Pours a spectacular ruby hue; the aroma is unlike any I've ever taken in — plump red wine grapes, clove and other woodland spices, vintage leather, and candied orange peel; the first sip reveals mouthwatering mince pie and soon becomes a tannic burn; as it opens up salted pecans and burnt sugar come to the aid of the pleasantly musty midsection; the finish is violent, as one can expect at 114 proof, but amazingly you are still interacting with the complex palate and the menthol-medicinal aftertaste even five minutes after that initial swallow; this out-of-my-league glass of a rare blend of New Zealand malt and grain is the Ares of the whisk(e)y world — I doubt I'll ever have something so special again. (But if I do I'll add a few drops of water.) Update: With water, the palate is a frontal flood of red fruit and vanilla, while toward the back clove and nutmeg dominate. That bellicose finish is luxurious and woody.