Tastes

Now, this is what an almost perfect amount of heat in a bourbon feels (and tastes) like. It should light up the back of the teeth without burning the throat; it should create just an edge of novocaine in the cheeks (just the cheeks, not the tongue or the roof of the mouth) without actually numbing. Taste? Oily, a little plum, a little honey, a little raisin, a bit of tobacco, a bit more rum. A very fine experience, for the shelf just below the top.

This one goes in sweet and goes down hot, reminding you that sometimes whiskey can taste pretty much like the fire water you read about in books. When it hits the tongue, there's elements of pear, apple, a touch of honey, and even a tiny shadow of anise; but you don't have too long to think about it, since as soon as it hits the back of the mouth and the throat, you'll make Al Pacino "Hooo-ah!" noises (and/or Bobby Canavale coke faces, a reference you'll understand if you ever saw the awful HBO series VINYL). Which is all to say: Sometimes, those of us who like to sniff, sip and linger forget that this stuff is supposed to kick our asses. Knob Creek Single Barrel Bourbon kicks your ass, with a little class up front. I guess it's like a mullet.

Along with High West Rendezvous Rye, Knob Creek Twice Barreled Rye is pretty much exactly what rye should taste like. Imagine sharp, soft rye bread with a little honey (just a little, not the toffee sweetness of other ryes) and a little more pepper, and a slight aftertaste of heat and iodine. The warmth stays on the fillings but not in the throat or the tongue, which makes this a "low-affect" rye, and low-affect ryes usually don't taste nearly as pure, sharp, and fresh as Knob Creek Twice Barreled. Not the top of the food chain, but close enough, a treasure to sip, and a winner.

Imagine if Macallan 18 had a more peaty brother with a little more attitude, a little less education, and a good deal more charm replacing the old-world breeding of ol' Mac. Spicy but crisp and clear, a little bit of honey-dipped apple and a little trace of iodine in the aftertaste, there are definitely flaws here (it doesn't stick with the mouth and the memory as much as it's initial sparkling impression would lead you to believe it will, and the lasting mouthfeel has the slightly medicinal aspect of a much cheaper spirit); but overall, this is an excellent and nearly exceptional whisky (if you overlook a peculiar, metallic aftertaste), a really superb blend of peat, spice, sweet -- all these factors are present, but don't overwhelm -- and a spring-water crispness. In fact, I only rate it so low -- 3.5, instead of the 4 or 4.25 the flavor and experience really merit -- because, frankly, it is considerably overpriced.

A terrific surprise. Nearly a perfect rye: a little spicy, a little sweet (none of the overwhelming, cloying sweetness of other ryes), and a little rye-dough semi-moldy/semi-poppyseed snap. A beautiful grab on the tongue -- like a little pinch of fire -- with no medicinal aftertaste, and just a little shadow of toffee in the aftertaste. Easy but with a little attitude, an extraordinary rye for the cost, and an ideal sipping Rye. Highly recommended. 

Sometimes, a roaring fire and a good book is all the company one needs. And sometimes you get that in a glass. Ardbeg 10 Year is a rich, warm, friendly spirit; grace and great conversation and the happy reunion two nights before the hibernal equinox in a bottle. Although it has that alluring, memory-inspiring Magic Marker nose, it lacks the overpowering peat of other Ardbeg offerings, replacing it with a classy conversation about peat ("Oh, was peat here? Yes, peat stopped by on the way to his lecture about the history of radio. He left you this little calling card"). More silky than oily, presenting a gorgeous, rich, almost milk chocolate sweetness and creaminess, this detours slightly around the peat-fog that characterizes most of Ardbeg's fine and fascinating offerings. A lightly exotic pleasure, with hints of pear, rum, and toffee, with the peat (mostly) emerging in the throat and an aftertaste that is warm and beautifully spiky in the top of the chest. My favorite Ardbeg offering so far, or at least the one that is the most mainstream, while still retaining the deep and distinctive character of the distillery.Although there is SO much going on here -- if it hits the right part of the tongue, it's a veritable world's fair of flavors, earthy, sweet, and spicy -- it remains almost indescribably smooth -- is this a whiskey, or a dream? -- it is a joy throughout, and with an oily kick that reveals itself only when it's far down the throat. Little hints of seaweed, hazelnut, cocoa and just a chalk outline of burnt cherry all serve the greater good and main intent: an Islay so smooth, so unargumentative yet full of intellect, that it will become one of your treasures.

