Today’s drams: Glenmorangie: The Lasanta, The Quinta Ruban, and The Nectar d’Or, all aged 12 years.
Today’s note on origins: These three varieties are each two years older than Glenmorangie’s The Original. In point of fact, each started life as that whisky, but after the initial 10 years of aging, these were transferred for an additional two years on, respectively: sherry casks, port casks, and Sauternes barriques.
Today’s tasting notes (The Lasanta): The Original is barely there; this is barely there warmed over.
It bears a similar aroma to its forbear: it’s the same field of wildflowers, but at dusk, their petals warm from a full day’s sun, the disturbed nectar now settled.
In flavor it’s a whole other whisky. Obviously from the Highlands. Big, warming whisky that drinks smooth and brings to mind a happy fireplace.
Today’s tasting notes (The Quinta Ruban): You can immediately tell this one has been to the winery. I would not be so bold as to say I can detect port, specifically, but the wine influence is definitely there in the aroma.
As for flavor, it comes over aggressive. It’s akin to the Highland warmth, but a bit rough around the edges — a lad who’s come home from battle, and not completely unscarred, at that. But he still has a soft side.
Today’s tasting notes (The Nectar d’Or): First the name. Golden nectar of the gods. Bit pretentious, innit? But then, it was matured in Sauternes barriques. What? Exactly. I’ll save you the trouble of looking it up: it’s a barrel what once held a dessert wine. French. Obviously.
Smells like a sun-baked lemon.
Tastes like Highlands Scotch whisky poured over a sun-baked lemon.
Today’s thoughts: Yeah, I bunged it up. Two days in a row, even. I’d like to tell you I have some grand excuse, but … eh.
It’s probably amazing I made it through the original Whisky Wind-down without missing a post. This year, with less planning at the end of an overall more stressful year … eh.
Anyway, here’s to three good whiskies, and a new string of consecutive posts.
Today’s toast: To Douglas Adams — dead, I’m afraid — who once said, “I love deadlines. I love the whooshing noise they make as they go by.”