The nose on the Aberlour 18 is like taking the Turing Test while playing the Dating Game.
“Contestant number two: How many licks does it take to get through the cellophane wrapped around a Tootsie Pop made in a boutique?”
“I lost count after 74,000 licks; my tongue went numb and was partially eroded.”
Tricky, right? Were either of those sentences written by humans or were they generated by our special Malt Impostor Tasting Note Artificially Intelligent Word Generator (MITNAIWG)?
Setting aside these ponderous thoughts, we found pork loins in a lingonberry reduction and a cheese log (bleu) studded with sage sprigs. There’s also a grasshopper jumping around the house (while children attempt to trap him), and it’s not clear if he jumps for joy, jumps at the chance, or is jumping the toy shark.
The mouth is smooth lime syrup intermingled with grenadine and a sprinkling of confectioner’s sugar made from honey and maple sap that’s all surreptitiously poured on a floor mat that Aly Raisman is doing backflips on. And yes, it’s a gold medal performance. Duh.
The delicious finish belies the nose and enlarges upon the profundity of the mouth. It’s long–really, really long–like waiting in line for a Michelin two-star restaurant that doesn’t take reservations. It’s a long wait–have I noted that?–behind a Hen Party of tipsy toffs, but the various emotions engendered by the kitchen’s aromas and the eager anticipations whet your soul into a Quaker quilt of hedgehog quills delicately piercing jasmine petals.