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.