The Chieftain’s Strathisla 12 Year 2000 (30 ml desk stash mini)

Tasting notes:
Hibiscus, buttered scones, lavender tea, and a tear-dappled pocket square.  In linen.  All of this comes with the force of an unexpected (but not unwelcome) kiss.  The pulse quickens and the nose reveals not so much a particular taste as a sense of elation and relief, perhaps like Noah seeing the dove return with an olive branch, or watching Chuck “The Iceman” Liddell make his way down to the Octogon at UFC 47.  Such is the promise of this whisky.  Such is the change it heralds.  The mouth is a jubilee of microscopic ball bearings rolling soundlessly in the purest grease formed of the earwax of cherubim, or the Vaseline wiped into The Iceman’s craggy visage moments before the fight.  Imagine gargling a tablespoon of mercury: that’s the hypnotic smoothness on mouth.  Unlike how the cinnamon challenge prompts a violent gag reflex, this mercury challenge, if you will, relaxes the throat so thoroughly that it radiates peace throughout my being.  (The Malt Impostor legal team insists we not refer to the “mercury challenge” but after I cry artistic license they relent on the condition that we add “do not try this” in red letters.) DO NOT TRY THIS.  The finish is a paintball match where instead of Karnage Rip Tournament Grade .68 caliber paintballs, the gun fires a blend of Valrhona malted milk balls and cashmere wool cotton balls.  Also .68 caliber.  You drop to your knees in surrender, whip off your Dye Invision Goggle I4 Pro Mask, and open your mouth to receive this chocolatey, woollen wonderspout of loving love.