Port Charlotte Islay Barley 2011

port charlotte smokey, bbq roast pork, sweet caramel, sugar, vanilla, mid pepper 3.5 bitterness, dryness, oaky, not much flavours beyond the wood and tannin from the cask, dried raisins 1 burnt, oaky, ash 1 1.75 PORT CHARLOTTE ISLAY BARLEY 2011 50% 100% MALTED BARLEY FROM A SINGLE DISTILLERY. DRIED WITH PEAT. EUROPEAN AND AMERICAN OAK MIX Smokey bbq roast pork, creamy sweetness, nutty 3.5 Complex, sweetness that makes it quite a easy and smooth drink (jolie will like this), dense, nutty, creaminess, light smoke, oaky is pleasantly sweet 3.5 oaky, mild sustain 2.5 3

I’d already had a half dram each of Bowmore 18 and Talisker 10. I’m watching the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, barely paying attention to what I’m sipping. It’s all peated single malts because I don’t want to be challenged, I just want to enjoy and I know I love these. A little background. I went to high school in the mid-90s, but I loved the 50’s. A bit of an anomaly, but somehow my best pal was even more of a purist than me. We loved early rock and roll and my friend claimed he prayed to God each night to be transported back to the 50s. Me and my buddy took a couple of girls out in a ‘57 Chevy we’d somehow got access to for the summer. My chum took the girl that would later become my high school sweetheart, Erin, and I was with her friend, a pretty redhead. Erin was super obnoxious that evening. She brought a teddy bear and was making it talk in a baby voice. My pal told her to knock that shit off, but she wouldn’t shut up. So he grabbed the fucking bear and threw it out the window. Erin freaked out and started screaming and punching his arm, but he wouldn’t turn the 5-7 around. Neither of us got any that night, but I scored big points with Erin by picking her up after the date and taking her to find the bear. Anyway, back to the present. I’m minding my own business watching a great show and I get to the Port Charlotte. I pour half a dram and I’m nursing it, enjoying the ambience of a super good ‘50s period piece. Then something in the finish of the Port Charlotte hits me and takes me back to 1996. Something musty. Old seat vinyl from the ‘57 Chevy and an unfiltered Lucky Strike cigarette, which we didn’t smoke. We just held them in our mouths because ... Brando. Then the day came that Erin broke up with me. I took 2 packs of Luckies and went to the basement of my buddy’s outbuilding, which he had turned into a speakeasy. Velvet drapes on the walls, an old record player and 8x10 black and white glossies of 1930s movie stars. I sat down and lit up a cigarette for the first and only time in my life. I’d still never tasted alcohol. I figured, fuck it, if Erin doesn’t want me, I’m fucking smoking all these goddamn Luckies. Anyway, it all feels like it happened 100 years ago. But something in this dram brought it all back. And it was all sweet.

Peatier and less smoky than Laphroaig 10, it nevertheless delivers a very satisfying experience, with woody notes on the palate and a little bit of fruitiness on the finish.

Wet bonfire smoke on the nose with an underlying sweetness. Deep complex smoke on the palate, again sweet with a hint of salt. Good lingering finish.

I’m well aware batting 3rd in the lineup can have unintended negative consequences. But I love peaty smoky Islay malts so much I was sure any dram that bills itself as “heavily peated” could handle my dulled taste buds and slight inebriation. Let’s pretend we’re a Basset hound. What is better than a damp old brown leather shoe? Nothing! The smell of it attracts us to our master’s closet. Since we’re a naughty boy, we pick it up by the laces and drag it into the master bedroom and begin chewing on it. Immediately we realize our master must’ve worn these shoes when he last mowed the lawn. There’s something sweet. The master’s damn kid must’ve dropped a roasted marshmallow on the lawn after their last shindig around the fire pit and Master stepped on it while mowing. But we’re not complaining. Our lazy master waited too long to mow the lawn and it’s gone to seed. We can taste a little of that grain. Now we realize he also spilled some lighter fluid on his shoes as he was trying to light the fire. And that’s the best part of all. What a great shoe. I can’t believe humans don’t understand why we love to chew on them. They get better and better with everything Master walked though over the course of 7 years.

Pleasant, but not overwhelming. Tastes young, but at just shy of 7 year old, I suppose it should. Too often hints at the possibility of what could be had it aged alittle longer. It is good but has a hard time standing up to big brothers 10yr and MRC:01