Germain-Robin Fine Alambic Brandy ~ Lot 23

   I have a confession to make: I know pretty much absolutely nothing about brandy, much less fine alembic brandy the likes of which Germain-Robin is reputed for. A multigenerational descendent of vaunted cognac distillers, Hubert took his priceless heritage to another level by distilling fine wines into brandy decadence using a restored ancient alembic still. Ranging in accessibility and price, no matter what your indulgence, all of the fine Germain-Robin brandies will indubitably titillate and please.
Wine isn’t my imbibement of choice but when distilled into Brandy/Solera/Armagnac/Arzente, my tastebuds’s curiosity is peeked. Am I being blatantly biased and ignorant of wine’s fine standing? Yes. But for now wine is of little personal professional interest which I shall rectify one of these days…just not today. This isn’t to say I haven’t had good wines both white and red (with a definite preference for red) but brandy isn’t wine, at least not anymore. Brandy is typically distilled from the lesser white grapes because, after all, the best grapes should be saved for the best wines. Or should they? Shouldn’t a better grape wine make a better brandy? I say yes and the proof is quite tastefully in the brandy, specifically the brandies of Germain-Robin which use only the finest Pinot Noir, Colombard, and Semillon grape wines.
The bottle I cracked into was from Lot 23. What is Lot 23? Not quite sure; I’ve tried email inquiries with Germain-Robin but with no response so far. But I shan’t give up for a greater knowledge of this fine imbibement can only improve upon my slow savorance of its bottled divinity one glass at a time. And so without further ado…

Color: clear brilliant polished deep oranges and rich golds. Copper glints along the edges.

Nose: sweet heat tickles with flambéed orange and mandarin. Cinnamon sticks and mulled cider. Plump golden raisins. Cardamom. Orange honeycomb. Crisp and bright – pierces the senses.

Body: oily – long lingering tears. Thick in the middle, sticky, then dry along the sides. Holds onto the back of throat.

Palate: rich, smooth, and soothing. Lips tingle with spice and heat which unfold into orange rind, cardamom, orange honeycomb, and flambéed marmalade. Werthers Original planted right smack dab in the middle. Plump golden raisins dipped in honey and orange peel all as one. Heat also tickles in the middle back of tongue.

Finish: fleshy apples and cinnamon sticks – spiced and mulled. Fresh oak. Long and heavy on top of the tongue.

I never quite understood why the hubbub over truly good brandy. Having observed a steady procession of average to mediocre brandies go from shelf to counter to someone’s plastic cup, a high opinion I did not have. After all, it wasn’t exactly being savored for its individual qualities of which it appeared to have little. But taking time and tender loving care into consideration, a good brandy (wherever it may come from) is as worthy of a crystal snifter or fine cocktail as countless other treasured distillates. Ginger ale need not apply here, thankyouverymuch. Instead I'll continue to savor my Germain-Robin neat which, having opened the mind’s eye to a fantasia of flavorful possibilities, has properly prepared me for all future brandy excursions. What next? Only time and my own trip from shelf to counter to glass shall tell.

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

Lagavulin 16 year

   While not my first experience, early in my embrace of the malt there was peat, more specifically, the sweet smoky earthen tarry salty love that is also known as Lagavulin 16 year. The isle of Islay which Lagavulin calls home is synonymous with peat and all its divisive glory. One either loves peat or hates it and I’ve yet to meet anyone who waddles with indecision. But what is peat? Peat is quite simply a century’s long compressed accumulation of decayed vegetation matter along with whatever else may have happened to die and decompose there. Sounds gross but hey, that’s Mother Nature and with a little help from man Mother Nature gives me Lagavulin.
All is well in my world, indeed.
Lagavulin shares its coastline with two other distilleries but shares its water with no one. No one. The malt Lagavulin smokes ala peat comes from the maltings at Port Ellen, another vaunted distillery in Scotland I shall explore elsewhere. Time is not of essence at Lagavulin as more than 15 hours are taken during distillation before spirit meets her long slumber in barrels. This is longer than any distillery within the green hills and craggy shores of Scotland.
Today makes the second bottle of Lagavulin to tease and delight my eager burgundian senses. Lagavulin has more bottlings beyond the 16 year but there is just something about this particular age which is both soothing and invigorating…a little bit of home, if I do say so myself.

Color: ambers, mahogany, and garnets. Clear and deep.

Nose: peat and smoke, mud and muck, leather and tannins. Apple cores and musk in the back. Smells just before a rain shower and right after a rain shower. Sea salt weaves in and out. Hibiscus.

Body: swirls oily, thick, and heavy. Mouthcoating. Sticky in the middle which lingers long. Tingle along inner lips and top of tongue.

Palate: oily – smoke and peat, dirty and leathery. Lovely rancid burnt tarry finish. More leather along with some saddlebags. Old. Musk, sweat, salt, seaweed, and salt. Mossy shores. Fish scales. Fishing docks. Orange oils. Peat – char and tar.

Finish: long and lingering and delicate all at the same time. Rides flavor wave to the point of overwhelming…and doesn’t. Musk, leather, char, and peat have a party in my breath. Soothing. Of hearth and home.

Lagavulin 16 year is home. I can’t think really of any other way to describe our relationship any other way. Tis not the same kind of home one enjoys with her Love and family but the kind of home, kinship if you will, one feels with the Earth and with Time. This is Lagavulin. Get yourself some.