The Balblair 2000-2010

Tasting notes:
     The Balblair 2000 was distilled in 2000 (a curious coincidence?) and bottled in 2010. Paper, pencil, mental exertion, abacus, pregnant pause: It’s ten years old! [John: This is like writing a review with Deep Blue or Watson if they were, you know, unplugged and inert.] The nose soothes with apricot nectar before reigniting PTOMGTaCitHS (post-traumatic-oh-my-gawd-there’s-a-child-in-the-house-syndrome) in Those Who’ve Had Children with the unmistakable waftings of just-cracked Gerber™ apple-pear-strawberry-banana baby food jar and freshly-folded nappies. It’s wonderful, precious, and disorienting like visiting the Louvre and slipping wildly, arms flailing, on an installation of machined titanium Bal-blairings. Scottish Spring™ soap for turf-cutters and sailors meticulously carved into sabots worn by the Vienna Boys Choir on a visit to Kyoto. (Let’s hope it doesn’t rain much in June!) It’s like a soccer ball after being kicked around in a 1998 World Cup match in the Parc Obscure in Bordeaux. [Stephen: Bill! That’s the Parc Lescure in Bordeaux!] Such a ball, that is, if the match had been played between two All-Citrus National teams from the (respective) Tropics of Cancer and Capricorn. All hail the subtropics!
     On the mouth, it’s like a Vice Presidential Ball at the Blair House in Washington, D.C.  If, that is, the VP was hosting a debutante ball for mermaids aspiring to a career in the Coast Guard: Drying brine, engine oil, plaits of sea goddess hair, and the near-maternal love of one’s favorite aunt. (See E. O. Wilson’s Sociobiology for the statistical analysis.) Fisherman’s boots, and in passing, the beloved and reliable heat-molded shoes of the fisherman’s wife (which are some jiveass slippers). Mango juice behind the brine—or perhaps under it, like roots growing beneath the tarmac of the A836. It’s like a Zombie cocktail; a Scottish bomb diggity: A dense brown molasses spoon bread with carmelized onions dipped in rosemary-infused olive oil. Boom! Diggity. [John: Have you no self-Diggity? —John]  Not when my glass is empty, John.
     The finish is a continuation of the mouth, much like Act III is a continuation of Act II in the famous opera, The Balblair of Seville.  [Stephen: That one physically hurt me.]  Spicy and savory, tarragon and thyme muted from being dried in the Andalusian sun. Bay leaves and parsley; Thanksgiving stuffing strewed and lemon juice drizzled on the Scarborough Fairgrounds.
 
  

Our thanks to Brian Johnson and InterBev for the sample!