First and foremost, this is nutty and medicinal, with a pretty strong overlay of seaweed, toffee, and...is that...fish oil? The aftertaste has that kind of numbing, witch hazel hum that will remind you of your earliest experience with cheap brown liquor. Listen, I prefer single malts that have an attitude, that make a statement, that shriek "I am here, dammit!", and this spirit does that. Do I wish there was more peat, maybe more cherry or vanilla (as opposed to that toffee/nougat thing!) and less of the rubbing alcohol-like numbing anti-taste? Why, yes I do. Yet the Laphroaig 10 says, I AM IN YOUR MOUTH, PAY ATTENTION, and I like that. And this is probably why I rate this as high as I do.

"Hey, you put your Heath Bar into my barbecued brisket!" "No, you put your barbecued brisket into my Heath Bar!" Ah, the gentle, smokey sweetness of the Lagavullin 16 will have you playing this dialogue over in your head. Sometimes, just a little of something adds up to just enough of everything; if you want a little bit of attitude, a little bit of smoke, little bit of sweet (a pure sweet, not a fruit-based sweet), and a little bit of an almost jerky-like meat flavor, all adding up to a golden jewel, this is for you. In some senses, this is the exact line between plain and perfect, though it may be too plain for those -- like me -- who want a single malt to take a stand, to be fierce, to demand you attend to smoke, fruit, oil, iodine, or bite. Lagavullin 16 doesn't do that: It doesn't take a stand, except to aver that it is graceful, clear (but not bright), musical (but not loud). It is very much Goldilocks' perfect middle bed, and if you're in the right mood, and want a little bit of everything without being overwhelmed, this is just right. Now, one caveat here: leave Lagavullin 16 on the tongue and in the mouth for a little while, and a far more rich and complex experience arises, hinting at apple sauce, tobacco, and old, cracked leather; but you have to search for it, it's like an easter egg. I rate this so high because there is no doubt Lagavullin 16 is a treasure; but it's the kind of spirit that is going to accompany memorable experiences, not create them.

Seaweed, iodine, and is that cherry or a particularly rind-y orange? Quite drinkable if you forgive the slightly medicinal taste on the tip of the tongue, which actually becomes larger as time passes. You can grow to actually like that medicine bite, which can be quite overwhelming if it's not chased. Wish the fruit came a little more forward. In fact, if you take a small mouthful -- and not just a tip-of-tongue nip -- it's a far better experience. Not my first choice in a single malt, and not my second, either, but not a bad third option.

I know I've addressed this fine, spicy bourbon before, but I wanted to re-approach: A lot can happen in a couple of weeks, and somewhat suddenly, the absolute joy of this spirit revealed itself. Imagine a peppery Snickers, or an oily, sexy spirit that somehow takes the joy of a treasured nugget of butterscotch gifted from a favorite aunt and blends it with the fire of adulthood's more louche pleasures. Somewhere in there, you'll also find an exotic, nearly greasy joy that is distinctly reminiscent of one of those cheese-smothered grilled corn-on-the cobs you get at your favorite bbq joint. Woodford Reserve Double Oaked, which sneaks in like a handful of slightly suspicious Halloween candy but then reveals itself like the hot spark of an ember from a Christmas yule log that has leapt loose and startled the cat, has emerged as one of my favorite bourbon-for-the-sake-of-bourbon bourbons; which is to say, you treasure this, you sip it, you laugh at it with the slightly hysterical, wide-eyed grin that you've seen in the self-portrait of a doomed Viennese impressionist, it brings smiles, and an almost immediate high. And don't let the sweetness -- which approaches the near-saccharine numb-tickle of a a more sugary Rye, except for the a little, almost anise-like twist in the immediate after-taste -- fool you; this wraps its warm and hot little fingers around your brain almost immediately, so watch for low-clearance bridges.