Glenlivet, 19 yrs, 2006, 2026, DeDr, 57.1 %, WB299719

What have I done? Tragedy in Three Acts: The Story of Decadence, Part I — How to Become Homeless and a Beggar. Decadent drams are going to ruin me. I told you about my credit cards. Apparently, the third one wasn’t entirely blocked; there was some cash left for this post-Bolshevik, brutalist Bolshoi bottling. Of all the distilleries, Glenlivet, somehow a symbol of industrialisation and mass production. According to the 2026 Malt Whisky Yearbook, Glenlivet leads the list of distillery capacity with 21,000,000 litres of pure alcohol, neck and neck with Glenfiddich. Is this the drink for the working class? Let's see what the comrades have manifested.

Nose: The syrupy class has returned from the gulag after 19 years to take over the government and fight the system. They have become denser, wiser and richer in experience, not money. All kinds of sweetness have gathered and become concentrated, with dates, baked apples and grade C maple syrup taking the front line, followed closely by Comandante Che caramel. Milk chocolate is taking the aristocracy by storm. Crumble and cherry plum cake sing The Internationale. Sticky toffee, Turkish delight, nougat, fudge and shy shortbreads throw Cacao-Molotov cocktails. I like this version of 'the Capital'. Hegelians won't like this whisky.

Palate: I sense the dialectic of materialistic sweet and altruistic spice; neither has total hegemony. Together, they transform into a black, bitter, counter-revolutionary espresso. The capitalistic bitterness is constantly suppressing the sweetness. The bourgeoisie tries to distract you by powdering your senses with cacao, nutmeg and cinnamon. There are hints of Cuban cigarillos. Conservatives would call this a nihilistic modern style, modernists would ask where their freedom to disagree is, and postmodernists would say, 'Why bother?' Structuralists would say, 'You can not escape the system you live in.' Your therapist would say, 'It's not your fault.' Buddha would say, 'There is no style, there is no You.' AI says, 'Ah, you’re right. I’ll change that.'

Finish: Internal contradictions linger: the sweetness of fudge and caramel, the bitterness of strong coffee and dark chocolate. There is no equilibrium; the sensations are constantly overthrown until eternity. I disappoint everyone and am constantly doing so. "History repeats itself, first as tragedy, second as farce." - Karl Marx

91/90/89

Ardbeg Ten, 61.7 %, Committee Exclusive 2026, WB294312

This bottling caused quite an uproar. There are now three entries for the somehow same drink on Whiskybase, with 124 (+1) reviews and 592 ratings as of 12 June 2026. Like Moses parting the Red Sea, Ardbeg has divided the community into haters and lovers. I am a former lover who tried really hard to become more than just friends, but Ardbeg did everything to keep me at a distance. I just drop by every now and then to say hi. People say, 'We wanted this all along' or 'That's what we've always been waiting for'. Is the waiting over?

Nose: Citrus fruits, mandarin from a tin, smoked sauerkraut, smoked

salmon, chipotle peppers, petrichor – the smell of wet pavement shortly after summer rain, juniper – it's very reminiscent of gin, grilled vegetables such as aubergines, fermented vegetables and kombucha. There's a nearby extinguished campfire – speaking of which, something was on fire a lot. Perhaps there were battles between pirates and the imperial armada, or the battlefield at Culloden shortly after the disaster. The palate is reminiscent of an ashtray, with a strong hint of burnt tired tyres. Of course, there's the first-aid tent with its medicinal and disinfectant smells – it's like eating cigarette ash. Why would anyone drink that? Just kidding — of course it's interesting for peat lovers. But I compared this one with a standard 10-year-old from 10 years ago. The old one is much denser, deeper and richer. The new one is just flat compared to the old ten-year-old bottling.

Finish: Medium-long with a slightly sweet, slightly sharp and spicy finish, reminiscent of chipotle. The peat lingers on the palate with hints of maritime flavours, grains of salt and peppercorns, and a hint of juniper. Was I waiting for something? 'The problem with the world is that everyone is a few drinks behind.' – Humphrey Bogart

87/86/86

Tomatin Cù Bòcan, Creation #8, 2026, 46%, WB300819

I would never have bought this because it's not my wheelhouse. But I was influenced by Roy, the famous influencer from Aqvavitae. So there you go, another tragedy and I'm no wiser. This Tomatin, by the way, is an experimental bottling with some interesting cask finishes, such as Canadian Ice Wine and Spanish Verdejo white wine casks — both formidable drinks. How do they influence this bottle?

Nose: There's an intense maltiness, an extremely sweet aroma and tropical fruits, reminiscent of the juices found in countries around the

equator, such as papaya, maracuja, mango and lychee influenced by the tropical climate. It's similar to the cheap, sweet multivitamin juice from Aldi that's been found guilty of influencing diabetes a, b, c, d and the rest of the alphabet. There are sweet Haribo gums with lots of tropical fruits, but lots of artificial flavours. Speaking of artificial and superficial things, there's a hidden youth with bad character and a bad influence, underficial some alcohol burning sneakily underneath. If you change glasses, you'll find grilled pineapple, bananas, hints of coconut, and of course the vanilla armada: butterscotch, crème brûlée, Balsen butter cookies, café latte, and bubble gum. Hey, wait! Those last two are sneaky influencers...

Palate: Forget the palate; just focus on the nose. No, I must endure this procedure even though it's not my target profile. There are hints of bitter seeds, like those from oranges or grapefruits, and a citrusy orange peel flavour. It's very watery yet sharp and alcoholic, and somehow young and superficial. Maybe I can see the intention: to create an easy-drinking, sweet summer whisky. Not on my watch! This is another example of how tastes can differ; some people may find this very appealing, but it doesn't work for me. Despite its watery nature, sharpness and bitterness influence the mood. It's like artificially sweetened, young, thin, bad grappa.

Finish: Short and sharp, with a lingering aftertaste similar to white pepper. The influence is gone if you turn off YouTube; it disappears rapidly if you swallow it down, but the guilt remains — a guilty conscience due to wasting money again for nothing. 'I longed for him. Got him. Shit.' ― Margaret Atwood

87/81/80