The Dewar’s Double Double 32 Year Old Blended Scotch Whisky

50 ml Queen B mini

Tasting notes:
I want to do this blend justice, but this blend makes doing justice look like a silly plebiscitarian concern. OK, using that 50-cent word was a mistake: John got excited because he initially thought I’d written “Presbyterian,” and Bill jumped out of his chair because he misread it as being a cognate of the word “biscuit.” Despite our various peccadilloes, however, we were in complete unanimity about this dram: it’s perhaps the best blended whisky we’ve ever tasted.

The nose on this dram is pure Parisian pastry: golden raisins, a well-earned sense of superiority, raspberry sweetness (but without the seeds), and a glaze of confectionary sugar that hits your tongue like mead from Olympus.

The mouth is just damn gorgeous. It’s demonstrably awesome, and has John rethinking his entire Philosophy of Gustation and Gesticulation course. After a wine note that runs away almost immediately, there’s a Renaissance glow surrounding its bright deliciousness. Imagine entrancing eyes that turn one’s way and pierce the soul. There’s also fruit, but it’s the fruit you’d expect Rolls-Royce to develop as a proprietary biofuel for their 2025 range.

The finish presents more sweet and chewy after-effects. We found sachets of shellacked mahogany from the Gilded Age nestled within an ornate bowl that turns out to be made entirely from candy. Or perhaps a mahogany hot tub that once held Sherry. It’s like it presented us with the sixth taste, after umami, and it was nearly indistinguishable from general well-being. We quickly found ourselves not wanting to say more about it, but rather just marinate in the happiness it generated within us. In short, this whisky is pantheonic.


On the scale of humiliating acts I would perform publicly in order to earn a bottle of this whisky–

The Dewar’s Double Double 32 Year Old is running nude onto the stage while Beyonce is performing the halftime show at the Super Bowl and doing the Truffle Shuffle until they tackle me and carry me away–Would I go more humiliating than that, like maybe by also screaming “Imma Let You Finish“? Assuredly I would, but shuffling my truffle next to the Queen Bee would itself be a humiliation that was truly (and here, appropriately) pantheonic. 






–Our thanks to Dewar’s for the sample!


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