Bruichladdich 1990/27 HB '90

This unpeated Bruichladdich was distilled in 1990 and left to mature for 17 years in casks from ex-Bourbon and Tennesee whiskies. When the mothballs were removed from the distillery, the new owners grimaced at all the poorly managed whisky they had stewing in their warehouses and took a chance on seeing whether a further 10 years in Bordeaux wine casks from Chateau Haute Brion would turn a frog into a prince or merely smear lipstick on a pig. Decanted into 12,000 handsome bottles, they packaged it up as a travel retail exclusive and shipped an allotment to Heathrow, where it landed on the shelves last September just as I was passing through, with a price tag equivalent to $175. I did a double take - a 27-year-old whisky for less than $200? Surely a mistake. No, the sales clerk insisted, checking his computer, it’s just arrived and that’s the correct price. I bought as much as the law permitted: one measly bottle. Once home, I discovered that my cost was half the official retail price, which immediately presented a dilemma: was this was an asset that required flipping to fund the upcoming bills from the university where I had just dropped off the first born? Or a rare chance to drink an old whisky at a price that didn’t require me to ransom the aforementioned child? And so the bottle sat in my collection for several months, until a compromise opportunity arose: I split the contents at cost with a group of acquaintances and poured myself a couple of drams. This Laddie is the color of old engine oil, quite the dirtiest looking whisky I can recall. Notes of plums on the nose segue into a burst of ripe stone fruit on the palate, along with fizzy cola bottles, a delicate black tea and a dash of tannins. The finish is long, drying and pleasantly bitter, with an unexpected aftertaste of mint. Bruichladdich uses wine casks better than any other distillery, in my view, whether it’s to add a subtle fruity undertone to the new PC10 or to dazzle your senses in the mysterious Black Art series or some of the peat-busting Octomore releases. The wine influence here is halfway between those extremes - significant enough to be the star of the show but not so powerful as to overwhelm the base spirit. With the wine flavors dialed back to six (versus nine or higher on the recent and also delicious Bunnahabhain Moine Bordeaux), it’s one of the best integrated whiskies of its kind that I’ve had. It’s a prince, not a pig, but priced for the commoner - at least for that one day at Terminal 2.