The first thing that strikes this taster is that the “magical” bottle is larger than the usual airplane nip, so it is approached with some measure of caution, dare I say, trepidation? After all, one should not meddle in the affairs of wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger. The rich purple red liquid that pours out is the next shocker: Was this aged in port casks? Dyed for comic effect? On the nose, intense berries, especially cassis. Exceedingly fruity, exceedingly odd. Metallic undercurrent coiling about like Ourobos, the world worm, stirring up all kinds of trouble. El Niño in a bottle? In the mouth, it’s like lingering over fatty, smoky, peppery, applewood bacon served in the lilac and gardenia-bestrewn parlor of Morgaine le Fay. That is, if Morgaine le Fay were given then to taking 80-grit sandpaper and grinding your tastebuds until they were smooth enough for pixies to skate on. Strange overtones of santa sangre drunk from a holy grail. Possibly the oddest Scotch this reviewer has ever tasted.
*–that should be “Merlot”
**–I must apologize for these notes: apparently, we’ve done too many Glen’s in a row, and, perhaps more apparently, I shouldn’t let Bill post when he’s drunk. –the webmeister