In last month’s blind sessions, we found a dark, dark, copper-colored sample, and we were racking our brains to figure out what was in front of us. Fate had it extracted as a first dram, so we faced it fresh and perky: great was the surprise to discover an Elijah Craig bottled in the ’90s (for the bottle we have to thank our favorite kitten, Samuel). Here our impressions, strictly written without knowing what we were drinking.
N: it’ll be that it’s the first one of the evening, but he looks pretty tall to us. From the color and intensity we immediately start to unbalance and say sherried. But it also has a vinyl note that amazes us. Rather built and very vanilla, we would say without a doubt that there is an air of virgin oak. Something’s not right. A mighty rich fruit, with cherries in spirit. The general sweetness makes us waver: is it a blended? Or a single grain? But slowly a balsamic air comes out, like coriander. And it’s like a revelation: This is America, gentlemen. Scented, butterscotch. Over time, it calms down and focuses on a pecan flavor…
P:
sweet and weird, rhymes with American whiskey again. If a rye seemed plausible to us, we would now say more convincingly that we are in the presence of a bourbon, even if structured and not trivial. The cherry here takes the shape of fruit jellies, accompanied by a distinct taste of gummy violet licorice. In kilos, tons and tons… There is also a more woody dimension, let’s say between virgin wood and cherry pits. Alcoholic, nice and loady. Monolithic in its vanilla and in its thick soup. More dried fruit dipped in caramel, like a soft crunchy bar.
F: fat but medium-long, between toffee and again a lot of violet. More monochord than the intensity of the palate.
Do you know the feeling of estrangement when you take a rental car in Scotland, when at the beginning at every roundabout you get a blind panic and you don’t pick yourself up? Well, we for the first curves of the nose were like this, new Tiresia that proceeded to groping in the sensations. Then, we recovered and aimed straight at the USA. And we also caught (well done, you brats!) that it was an evolved bourbon. Of course, it lacks the depth of single malt, but it’s like comparing football in the ’60s to football today: two different sports. So of this twelve-year-old we take the intensity, the brazen roughness, the general drinkability despite a considerable alcohol impact. And we gladly endure that haunting violet that at the third sip monopolizes the experience: 83/100.
Recommended soundtrack: WASP – Rebel in the F.D.G.
