The all too often Sisyphean search for this nectar of the Gods makes me pause before opening the coveted vessel. The sacrifice of unsealing the bottle to extract the perfect dram is emotionally bittersweet – like walking in on your Great Aunt Doris changing out of her Sunday best.
Appearance: A visually stunning whiskey, it falls into the range between crème brulee and burnt Cleveland Brown orange (the away team uniforms). It gazes back at me through the glass and its warm, inviting, “come hither” subtext arouses me. I am now ready to be entered by this whiskey.
Nose: My olfactory system is delighted with a wide array of mouth-watering aromas including freshly-shoveled snow, puppy fur, dragon fruit, a just-fired civil war musket, a seasoned baseball, and Burt Reynolds’ aftershave.
Taste: The first sip is amazingly, outstandingly, astoundingly good. I can tell this is at least fifteen years old. There are elements of mahogany, parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme, with just the right hints of catnip and truvia. This is a strong whiskey – I can tell it is at least 50% alcohol – evocative of a forest fire I caused in my youth.
Finish: Finishing in the back of the throat is the mark of any great whiskey, and I gratefully succumb. I can still taste it lingering for what seems like an eternity; gently whispering at me to drink it all down.
“Water of Life,” indeed.