From a beautiful olive bottle pours a bright, floral yellow. The nose is salty and meaty right away, with Lagavulin's signature smoked game feel being apparent. But it's also zesty, like unripe lemon, and has bold aromas of sourdough and seaweed. The palate is at first sweet and richly malty, and smoked honey comes right before the spicy burn. The malt's youth plays against the bold body that characterizes older Lagavulins; but this isn't that attention-hungry class clown—this is that cunning, malevolent youth that schoolteachers dread. But in this whisky, the youth is balanced by the rich body, and that beyond-reform pupil meets his match with the old-fashioned, stoic professor that reads Hume and Nietzsche. As the palate develops, I taste grilled stone fruit and sizzling fat. The finish burns and almost stings, numbing and intoxicating the whole mouth. The aftertaste is somewhere between char and dried wildflowers. This is truly an impeccable dram.