Once, I was going to dinner at a girlfriend’s mom’s house - a meeting her for the first time kind of thing. Her mom brought out a dusty jar of homemade sauerkraut that she had found in her basement, from a batch that they thought they had finished - old stuff from the sound of it - mummified and the color of a head in a jar. At the time I had no interest in sauerkraut, and actually didn’t like it, and this gray-yellow stuff looked completely inedible, but this being my girlfriend’s mom offering it to me, I put a fair- sized portion on my plate. It was blissfully good - a shift in consciousness - a Platonic solid - it was sauerkraut-ness, and every bit of kraut I’ve had ever since has been in pursuit of that defining ghost. That’s what Ardbeg Uigeagail is to me now - it’s the ultimate thing - the sensation of scotch whiskey that I am chasing. It is multi-layered, fourth-dimensional, and full of physical magic. *I’ll describe it the next time I buy a bottle, so I can do it justice, but I had to place this here as a mark of height, to measure all others 🤘🏻 (*note: it’s doesn’t taste of sauerkraut.)