The nose of this dram opens with rosewater-soaked dates visited by Nepalese honey bees. It’s very high and refined, but raises a question: who are the sherpa bees on such an expedition? As the nose goes, it gets more subtle and more distinguished, but yet more intense. Imagine barium and chromium oil paints, but with distinctive berry notes, like cloudberry. This is the smell of a library from the perspective of an autodidact. It’s all refinement, spun flax mixed with silk, and beautiful endpapers.
The mouth, however, is straight magic. We get liquefied pearls with equal measure of liquefied topaz. This is what bees would be doing if they got off Facebook and got busy pollinating stuff instead of spreading that disinformation about the blight. We also got a distinct note of dragon fruit. Or is it bread fruit? Bread dragons eating dragon bread–and loving it so hard that flaming saliva drips down their scales.
The finish would stay for days, if you gave it that long. Actually, it would be an ideal “prompter” for a two-day fasting regime (just don’t brush your teeth). There’s so much punch to this finish and it lasts so long, it’s basically an MMA submission hold that you don’t tap out of. You know, I don’t want to describe it: I want to become one with it. I want to transubstantiate it. I want it to transubstantiate me. Please?
On the scale of religious orthodoxies I can get on board with–
The Balblair 1983 is assumption–Not to be confused with consumption (neither the disease nor the capitalist versions) and unrelated to making an ass out of you and me, this is something only Elijah ever pulled off. Going to heaven without dying! Now that’s a way to go. And the Balblair 1983 is darn close.
–Our thanks to Balblair for the sample!