The St. George Single Malt Whiskey [Lot 9] (750 ml tallboy mega mini)

Tasting notes: 
     What sort of relics, one wonders, accrue to St. George? Dragon scales? Sword shards? Singed singlets and armor gone agley, besmirched by flames and no longer coruscant? Certainly amongst such regalia the St. George Single Malt need not bow its (metaphoric) head.
     A nose laced with citrus and clove gives way to yoghurt and roses, a heady mixture of Sauvignon Blanc subtly tinged with botrytis, the noble rot of Eiswein, Tokay, Sauternes, and the whole family of dessert wines. It’s like a humid summer night sitting out on the back porch of a dairy farm, tiki torches of citronella shooing away skeeters and dragons.
     Slashing down the face to the mouth, nothing so much as the boccino from a bocce set: smooth, round, and an alloy of metal, fine china, and pure esprit. If you can imagine a few million ball-bearings made of heather, honey, and the good intentions of Renaissance Faire participants rolling around in your mouth…you have a better imagination than I do.
     The mounting power of the finish accrues to the middle of the tongue with remarkable tenacity, like a bowling ball pushed down a lane by a li’l kid just learning the ancient art of keggling. (No, I did not mean “kegeling.” Get your mind out of the gutter!) It’s not complex, it doesn’t modulate, but there’s an enduring note of pine must tinged by hacky sack like the long, long oboe note picked up by the clarinet from Mozart’s Serenade in No. 10 in B-flat as described by Salieri in Amadeus. This libation is dangerously drinkable, but you and St. George should both beware of guzzling it for fortitude before facing the Dragon: Chugging it is wasteful, and according to Stephen (the Gauche), doing so results in a searing sensation on the palate.  Besides, you’d probably just end up offering the Dragon a drink, and who knows where that might go?

–Our thanks to Ellie and Lance Winters at St. George Spirits for the “sample”!