The Bruichladdich Laddie Classic Edition_01

Tasting notes:
The Bruichladdich Laddie Classic Edition_01 opens with an orange gaining early parole after an unfortunate jail stint for miscegenation with a lemon. (Unbelievably for the 21st century, this “strange fruit” is still illegal in many states.) Apparently, the misbegotten orange and lemon consummated the act of cross-fertilization on a resiny raft a-floatin’ down the Mississippi River, or perhaps adrift on a sodden burlap sack of coconuts and a bag of copper ball-peen hammers becalmed in the Sargasso sea. (Reports, unsurprisingly, aren’t clear.)
     Generous mouth, like Julia Roberts’ ‘aah-ing’ at the dentist’s office; that is, if her breath were invested with warming embers under the winter flannel sheets, perhaps slightly singeing them, with that effect offset by the hard vanilla icing coating the coals. Honeycomb and crystallized molasses still clinging to Nana’s sterling flatware despite shouting “boo!” at it. A pineapple carved into a netsuke that’s been carried around in a klettersack on alpine expeditions. Unsurprisingly, it still smells like a pineapple. Blue potato french fries and a ceviche of graceful squid angels that are also, for mysterious reasons, on ice in the klettersack.
     Finishing with brine, like completing the IRONMAN Triathlon Championship in a personal record time, and then using an astrigent birch strigil to scour and harrow the salt from the evaporated sweat on your body in Steuben glass philtres. It’s smooth and strong, like the well-oiled torso of a body-centric flexing “Tan-bassador” repping an upstart tanning salon chain coming soon to your town.

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