually tasted it; like how long they can last in bed. Nobody tries to do that for a reasonably priced whisky at a common age. Why not? This Balblair 1999 is clearly worth 1 hour of foreplay before I bust a n… I mean, take a sip. This whisky is an olfactory masterpiece. Perfect harmony between wood and spirit; bourbon and sherry influence. There’s some honey and forest-in-late-autumn; carrot cake and cake icing; milk chocolate and honey-nut Cheerios; fresh oak and almost-stale figs. I have an open Balblair 1983, which was 3 times the price of the 1999. Without blinding, I may enjoy the nose on the 1999 more. The 1999, however, does not have as great of a palate and finish. It is honest to the nose, but the younger, less developed malty notes are more dominant. Now, let’s talk about the losers, from the bottom up: Dalwhinnie Distiller’s Edition is a decent whisky; perfectly pleasant and friendly. It would be a “beginner whisky” if it weren’t $110-120 these days. I believe I bought this bottle a few years ago for $75, which is fair. Glenlivet 18 year is a decent-er whisky, pleasant-er and friendlier. You can never be sad with a Glenlivet 18 in hand. It has a luxuriousness to it that the Dalwhinnie lacked and is still priced appropriately. In fact, it is about the same price as the Dalwhinnie DE. The Arran 18 year that I have open is an older bottling style. I see the newer bottlings contain even darker liquid. I was very surprised in this blind line up that Arran 18 was the sherry bomb. I expected that Glenlivet 18 would have the most sherry influence. Is Arran trying to become known as a sherried brand? It is a very good sherried whisky, this 2016 Arran 18 year, but I believe I prefer their more ex-bourbony release, the now discontinued Arran 14 year old. I wish I had two bottles of Compass Box Menagerie. A disturbing trend around my local liquor stores is that Compass Box limited releases are being snatched up like allocated bourbons. I had to pay a premium of $170 to secure this bottle. It’s almost done, 3 months after cracking it, so it’s a good one; but I haven’t decided if it’s worth chasing. On the one hand, it reminds me of That Is Not A Luxury Whisky, if it actually weren’t a luxury whisky; on the other hand, it’s a lot of Mortlach with a splash of Laphroaig, and it makes me want to believe that the perfect blend would be a good Mortlach with a good Laphroaig. Back to the Balblair 1999: Score: ** (unimaginably good) How much does a bottle cost?: ~$100-130 if you can find it at retail. I do not believe the secondary market has increased the cost much. How much do I think a bottle is worth?: $260

