Whisky : Linkwood 29 Year SMWS 39.180 “Smokers on a new carpet”

Country/Region : Speyside

ABV : 51.0%

Cask : 27Y Ex-Bourbon/ 2Y Heavy Toast, Medium Char Refill Hogshead

Age : 29 Years (Distilled 19 June 1989)

Nose :  An old lady’s sitting room: antique wooden furniture, dusty linens, wood polish, and dry rosin.  Faintly sweet like the wrapper off a Werther’s Original.  Bits of fruit, apples and lemons, give the impression of faded floral air fresheners.  Some muted pepper comes near the end along with milk chocolate and the aroma of a distant freshly brewed pot of coffee.

Palate : Astringent, tannic, and mellow.  Loads of tea dominate the palate— its English Breakfast tea or maybe a floral Earl Grey.  A lemon wedge for the glass, a dusty blanket to sit on, and a melona flavored pastry to snack on.  It is tea time in Grandmother’s sitting room.

Finish :  Lingering bits of slightly bitter tea and lemon hang on the palate.

Score : 3

Mental Image : Tea time in Grandmother’s sitting room.

Something Better : Port Charlotte 13 Year; Rest & Be Thankful (more savory, more complex, similar dust/antique notes)

Something Better : Arran Smuggler Vol. 2 : The High Seas (similar linens, lavender, spice)

Something Worse : Dewars White Label Blended Scotch Whisky (similar tea, sweeter, less complex)

Notes :  At a third the price this would be a fine whisky— but boy was this a big whiff.  The nose was not terrible, but the palate lacked any real punch or staying power.  The dram was entirely too dominated by a tannic astringency to really enjoy.  It reminded men\ strongly of sitting quietly in my Grandmother’s living room as she scolded me for the umpteenth time that “children are meant to be seen, not heard.”  She was a sweet and loving grandmother, but her living room was immaculate and full of antiques— not the sort of place well suited for the trio of rampaging bulls that my siblings and I could occasionally be.

At a third the price this would be a fine whisky— but boy was this a big whiff.  The nose was not terrible, but the palate lacked any real punch or staying power.  The dram was entirely too dominated by a tannic astringency to really enjoy.  It reminded men strongly of sitting quietly in my Grandmother’s living room as she reminded me for the umpteenth time that “children are meant to be seen, not heard.”  She was a sweet and loving grandmother, but her living room was immaculate and full of antiques— not the sort of place well suited the trio of rampaging bulls that my siblings and I could occasionally be.