The Bruichladdich Organic (200 ml free range, grass-fed bottle)

Tasting notes:
      When we first laid eyes on this bottle, all three of us misread the name of this whisky.  Maybe it was the shiny gold label or the lack of imagery that allowed for the misreading, or perhaps it was just our love for Bruichladdich whiskies that got our imaginations running wild.  Or perhaps it was a combination of the three.  Regardless, upon first encountering this bottle, we were simultaneously excited and shocked by the chutzpah Jim McEwan must have had to name one of his whiskies the “Bruichladdich Orgasmic.”  Once we realized our mistake, it no longer mattered, because there was no going back after a misunderstanding like that (just ask Fatty Arbuckle).
     The gold label complements and draws your attention to the amazing color of this dram.  It’s the color of straw spun into gold by a princess.  And no, she’s not vegan.  She’s not even vegetarian.
     On the nose, this dram opens with distinct notes of cheese puffs.  Organic, cruelty-free cheese puffs.  Non-dairy ones.  But they’re really good nonetheless.  I know, I know.  Just try to imagine such a thing.  The nose develops wonderfully to offer the sniffer hints of taking a bath in raw, steel-cut oats.  In a clawfoot tub. Where the claws are ferret claws.  But it’s still a full-sized tub, just really long and narrow.  Then come notes of English Leather™, along with a slightly musky flavor, as if an unsupervised free-range ferret touched its snout to the cologne dispenser.  Of course, that raises the question: what would make a ferret free-range, if not for the fact that it was unsupervised?  Some mysteries will always remain just that.
     On the mouth, it begins with a lovely grainy note, followed by a kaleidoscope of varied flavors: a French eau de stargazer lilies, otters caught in an oil spill then moved to an algae tank, rosewater syrup, and lemons that grew up on the wrong side of the tracks.  The finish is more fire than flavor, that of a supernova in a galaxy far, far away that leads you not Bethlehem but to a pub in Glasgow.  And the pub is serving pierogies as finger food.  Cage-free pierogies.  Catch ’em while you can.