Subtle hints of asphalt, butter and acetone tickle the nose. A somewhat skewed impression of what awaits the pallet. The only predictive tell in the liquids arsenal is a slightly sweet essence that fades quick as the light at sunset. And then, nothing. Or, to rephrase, a vacuum that depletes your breath and leaves a residual glow that blooms, and burns, and fades, and stays... all overlapping within a span of only a few glorious seconds.