What can I write about this scotch that hasn't already been written about a car fire in Newark? It smolders in your throat from the first sip through the last, with a finish of molten peat. Pop the cork and your nose will be overwhelmed by a scent reminiscent of a fire roaring in front of a pile of dead rottweilers. To paraphrase the creepy old guy in The Neverending Story - some scotches are safe, but this isn't one.
This scotch is best enjoyed in a musty basement bar alone, or in a desolate neighborhood dive devoid of windows and mirth. If this drink were a wrestler, it would be the heel that lures you outside of the ring and collapses your skull with a folding chair.
5 out of 5 stars.
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