Mmmm…muscular, tawny, yummy. Prunes pierced on switches held over a campfire after running out of marshmallows. Caramels sunk into a mixture of Kentucky bourbon and Spanish sherry, then pulled back out and shaped into nameless superheroes, each with a special power. One of them uses sun-crisped sheets of sandpaper to scrape barnacles off a beached tugboat. Another applies lacquer to mangoes before launching them into an algae pond. A third superhero does something remarkable, but better left unsaid, with Brazil nuts. I smile beatifically at them all, and feel an overwhelming sense of the fundamental goodness in all things. One final sip remains from this truly meditative whisky. I reach across my contented belly to tug the stopper, letting my vanity pour out of my omphalos. Pretension and artifice circles the rusty drain till there is nothing. Nothing.
The Glendronach 18 is Cheeses Christ–just above DaVinCheese, but just behind Quesomodo.