The Compass Box Hedonism Quindecimus

Tasting notes:
In a departure from our normal practice, we tasted this blind.  We weren’t going to rely on the MI spectrograph for this one.  On the nose, it’s fruit: indeterminate drupe, grilled fruitcake, apricots disappointed that they are not tangelos.  Honey braided onto spider webs.  Whispers uttered from the mouth of a person eating high-end dark chocolate.  Copper locks on a cheese vault.

The mouth is so complex.  I keep checking off features on our MI rubric, stopping twice to sharpen my pencil.  There are so many, it’s like they are nestled in the folds like a king-sized wool blanket used on a child’s bed.  Spicy?  Yes.  Fruity again?  Yes.  Grout drying in a third floor bathroom tile job?  I’ve got that, too.  “Bingo!” yells Bill, earning our scowls.  He also had miniature pickled watermelon rinds and asparagus consommé to complete the row.

Take an enormous chrysanthemum flower and drop it into a low bowl full of bone broth and you get some idea about the power of the finish.  Petal after petal, until the whole flower has absorbed this curious tea.  Shaved bok choy, mint, the tang of a mouse-trap hinge, roller coaster grease, bookbinding paste, Riesling, a four-pointed star fish, a wooden dowel rod.  This whisky continues to erupt with surprises.  I feel that this is the dump dram at God’s own table.  Delicious.