250 reviews later, I’m finding it hard to be inspired enough by a dram to write a review. What’s interested me lately is real blind tastings with black opaque Glencairn’s. Do they represent how we should really value a spirit? In my opinion, not exactly. Packaging, marketing, brand loyalty, and how much you spent will all color our enjoyment of a spirit, and that seems natural and normal to me. People don’t buy bottles to drink it solely out of blind line ups. However, truly blind tastings (i.e., without any visual clues), do say at least something about value comparisons, and deserve some attention for the aficionado. At least, if you win in one of my blind tastings, I should write a fucking review. Congratulations to Octomore 8.1. This was the result of this blind tasting of peat heavyweights: #1: Octomore 8.1. Original bottling by Bruichladdich. 8 years old. Bottled 2017. 59.7% #2: Port Charlotte. Bottled by That Boutique-y Whisky Company. 13 years old. Batch 8. Bottled 2018. 52.7%. #3: Laphroaig. Bottled by Cadenhead. 19 years old. 175th Anniversary Edition. Bottled 2017. 54.0% #4: Ardbeg Supernova. Original bottling. NAS. Bottled 2019. 53.8% #5: Ardbeg Supernova. Original bottling. NAS. Bottled 2015. 54.3% #6: Octomore 4.1. Original bottling by Bruichladdich. 5 years old. Bottled 2012. 62.5% These reviews going forward will be more of a blog where I can talk about multiple whiskies before praising the winner. All whiskies in this line up were delicious and are worthy of being in the ~$200 price range. All of these whiskies, however, will be difficult if not impossible to obtain at those prices because of discontinuation and/or scarcity. Notable findings about this blind tasting: OLDER DOES NOT NECESSARILY MEAN BETTER. The golden age of Octomore, in my opinion was 5, 6, and 7. But I remember being blown away by the 2.1 and 2.2. I had high expectations when I opened the 4.1, which I bought on the secondary market for $300, but this was surprisingly subtle compared to the other whiskies, despite being the highest ABV. 4.1 is clearly inferior to 8.1 because it simply does not have that rustic stench that I identify as a heavily peated offering from Bruichladdich. ARDBEG SUPERNOVA IS NOT BETTER THAN OCTOMORE. You are likely going to pay a helluva lot more for Supernova than Octomore but, if you share my palate, it’s not worth it! I was able to get the 2019 at $230 (near MSRP), but had to pay secondary of $400 for the 2015. Unblinded, I would take the Octomore 4.1 over these. Unblinded, I enjoyed 2015 more than 2019. Both the supernovas had “I’m not ready to be bottled notes” that I did not experience with Octomore. The Ardbegs, however, are much ashier if you are into ash, compared to Octomore. The Cadenhead Laphroaig is just a beast of a Laphroaig. It is more Froygian than any original bottling I’ve experienced. Laphroaig as a brand prides itself in being unrefined, but many independent bottlings make official bottlings feel like Geoffrey Butler on Fresh Prince. The TBWC bottling of Port Charlotte was the most farmy by far of the line up. It poses the question of what PPM actually means; because; if it means smokiness (ashiness), most Ardbegs beats out any Bruichladdich product, including Octomore. If it means like eating chemically treated soil on a farm, many Port Charlotte offerings are far superior to Octomore. This particular Port Charlotte STINKS like if there was a toe jam perfume. It is, despite being the lowest ABV, the loudest of the line up. And now to heap praise on the winner, Octomore 8.1: This is a whisky that balances between being loud and being noticeable. Unblinded, I unambiguously enjoy 8.1 over 4.1. Unfortunately, the only Octomore 5-7 I still own is an unopened bottle of 6.1 and I can only imagine that I would like the 6.1 better. Previously, I rated 8.1 three stars and basically did not recommend it. I may need to look back at the 8 series and reconsider. Unfortunately, they now cost more than most other series on the secondary because the 8.3 is still the most PPM ever. The 8.1 is extremely soily and acidic. You can easily describe it as moss and volcanic undergrowth. There is a nice balance of oaky sweetness on the palate, and a brutal ashiness rolls over on the finish. Score: * (unforgettably good) How much does a bottle cost?: ~$200 at retail. Secondary now is ~$400-500. How much do I think a bottle is worth?: $230

This is cask no. MO100625015A. I have bottles 398 and 399 out of 499. 55.6% ABV. Near the start of the COVID pandemic, for $800, I had a choice between a pair of these ridiculously ornate 10 pound wooden boxes containing premium Kavalan whisky; or a pair of 10 pound dumbbells for my home gym. I chose the former. What Kavalan Single Cask Strength Moscatel Sherry Cask brings is merely the best sherried whisky I’ve tasted in recent memory. I have not been this blown away by a sherry bomb since the early bottlings of Aberlour A’bunadh about a decade ago. Imagine the complexity of a Glendronach 18 with the cleanliness of older Macallan 18, but bottled at 55.6%. I highly recommend you do not start drinking this neat. It is too rich. It is so sweet that it is bitter. It is so sherried that it just taste like vodka soaked prunes. It is almost unidentifiable as whisky. I believe the closest tasting spirit in my collection to this whisky when poured neat is a rum: Diplomatico Ambassador, which is a PX sherry aged sherry bomb of a rum. Water this down to 45-50%, and it opens up and becomes more inviting. There’s still prunes, as well as raisins, dates, and grapes. But, with water, the sweetness is diluted to levels that are actually comprehensible, and now you can actually taste some malt and believe that this may actually be a single malt whisky. But after trying this with water, I recommend you then return to this neat. Now that your tastebuds are acquainted, they may be ready to appreciate this absolute fucking sherry syrup extract. There’s no sulphur; there’s no sudden woody harshness you get with these modern “sherry seasoned” attempts. How in the world did Kavalan get a hold of these casks for their single cask expressions? I did not know you could still experience sherried whisky like this. You can skip the Kavalan Vinho, by the way; it’s half the price but not nearly as good. If you’re thinking about spending $250 on some good whisky, you might as well spend $500 on the best whisky in a certain flavor profile. Score: *** (I am not worthy) How much does a bottle cost?: $400-600 How much do I think a bottle is worth?: $600

