The Westland American Single Malt Whiskey

50 ml precocious sample bottle

Tasting notes:
The nose is fiery, but sophisticated. It’s like Southern Comfort’s greatly sophisticated cousin, four times removed. Or better: SoCo’s super-refined distant cousin who turns out to have been secretly adopted from a French convent staffed with Ingrid Bergman look-alikes. Or like a published poet, art collector, and general raconteur visiting relatives in the Alabama Slammer (though he’d be much better in it than they ever could be). Or imagine fine Italian leather before it’s worked into a murse. That contains acorns. Covered with an orange and hazelnut lacquer.

     Mouth is religious! Delicious! Relicious! Religion à la The Book of Mormon. In other words, it’s a truly unique mouth. Shepherd’s Pie that married a Tiramisu. Only to then be served, as a couple, by a velvet-clad monkey valet. Or maybe a chipmunk wearing a corduroy vest. Keep working on the mouth, and there’s popcorn dipped in the cough syrup of the gods and gently lain on hay by a freshly bathed elephant with great trunk dexterity. He’s training to be a jewel thief, but can already speak at length about the 4 C’s. Still working on the climbing, though. 
      The finish is hard to differentiate from the mouth, but the mouth is so good, we found that a positive. Homeostatic. Something back of the palate is a bit gypsum weedy.  Water opens it up, providing additional Gran Marnier and grassy notes. It has a real presence on the palate as the finish fades: it’s piquant and voluminous. [John: Okay, Professor!] Seems to be a halo effect of some kind, which seems wholly appropriate for this whisky. How old is this stuff again? The word that comes to mind is “precocious.”



–On the scale of precocious children I know–
The Westland American Single Malt Whiskey is Bill’s son, Levi–The kid does Kung Fu, plays the piano like nobody’s business, and can do some pretty decent magic tricks. Hell, he even became a vegetarian at, like, five years old. The stand-up comedy could use a little work, but given that there are no pre-teen comic geniuses anyway, that’s probably a little too much to ask. Now if he’d only stop writing me symphonies. Dude, I can’t even play a musical instrument! Oh wait, maybe that kid’s comedy’s coming along better than I realized…


–Our thanks to Steve Hawley and Westland Distillery for the sample!
The sample box–even this is thoughtfully made


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