The SMWS 93.47 (redux)

60 ml bottle o' briny, sweet goodness

[We reviewed this one a while back and forgot that we did, but we liked it so well, we just reviewed it again. Just take this as the second installment in what could very well turn out to be a growing portfolio of tasting notes for this whisky.]


Tasting notes:
On the nose, umami-rich roe, uni, and kippered haddock smeared on broken oat crackers: a seafood trifecta. There’s also toasted brie cheese in a hammock of figs, apricots, dark tangelos, and dried pomegranate pips decorating the appetizer tray at a party commemorating the New York City Ballet’s launching of a post-modern interpretation of Swan Lake in which the “ballerinas” dance “swans.”

     The mouth unleashes a cyclone of drill bits made from dark tangelos, wielded by D’Artagnan’s descendants, spraying shards of accreted layers of Sunday morning languors and complacencies of the boysenberry-scented peignoir in the kitchenette and boudoir. A Blue Man playing a blue guitar playing the blues at the Blue Note. There’s also the curious sensation of kissing your inamorata on her soft and yielding lips, but in fact, your nervous tic caused you to miss her shining countenance and instead plant it on her slightly damp très chic raincoat.
     The finish is polished fruit sliding down a fruit-chute at the polishing plant. Not very distinguished, perhaps you’re thinking, but these are polished on the inside as well as the outside; a very neat trick indeed! Wax candles molded in the shape of pineapples adorning end tables in the pre-Pope Francis Vatican. The mouthfeel of the Ark of the Covenant being burnt by Philistines. The Aardvark of the Coverlets, pleated, darted, quilted perfection. It’s having the vacation you neither needed nor earned, but enjoyed more than everyone else in your large, large firm.
     With water, the nose thins to gladiolas, selfies, and snapdragons. Unzipped baggies, baggy gabardines, crumpled crinoline, and damp limestone struck at long last by morning sun. The mouth adds body like a vibrating string completes the odd-shaped box that is a violin. The cyclone of drill bits is muted to a whirlwind of trumpets and other brass instruments. Tangy, sweet, the topping poured over a poundcake served at the Dogcatcher’s Ball. Enough fire to convince yourself that against all other indicators, maybe it might-could come from Islay (even though it doesn’t).


–On the scale of bizarrely belated Oscar™-winning actors–
The SMWS 93.47 is Al Pacino finally winning for Scent of a Woman. Hoo-ah!


–Our thanks to Gabby Shayne and the SMWS of America for the sample!


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