All mudded and naughty, you can tell from the first moment: he smells of raspberry cough syrup that his mother shoved down his throat before taking him to the beach. But he also smells of his sample snack: peanuts, vanilla ice cream and tropical juice. And then one says that kids today come up with diabetes…
He doesn’t stand still and fidget, but luckily he doesn’t scream: dustpan and bucket, marbles and castle. So to the palate it looks like the advert progress of dentists: marzipan, milk chocolate, caramel and orange peel. And a little bit of sherried wood, which you don’t eat, it’s true, but it will come from that net handle with which he’s trying to take an eye out of his lying neighbour. Finally all pepper and sweetness, for a young but nice entry level, which for a few minutes is also pleasant. But then, ma’am, if you take him away… 82/100.

Glenfiddich 23 yo Grand Cru (2019, OB, 43%)
aka “The linen shirt upstart on the yacht”

“Hey, bitch, what’s this monkey business?” – the guy arrives in his moccasins and immediately catches the inquisitive gaze of the dowser behind the Persol. To a 23-year-old who has done a master (pardon a finish) in Champagne casks all the doors are wide open, not only those of the Capannina. When he passes, everyone turns around. Some for the Submariner on his wrist, some for that delicious scent. Which will not be Acqua di Giò, but a composition of tangerine and peach, floral and ethereal, fruit pastries and a little bit of yeast, like someone who has just sabred a Krug and a few drops fell on his pareo.
Not even the time to lie down on the deckchair by the pool (the sea is gargantuan and the salt spoils the skin), that he sticks to the phone. “You know, we’re billing by the balls at the company. Wait till I tell you…”. And down to enumerate revenues, conquests and hints of the palate: fragrant bread, apricot brioche, white peach, a divine wax, something orangey. What savoir faire, what elegance. That touch of ginger and wood, combined with a cider-like acidity, gives it much more than that metrosexual haircut. He doesn’t stay long, that a fleece-looker is already inviting him for the “apericena”. He leaves behind a trail of tips, toast and non-sweet honey. And you look at him and think: I expected this enriched one to be more unbearable, but come on, even if he’s this upstart guy, in the end he’s more than sober, and at the end the white linen shirt is really elegant. Having said that, go to the gym a bit and put on some muscles and grades, that with such a weak abv you risk to dislocate a pulse at the first flute you lift. 88/100.

Port Ellen 32 yo (1983/2015, Elite selection, 54%)
aka “Venus coming out of the water”

Ursula Andress in 007 license to kill. Pamela Anderson on watchtower. Sabrina Salerno in the pool in the Boys video. Anna Falchi on the waterfront in the calendar. You see her and immediately the synapses activate osé memories. Every beach has its divinity, the most beautiful of all. Whether she lies in the sun or dives agile, hundreds of eyes are on her. And she, blonde, renowned, knows it. She has an oily, waxy, iridescent patina of fruit on her skin. Sea water remains in her hair, imagine dining with her at oysters and lemon in front of a bonfire. The smoke surrounds her, like a mineral charm. Let’s all go back to those summertime crushes of geological eras ago, when people used to fantasize about the taste that a kiss from the most beautiful beach would have: certainly a full, round and sweet taste, like salty caramel and creme brulee. But underneath it all there is something very little angelic, burning embers and a hot but conscious gradation that opens up sinful and tasty thoughts. Butter, pandoro, again the salt on the body that dries in the sun…
Enough fantasizing, that adolescence and its turmoil have passed a while ago. Now that we have grown up, in front of the absolute perfection of a silky and creamy body that immerses itself in the most outspoken marinity, we can only remain open-mouthed. Until the jealous girlfriend gives us a slap… 93/100.