Showing posts with label 1990. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 1990. Show all posts

Saturday, 24 May 2025

Bladnoch 35 yrs 1990 2025 54,2% DeDr, WB270987

Chameleonic, a word I came across while googling strange animals with strange behaviours. It has interesting meanings, according to Collins: as in fickle, changeable in purpose, affections, faithless, temperamental; as in mercurial, lively and unpredictable, volatile, even erratic, unstable. An adjective I would very much like to use as a prescription for Bladnoch.

Bladnoch is hard to describe, as production-wise its style is varied. This bottling is perhaps from a light and floral period. At the beginning of the Bell's era it was light and floral, but towards the end of their ownership the Blenders template of nutty and spicy became the norm. There have also been peated versions, rumour has it, but in the Armstrong era. Now, under Australian owner David Prior, the style is very different, light, grassy and malty. Chamalonesque indeed. Is it the same on the palate?

On the nose, after quite a long time: You are right to recognise the repetition of descriptions when you say "candyshop", but of course there are many candyshops and this one is different from the previous ones. It is as if this shop is struggling a little because the sweets have been sitting there for a long time. It's a kind of sweetness you get when the jar of sweets gets a bit wet and dusty. Change of shops, not before buying a few caramels, toffee and skipping the bakery and the gelateria (not original Italian though). Restaurant, this one is Italian, dessert is due, of course tiramisu, rice pudding, a little cinnamon, lots of vanilla sauce, still warm, topped with white chocolate mousse. But there is more, if you are in the right mood, it is as if you are flying towards the sky, floating between the clouds, somehow getting high. Different glasses reveal more subtle aromas, such as the grassy ones I mentioned earlier. But wait, shouldn't they appear later?

Palate, much later: A mixture of Mediterranean fruits such as overripe melon, ananas, peach, apricot. Lots of sharbat, but also white pepper. Interesting matching to Italian dishes: I get espresso and all kinds of coffee, mainly Arabica beans are used.

Finish: In the mouth you get an oily texture, almost a chewy experience, a mouthfeel that I would describe as very elegant. But then the elegance is severely disrupted, the chameleon-like whisky kicks in hard with chilli flavours, more black pepper, angry tannins, she doesn't like the way I talk about her. I am sorry. I offer her a few drops of water. Her mood changes a lot, on the palate it becomes more grapefruit, like biting into lemon, orange or apple seeds. I don't know, water doesn't seem to suit her. I rather skip the water and stay high. As a great man once said: I looked through a lens and ended up abandoning everything else. Sebastiao Salgado (RIP)

92/92/90

Wednesday, 18 January 2023

Glenfarclas 1990 S22 WB: 222589

Glenfarclas 1990

The moon rises, night is settling over life, into the glass viscously flows the precious oil even darker, spreads into your heart and thoughts. In the background Amy Winehouse whispers 'Blaaack, Black,
black. This is what I live for, that is what I’m looking for, this is what I give the shirt off my back for, I'm addicted to this dark mysterious potion. To get excited about it ---is a loosing game. Should I go to Rehab But I say nooo, no, no...The ritual must begin, let go of all thoughts. Inhale, exhale, the price! Okey - that's seppuku, doing it later. As Amy performs in top form, the GF1990 S22 calms down in the glass, watching humbly and knowingly. Preparing my palate with the GF1991 S22, an incredibly elegant malt, but the GF1990 is a completely different world, speaking of my astral journey is about to begin. How quickly 3 hours can pass, but I can't think of any terms for this. From a rating beyond 96, my olfactory cortex refuses to connect with the honourable cognitive lobes.  Neocortex, amygdala, striatum in top form, but the cerebral cortex is awash with Wittgensteinian neurotransmitters, which I can't talk about, shall I keep quiet. There's enough dopamine - if it weren't for seppuku, which brings tears to my eyes and makes my D-level drop. The nose: a haiku, incomprehensible yet beautiful, mysterious and captivating. Today I could die - I will, later. What's keeping me in this world, anyway? Amy did everything right. Wait! A drop of this heavenly drink holds me, says: Stay! Mouth: When Bodhisattvas declare enlightenment - a koan. The finish is sweet poison, eternally long, every millisecond a universe passes, the Almighty touches your heart - all will be well. The closer you get to the magic mark of 100, everything dissolves into blurriness, Heisenberg sends his regards, Schrödinger drinks with his cat. Causality no longer exists; I name dried porcini mushrooms, dark fruit, but these are just letters - don't come close to reflecting what I feel. I write toffee and tobacco in the nose, dark chocolate in the mouth and espresso in the finish. But I couldn't have found more irrelevant words. How do you describe a symphony in A minor and D major at the same time, piano and forte, largo and presto? Filigree strings despite timpani and trumpets, melancholy oboe accompanied by sad clarinets, double basses massive, violin gossamer and a timidly plucked guitar and harp complete the picture. Every day different, every day a new page. Now and then a soprano belts out an aria. Amy is quiet now. The glass is empty. Somewhere in the house, Einaudi Una Mattina. Life, sometimes sad, goes on after all. "I don't ever wanna drink again I just, ooh, I just need a friend." - Amy Winehouse

97 ( - 98)/ 100