The Glenmorangie Milsean translates from the Gaelic to “Milhouse.” What’s that you say, John? It’s pudding? What in the blue blazes has Dr. Bill Lumsden been smoking? Oh, it was the marketers? Ah, I shouldn’t have been so hasty. Now I feel better about the copious smoked candies on the nose and the raspy alligator clutching posies of daisies. It’s soft and underspoken, conveying more meaning with a nuanced eyebrow than a barrel-full of United Nations translators at a War Crimes trial at the Hague. That is to say, it’s the diligent permanent undersecretary who in truth runs the embassy’s affairs, allowing the politically-appointed stuffed shirt in the penguin suit to garner all the credit—so long, that is, as all the right things actually get done.
The mouth is sweet—very sweet—but not big sweet. It cloys in the sense that it clings, but neither does it pall, nor upbraid. It’s thick enough to be a liqueur, it’s gentle enough to offer to your mother, and it’s flavorful enough to pour over your Licktators™ breast milk ice cream. It’s rich enough to play poker with Bill Gates, Steve Ballmer, and Nathan Myhrvold, and discreet enough not to brag about its winnings.
The finish, Dionysius-like, whispers to me, “I’m only 10% abv, a mere 20 proof. Drink me like wine!” and I start to tipple. But the flowery carnations in Richard Gere’s tuxedo, circa 1988, remonstrate that, in fact, the Milsean is 92 proof. Freshly made apricot and Asian pear hard candies, still soft from cooking, are braided by my uvula into a lovely shape. I leave it as as a lei-offering on a tropical island as my ship departs port. John asserted, manfully, that Dr. Bill Lumsden must have been wearing ladies’ undergarments when he concocted this, and…and…we were forced to agree. (Dr. Bill? Comment?)
–Our thanks to Glenmorangie for the sample!