Not chill-filtered but, unfortunately, still with the caramel coloring, so the straw yellow color is absolutely bogus (you see how much this bothers me, yes?). Just by opening the bottle comes a mighty whiff of smoke, intense and pungent, and if you don't like peat, put it away immediately to clean the engine of your bike. If instead you decide to stop and smell it in the glass, you'll find out how there is much more than tar peat: marine and medicinal scents (oh well, it's Laphroaig), which veer on the sugary, marshmellow type charred on the hearth. The alcohol content is present, but just to make the smoke more substantial and pungent. To have it breathe, the alcohol calms down, the sweet and savory notes tame the peat and becomes less aggressive. On the palate, BAM!, immediately the big tough tar sack, enclosed in a sweet-salty glove that seems to want to reassure you after the blow, only to realize in the long run that the 48 degrees are all there and they are well felt. A little wood also arrives (those barrels weere there for something) and vanilla, spices and the trademark aroma of hospital ward. Continuing the drink (and therefore the aeration of the glass), the alcohol tames (but not too much), the medicinal peat softens and flirts with the brackish. The finish is long, with all the aromas that remain on the palate while you try to dispose of the alcohol which, you did not notice, but gave you a good shake.