The nose on this is a veritable cabinet of curiosities. A refrigerated cabinet, I might add. At first I catch a peach Creamsicle®. Then luncheon meats with a brightly colored candy shells so reflective I can almost make out my pupils as I gaze at them. Pecan pie crust after the filling has been eaten. Well-rubbed kangaroo-skin soccer cleats worn by a fit midfielder. Banana baby food offered to infantilized adult monkeys.
The mouth is chewing on scuba gear in anticipation of one’s first dive. And when you plunge into the water, the reef transforms into bajillion flowering bushes in full bloom. I want to say that this is aged in a maple barrel. It’s sappy and syrupy. But it also has some acidic hotness. (Did you say Hasidic hotness? No, no I didn’t.) I dare say, I believe it has immolated my tongue in sacrifice to a Chthonic divinity. Elements of tire tube surface. A clean, charred, lump charcoal brick produced in a kiln. Sour orange juice sitting in the sunlight. A very whisky sour.
The finish is long and multidimensional. Consider an unusual barbershop quartet ending its performance of “No Ash Will Burn” with a sustained cadenza. In the middle registers, a high note held by a soprano soon followed by a low note held by an alto. At the top end, a horseshoe bat cries out its ultrasonic plea and then a subsonic elephant love call completes this extraordinary, multi-octave chord.
The SMWS 36.67 is No Ash Will Burn by Walt Aldridge–Consider just this chorus: “Love is a precious thing I’m told / It burns just like West Virginia coal / But when the fire dies down it’s cold / There ain’t no ash will burn.”
–Our thanks to Gabby Shayne and the Scotch Malt Whisky Society of America for the sample!