The Glenfarclas 10

Tasting notes:
Apples.  Dahlias dipped in sherry on a hot morning.  Cherry tobacco cigarillos, also dipped in sherry.  The empty cigar box sits in a child’s room stuffed with Monopoly money, secret notes, and an invented language with its own alphabet.  The window looks out into a movie producer’s back yard; his neighbors know him as the guy who greenlighted Howard the Duck.
     The mouth is both sharp and cheesy, but not the stuff of sharp cheddar.  Rather it’s a beeswax stylus kept cool so it can be used to draw caricatures on a warm wax tablet. “Salty,” says Bill.  Stephen and I look up quizzically to see him brushing off the crumbs of airline pretzels.  “What?” he pleads, and we let it go, but Stephen shoots him a look that says we’re only letting it go this time.  The back of the mouth is woody.  A dark woody: think Capital Crimes and High Misdemeanors, or Annie Unlit Hall.
     Finish fattens out like a pat of butter added to coffee.  Bittersweet chocolate without the bitterness, sweetness, or chocolate.  Dried pith of some citrus fruit used to wipe down sherry barrels.  I am in a book-lined room in an Oxford don’s home and I’m not ready to leave.