Macallan 18 year

Color: deep polished garnets and coppers. Brilliant sparkling clarity. Liquefied precious gems.

Nose: stewed plums, apricots, and cherries. Chocolate truffle powder along the sides. Caramel apples. Honeycomb. Dried apricots and peaches. Sweet spicy heat in the back – like the sweet hot crackling heat of a fireplace.

Palate: swirls oily and thick, leaving tears that linger forlornly and lovingly. Dry and thin along the sides, sticky and full in the middle from first sup to last. Caramel apples and plums and apricots and cherries. Port and deep rich red wine – dry and tannic. Leather and orange oils. Warmed spiced liquid honeycomb. Spicy heat well-worn red wine soaked oak.

Finish: dry, spiced, and warming. Long lingering tannins. Dried fruits. Plum and cherry stones.

I stayed away from the Macallan during the early days of my single-malt journey for no other non-reason then the silliness of supposed “corporate big label macro mediocrity”. I should have known better, and now I do. The Macallan hasn’t been around for as long as she has, since 1824 to be exact, for everything and for just one thing – damn good single-malt. Embracing innovation and celebrating tradition, Macallan understands not to mess with what isn’t broken and to take what time and nature has given we simple human beings and to make it better than what it was before, even if just an itsy bitsy bit.
Make no bones: The Macallan is damn good.
When it comes to the far more commonplace 12 year I actually prefer Glenfiddich, but tis the luxurious 18 year I can and will prefer any day, any time. A humble and humbling spirit, her embrace took me to the storied lands of Scotland. Dram in hand, a gentle breeze caresses as I take in the soul-wrenching beauty of vivid greens broken up by spunky flowers showing off their colors to anyone willing to take a moment to appreciate.
A sip.
A moment.
And with open eyes I return once more to the barley-free land of Florida. An incurable romantic, sadly I haven’t made my way to Scotland yet but when I do I’ll be sure to savor Macallan in her storied home, a moment’s perfection from first sip to last. 

(an original written work by Kristyn Lier. plagiarism is not tolerated)

Ledaig 15 year

 

Color: golden straw and banana skin. Gorgeous clarity.

Nose: musky. Dry mandarin and orange peel. Barnyard dust. Greenness of the aloe plant. Honeyed corn bread. Bales of hay in the back. Spiked honeycomb with a tickle of heat – primitive mead.

Body: medium-light with mild coating of glass which doesn’t last long. Oily and mouth-coating up front and dry in the in the back.

Palate: oily sticky decadence and not heavy at all. Orange oils and aloe oils. Heaviest in the middle, lightest up front and back. Honeycomb. Dusty dry finish – sawdust, barnyard dust, horse blanket, baled hay. Spiced stewed honeyed apples and peaches. Cornbread and honey. Yellow banana peel in the back. Cinnamon-sugar in the breath. Subtle sweet peaty smoke permeates and entices and soothes. Subtle and sophisticated.

Finish: long, smoky, and sweet with gentle oaky dryness.

As real as the bottle of Ledaig 15 year and the multiple drams she relinquished from her glassy confines, the distillery itself has proved ghostly illusive. Searching for any information on this once defunct and now operational distillery has been a pleasurable challenge. What I have been able to deduce is that Ledaig is still alive and well but goes by the name of Tobermory which is located on the Hebridean Island of Mull. Where it grows confusing is that Tobermory also has its own single-malt which goes by her new namesake. These two singular spirits are not to be confused with each other for each are truly a unique tasting experience.

While Tobermory and I remain strangers, Ledaig and I fast developed an intimate relationship. A truly fine spirit, she was sensual sophistication. The smoke was divinely delicate and her fruit tantalizingly sweet. I truly fell in love with this single-malt. Each sup left a thin sheen of sticky oaked honey divinity on my lips. Brilliant from nose to mouth, I’d gladly savor Ledaig 15 year on a very regular basis. Bottles may be hard to find, but the fruitful reward of one’s search is in the bottle and, of course, in your glass.

Brilliant. 

(an original written work by Kristyn Lier. plagiarism is not tolerated)

Bushmills 16 year

 

Color: brilliant and deep coppers and oranges with gold aspirations.

Nose: caramel, toffee, and chocolate. Apricot, mandarin, and plums. Tickle of sweet sticky spicy heat in the back. Homemade cranberry sauce with just a touch of sugar for sweetness. Caramel flambé. Orange oils in the back. Floral esters whisper of rolling green fields covered in blossom and petal. Red licorice.

Body: swirls oily with thick tears that linger just long enough. Mouth-coating and sticky in the middle with a surprisingly short finish. Medium weight bordering on medium-light.

Palate: orange and cranberry. Rosewater and lavender. Salt water taffy and gooey melted toffee – Werthers original comes to mind. More orange is met with fresh grapes ala grape juices. Candied jellies. Chocolate is a shadow of a whisper in the back – liquid, malted, and truffled.

Finish: plums, kiwi, and rose. Lips are coated in silken sweet spicy heat that tickles just a bit. berries and jam.

Whisky or whiskey - a centuries old debate that isn’t looking to be settled anytime soon and really, who cares about stupid semantics when the whiskey is so damn good. For this round I shall utilize the “e” for tis not Scotland we are abiding by but Ireland and her own “water of life”, specifically the Bushmills distillery and their 16 year spirit. Aged in Oloroso Sherry and Bourbon casks, she is then aged further in Port Wine barrels for months before finally being judged suitable for bottling and subsequently my enjoyment.

As for your enjoyment, get your own damn bottle because you’re not laying one grubby paw on mine. From pour to nose to palate I was completely floored by how much I frickin’ loved this whiskey. Did my single-malts finally have a regular contender? The debate still goes on but for now I shall simply savor the beauty of her ruby and garnet hues, luxurious palate worthy of the most sophisticated gentry, and history better taught appreciatively in schools than bastardized in sleazy booze halls. OMG! Am I worthy? Why yes, I think I am.

If there is ever a rare millisecond when I doubt the endless beauteous bounty of this burgundian journey I have embarked on, it is unexpected gems such as the Bushmills 16 year that brings me right back to flavorvana, dash those milliseconds of doubt, and provoke the euphoria of sensorial stimulation for which I am a happy captive. A tip of the hat to the fine distillers who for centuries past and present continue to honor the fine art of Irish distillation, triple that is, and I’ll take mine neat with a smidge of water. 

(an original written work by Kristyn Lier. plagiarism is not tolerated)