This is a single cask bottling of Laphroaig by Cadenhead’s. It was distilled in 1988 and matured in a bourbon hogshead for 19 years and change. It was bottled in 2017. The cask yielded 168 bottles. The liquor store I went to somehow had 3 of the 168 bottles on sale for $169.99. I bought two of them because I always leave one on the shelf when there are multiples. Etiquette, you know. As a rule, single cask expressions are rugged compared to batches. With batches, such as the obvious companion for comparison for this whisky, Laphroaig 18, the whisky is blended to remove any outlier sharp notes, and then watered down sometimes to a more preferable drinking strength, and sometimes to increase profits. It’s like putting clothes on a person; a single cask whisky is like a naked person and, for 99% on people, they look better in clothes. 99% of single casks can probably use some blending. But sometimes, you just want naked Laphroaig. I do prefer the official bottling of Laphroaig 18 to this; and the two whiskies are actually comparable in that they taste around the same age, and have about the same balance between spirit and wood influence. However, in a completely blind tasting, I cannot always identify Laphroaig 18 as a Laphroaig. This single cask is unmistakably Laphroaig every time in blind tastings. It’s sterilizing a wound infected with Pseudomonas using grapefruit, lemon, and iodine. That’s Laphroaig! This single cask needs a healthy dose of water, as most single casks do. Neat, the finish is abrasive and claws at the back of the throat. With some water, some nice dark chocolate notes emerge and the finish is a long satisfying tobacco leaf and menthol linger. While you’re probably not going to find this particular bottle anymore, I recommend you try some single cask releases if you haven’t already. They are imperfect but unique, memorable experiences. Brands that I can find in the US and that I trust include Cadenhead, Signatory, Gordon & MacPhail, North Star, Blackadder, and That Botique-y Whisky Company. Score: ** (unimaginably good) How much does a bottle cost?: I think retail was $230? How much do I think a bottle is worth?: $260

I’m playing with some new black opaque Glencairns that I bought by doing some crazy blind tastings; and I’ve found that without any visual clues, I am completely hopeless in trying to guess a whisky and am forced to just pick preferences based solely on smell and taste. By far the craziest result so far came from this line-up: Brora 37 year old (2015 official bottling at 50.4%) Caol Ila 31 year old (2015 Signatory bottling at 47.0%) Laphroaig 18 year old (2016 official bottling at 48.0%) Laphroaig 19 year old (2015 Cadenhead bottling at 54.0%) Laphroaig 32 year old (2015 official bottling at 46.7%) Talisker 1985 Maritime Edition (2013 official bottling at 56.1%) So, the top 5 in this line up were very close. My clearcut least favorite was… the humble Laphroaig 32 year old. And my favorite sip from the line up, more enjoyable than the $1500 Brora, was… Laphroaig 18 year old. What!? I don’t know what to make of these blind tastings. On the one hand, it is evidence that, based on smell and taste alone, very expensive whiskies may not be superior to more affordable ones. On the other hand, without a blindfold, I would rather have Laphroaig 32. I mean, just unlatching that copper latch gives me all types of prejizz feelings. But I have to give credit to Laphroaig 18. If the distillery put this shit in a giant wooden box with a copper latch and copper lettering, and then lied and said it was 38 years old, I would probably have been happy paying a thousand dollars or more. This might be the perfectly balanced Laphroaig. It is just old enough to get some crazy tropical fruit flavors from the bourbon cask, and it is just young enough to still retain that medicinal, iodine character of Laphroaig. It is just old enough and proofed high enough to be oily, savory, and lingering in the finish; it is just young enough to be bold and explosive when it first hits your palate. For beating 5 other more expensive whiskies, Laphroaig 18 must get 3 stars. Score: *** (I am not worthy) How much does a bottle cost?: This was $80-120. Secondary market pricing now ranges $300-800 How much do I think a bottle is worth?: $350

In a previous review of Port Charlotte 10 year old, I mentioned that I think the true value of a bottle of Lagavulin 16 these days is only about $60. I want to write it off, but actually tasting a newer bottling from 2020, I have to admit that I probably underestimated this Islay classic. The quality of the liquid has gone down - no doubt. The sherry is a little less sherry. There is more of a plastic cherry on the nose, and there’s more of a flint matchstick smoke rather than that rich sweet barbecue from cherished pre-Nick Offerman memories. I want to relegate this to pass-the-time whisky; like a dram that doesn’t need my attention while I do chores. Nonetheless, once I taste this, it cannot help grabbing my attention. The palate and finish are still beautiful, mouthcoating, soulwarming, and lingering. With the whisky “specs” of 43%, chill-filtered, and caramel colored, I can still point to this whisky as a shut-the-fuck-up for people who pass judgment on whiskies before they actually taste. Lagavulin 16 is still a Diageo icon. If you have not tried this whisky, and you can afford a bottle pushing $100, I still recommend this. However, at its current price, for experienced whisky lovers, it is no longer required to keep this in stock. The best standard release peated Islay whisky is now Port Charlotte 10 year old, which is about $20 cheaper than Lagavulin 16. And Lagavulin 16 is now in the same price range as Ardbeg Uigeadail, which, head to head, is still a no-contest beatdown in favor of Oogie, for those who’ve been trying Islay whiskies for a long time. So, with sadness, Lagavulin 16 will no longer be a regular on my shelves. This is the first single malt I fell in love with, and those first few bottles I cracked were absolutely unforgettable. This latest bottle? I will have to blaspheme: it is decent, but forgettable. Score: 0 (forgettable) How much does a bottle cost?: $80-100 How much do I think a bottle is worth?: $75

