On the open, the nose of this dram hit us like a fruity, herbaceous white do–but this white dog has been rolling around in a patch of manky, rotting celery that an old man had been planning to harvest for his world famous kimchi. Work on it a bit longer, and there’s a nutty note, like from a bad peanut. If this were the nut even a blind squirrel finds, that would really suck for him. After some conversation over it, the mankiness gives way to denatured cantaloupe rind and all sorts of melonic roundness and hints of bitterness.
The mouth, however, is delicious. It’s oily and deep like an aquaponic herring farm located in downtown Chicago. The mouth completely reverse engineers the experience of the mouth, offering notes of grapefruit rind used to enclose Gouda wheels and of flan melting on the roof of a Rolls Royce. Bladnoch three times on the ceiling if you want some.
The finish is like hot sorbet, whatever that’s like. Whatever it is like, it’s not like hot yoga, thank Krishna. There’s also tangy notes and some bitterness, perhaps from not having had that nose job it wanted when it was younger. Overall, this dram is more ontologically discontinuous than Gregor Samsa. Imagine Pygmalion, featuring an all porcine cast. They became bacon. The audience was boared. Sty-fy at its best.
The Bladnoch 21 Year 1992 from The Exclusive Malts is Babe–Not nearly as memorable as Napoleon from Animal Farm, but much more appealing than Snowball or Squealer from the same novel. Want an interesting Bladnoch? This one will do, pig, this one will do.
–Our thanks to Sam Filmus and ImpEx for the sample!