This whiskey pours into my glass with all of the gravity of my deepest regret. It’s so imposing, sitting there like a Carolina reaper wearing its glossy, Ferrari red petticoat and a mask of shriveled anger. And yet it noses up with brightness and hope. A nose of eau de vie, you might say. Consider butterfly popcorn kernels lightly dusted with grappa, baker’s yeast, yew leaves, and cardamom. As I swirl it in my glass and lean in for more, I find myself transported into a doll’s house furniture showroom (scale model). I am led along, room by room, behind an elven Go Pro camera on the world’s longest tracking shot.
The mouth redounds with syrup, caramel, and sap from heaven’s own orchards captured in diamond-coated thimbles. All of this is used to glaze the most amazing acorn pie. Even squirrels stand still in respect of the sublimity offered here. I’d wager that the grains were born in July whose birthstone is ruby. How else to account for the gem-like depth permeating this experience? The slow burn rising from the mouth to the finish saunters with the unhurried pace of wisdom herself. I find myself making all of those heavy sighs that the yoginis recommend, and I get it, I get it, I get it, at long last I get it.
The finish is warm, warm, warmer, warmer, hot, hot, hot, hot. And then I’ve found it! I have it in my hands. This is the one. This is my port of call. It’s a grapey sandblaster that peels away the accretions of sorrow and missteps. It’s the baptismal font. It’s bingo. It’s being tucked into bed by Sleeping Beauty’s parents.
–Our thanks to Angel’s Envy for the sample!