The Glen Scotia Double Cask opens with Sherry Biscuits, infamous moll to notorious gangster Kid Cinnamon Oakuccino. The moll’s packing plastic precursors to the Barbie Doll: She’s got the Deutsche Bild Lilli accessorized with gunpowder mini-pink-purses, and she’s toting an iron pan: She never knows if she’s gonna need to fry up some bacon or linguiça before sneaking out the back door to wreak mischief or havoc, as the situation demands. Are those pineapples (the hand grenade kind) or freshly cut cherry peppers wrapped in no-perfume Bounce Dryer Sheets? Lemons with curry powder packets jammed into the rind, or raw transgression? I savor the tension.
The mouth is woody and spicy, but not Spicy Woods, Tiger Woods’ mysterious younger sister who may or may not have founded bitcoins. There are citrus radiators steaming in the background, and a gangland CPA/philosopher deriving the mouth from the nose with the .44 Magnum force of a syllogism: Cogito ergo Sumatra! (In honor of the orang peels.) Cogito ergo sum committitur ignes! (It’s bringing the high heat on a lowball offer.)
Ending with the numb tongue of a stoolie forced to lick a cedar cutting board previously used to slice Thai peppers, and banana peppers swaddled in a hammock of grape leaves. Wasabi and fermented ginger are the lasting shreds of consciousness before the long goodbye of the glass being half-empty then fully gone.