The color is golden yellow, unfortunately artificially obtained. The sense of smell is unusually sweet for a Caol Ila, rich in raisins, marzipan, cinnamon and honey in rivers, so as to almost hide the smoke of Islay, overwhelmed by this pastry cook. The wine has left a very decisive mark, a pity not to know how much the whisky has been exposed to. The entrance to the palate still sees the smoke elbowing to emerge from the cake, and after a few moments finally climbs onto the podium, however keeping the honey in which it is immersed. The same hints of the nose burn on the lit fireplace, with the addition of a little candied fruit and a touch of salinity, which gradually bring to the background leaving ample space for the peat, which wears the sweet duster with a lot of nonchalance. The marriage is not very successful, the vinous influence is there but after the initial explosion it becomes little more than a tinsel. In the not very long finish the ash and a spicy touch remain, the Moscatel seems to have returned to Spain a little disappointed: he had come to matare and it was matado.