The Glenmorangie Quinta Ruban (100 ml mondo mini)

Tasting notes: 
    Here at the Malt Impostor, we’re not above–or below–the occasional pithy, direct, shot from a bow, sprung from a trap, lightning strike of an impression.  Upon the pouring of the dram into our Glencairn glasses, after the eddying swirl to volatilize the esters (Stephen:  Bill!  That’s for wine!), it was agreed by all that the Quinta Ruban “smells so nice.”
     After having our olfactory analytic circuits blown, we tilted, tippled, and tasted: a totalizing tang at the tip of the tongue.  A finish of maraschino oranges.  It indisputably was aged in port casks, and although we knew that going in, it became clear in a different way exactly what that meant: a veritable double consciousness of knowing something, but sort of not knowing, but simultaneously relishing it.  Confusing?  Well, I suppose so; after all, even single consciousness is confusing enough!
     Breaking the finish down more, it’s like having your pet ferret Sally dipping into a plethora of different niches and slots, then including your sinuses on her grand tour of orifices.  The flavors are served up on a pine-needle dish, hand-painted by Seurat, who used a palette of pure awesomeness and a brush whose bristles are also pine needles.  It’s the redolent aroma of a purified turpentine one would use in the restoration of the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel (and that the Chianti-sodden janitor would mistakenly use to clean the floor and lavs, too.)

–On the scale of painterly artistic masterpieces–
The Glenmorangie Quinta Ruban is Picasso’s “Family of Acrobats with Monkey”–It’s sad, it’s transcendent, it’s from his Rose period, it’s complicated, it evokes the Renaissance birth of Christ genre of sacred images, and it’s got a monkey.  Here at the Malt Impostor, that’s all we look for. Monkeys.



Leave a comment

Your email address will not be published.