This is the last bottle of Macallan I have that I will open, I promise. This is the 2017 edition of the 18 year old, coming in a glossy purple box. I bought it for $230. You might still be able to find it on shelves for $200-300. Future value of this is probably $1000. I shouldn’t have done it, but sometimes you just have to have something that is the whisky equivalent of a blowjob. Purple box Macallan 18 sherry oak is like getting head in the back of the club. $200 might be fair for that. The new black box Macallan 18 sherry oak is like getting hit in the back of the head with a club. Do you see how, if you are stuck on branding, and you had to choose between getting head in a club and getting hit in the head with a club, you may be prone to pay more to get head than the intrinsic value of getting head? That is the secret to the exorbitant value of old Macallan’s. Every time they rebrand and the quality gets ponderously lower, the older Macallan’s become even more valuable. Except, I seriously do not know if the current line up can hold up as investments when they inevitably release even more undrinkable shite. We may have reached a threshold where buying new Macallan is no longer smart for consuming or investing purposes. I thought I would never give the investment advice to snatch up purple box Macallans at $300, but this is the last accessible Macallan that is delicious, and that is sure to appreciate. High quality oak, very little sulfur, rich sherry influence, and a balanced finish. It is a simple, but precise pleasure. I still think the Billy Walker Glendronach 18’s are better in all aspects, but you aren’t going to sell a Glendronach 18 to a Rolex-wearing ponce. Collecting, hoarding, flipping, investing, and otherwise not drinking the bottles of Macallan that you buy should be completely acceptable behavior in our current environment. Macallan should be celebrated as a protector of single malt Scotch, draining the resources of the astute investors and the cluelessly wealthy so that other brands can be relatively reserved for the enthusiasts. Score: * (unforgettably good) How much does a bottle cost?: Too much for consumption How much do I think a bottle is worth?: $180 (if judging only the intrinsic value of the liquid)

When I first started writing reviews on Distiller, the Macallan 12 Sherry Oak came in a glossy brown box, and it would be one of my top recommendations for someone looking to start their single malt journey. Today, Macallan 12 Sherry Oak is my recommendation if you want to end your journey. I was at a bar that was selling the modern black box Macallan 12 for $10 for 1.5 oz pours. But because this was a company event, this shit and Johnnie Walker Black were the scotches being poured for free. That’s how I found myself trying Mac 12 again. It was so bad that I needed one JW Black to get the bad taste out of my mouth, and then I drank water for the rest of the night; and then I never drank whisky again for over 3 months. Macallan 12 Sherry Oak today does not have any of the luxurious rich sherry of previous versions. For the first few seconds on the palate, there is sherry per se. As in, it’s in my mouth, and I’m like, “Oh, sultanas. Meh, some fruits.” And maybe 3-5 seconds later, it just becomes harsh bitter oak and sulfur. I never thought I would call an age-stated Macallan harsh; I thought it would be guilty of being “smooth” and flavorless, but it actually is HARSH and offensive punishment if you leave it in your mouth. And this is perhaps purposefully engineered for the new horde of whisky “enthusiasts”, who are in a rush, and find the most pleasureful part of the experience is swallowing. This dram was so depressing I almost ended my whisky journey. On the upside, I can now give solid advice to those still beginning their single malt journey. Avoid Macallan. I am like their counter-ambassador. On that night, this is what I told anyone who solicited my advice, and that half-full bottle of Macallan 12 Sherry Oak, did not even empty even though there were dozens of people at the event and it was free. I did my job. The best way to improve in chess, and most things in life, is not to try and find the brilliant moves, but to not fucking blunder. Very few people respect this fact. Avoid blundering, and you will automatically become one of the elite. With single malt scotch, the first blunder to avoid is now blaringly obvious. Don’t pay to drink Macallan ever. Follow this one rule, and you will be wiser than most scotch drinkers. Paying to collect Macallan is a different topic… for an upcoming review. Score: Minus (unforgettably bad) How much does a bottle cost?: $70-90 How much do I think a bottle is worth?: 0