The Glenfiddich The Original

Tasting notes:
The nose is a little slight at first.   It’s like you’re cleaning up after a game of “hide the lemon” played with a toddler and a ferret on the sofa.  Then the two run off to play in a pine forest on a misty gray day.  More pine notes follow.  Pine resin, aged, but still tacky on the bat.  But don’t point that out to George Brett; it’s a joke he won’t find funny.  Or maybe it’s a just-finished yellow pine deck onto which an extra-large Big Green Egg is delivered via crane in time to invite the neighbors over for dinner.

The mouth is delicious.  Flower blossoms added to the top of a bowl over flowing with Honeycomb cereal.  But don’t be fooled.  This is filled with flavor.  The nearest comparison is to nitroglycerin: clear but powerful.  The mouth provides as much interest to my palette as a decerebrated frog to a future biologist with long blond pigtails, blue eyes, and several twisted secrets.  The back end has the sort of flinty bits, or a kind of graphite dust, that leavens the sweetness in just the way I like.

The finish is really yummy.  A friendly druid has found the toddler and ferret and three lemons and, with a surprising economy of words, transforms them into a simple syrup, magical fireball, and a vial of denatured lilac.  You see, it’s all part of a love philtre—unusual on account of its aromatherapeutic benefits—that if taken as directed wipes away regret and paves over remorse.

Rating: