This dram could have been one of the Inglourious Basterds: it comes right at you on the nose—or in the nose, I should say—like a nose speculum-wielding military doctor who never bothered to develop a soft touch. There are distinct aromas of lemon, punky ear wax, and half-rotten honeycomb (the last of which wanes wonderfully with water), but overall, the nose is even more complex than that description suggests: this is the Enigma Code of Scotch, but it’s punching you in the face, trying to get you not to go down the Nazi road. On the mouth, it features exploding mustard gas canisters that have been re-purposed to hold coq au vin MREs. Then come hints of pistachio nut buds and pine tree stock—imagine Donny the Bear Jew smashing you in the face with a solid pine bat while you snack on pistachios, just without all the blood. The finish goes on and on, seemingly forever, as it eschews the quick kill in favor of a non-anthropomorphized iron maiden on my uvula and a Little Ease on my tonsils. My mouth confesses.
The Highland Park 13 Year Old Single Cask Master of Malt is scalping them—A bit shocking at first, but it’s just so satisfying in the end. Plus, this way, you end up with a souvenir. Or your boss does.
*–Master of Malt (Highland Park 13 Yr Old Single Cask Master of Malt)
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