Batch 25

This is not, as the strength indicates, a shy and retiring dram. It’s swaggering a blast of seaweed, a whiff of ozone, and the smell of a beach smokehouse; then comes chilled oysters and, with water, mezcal in its dusty, green, vegetal guise. 

All of that bravado has been retained, but it hits an excellent balance between sweetness and smoke. There’s some lemony acidity as well as a dry chalkiness. With water, some parma violets peek shyly out.

Medium length and smokily fresh.

It’s young and bold and while a little minimalist it does its job well. Have it with soda, or as a Paloma. 

Dreaming of Mexican deserts as the waves break on Islay’s shores. 

Light in colour given the age. Beautiful oxidative fruits with some beeswax and whipped cream, then the sweet/tart/perfumed character of whitecurrant. Elegant and calm and just what you want from the nose of a venerable malt. In time, rain-soaked jasmine. With water there’s some pencil shavings and more obvious age.

There’s a new citric edge – all tangerine marmalade – but also a light soapiness. Everything is off-dry, gently savoury and a little bit oblique, which I like, but there’s also a fragility. 

Short and gentle; again that soapiness. 

The delicacy on the tongue is brought on by the combination of age and low strength. Buy a dram just to smell it.

Watching a sepia-tinted silent movie of a young Marlene Dietrich. 

Lustrous amber. This is immediate, huge, bombastic, but it’s not as you might expect, a Sherry bomb. Instead, it’s perfumed, with strawberries and masses of freshly applied furniture polish. Then comes clove sweets and the earthy undertow typical of the distillery. In time, you get liquorice and hot chocolate and with some water (and it can take it) is a roasted, malty element. Complex stuff. 

A tiny hint of struck match ignites massive fruit cake, dark dried mulberry, roasting coffee and a flavour akin to a fine porter (beer I hasten to add). The tannins are supple.

Long ripe and never hot.

Rich, supple, mouthfilling, and bold. Excellent and essential.

Drinking a black beer on the terrace of a country house hotel.

This opens with an unusual note of freshly cut neeps (appropriate enough for Burns Night) but then settles down into Dronach’s classic grumble. The smoke is there, but in the guise of a garden chimney rather than a blazing bonfire.

Pleasant and fairly sweet – a theme of this week’s drams – with apple, and a hint of caramel (natural) while the smoke casually loiters around. Things remain understated with water though there is an extra lift of allspice.

Hot cross buns and smoke.  

Calm, controlled, balanced. 

Pruning the apple tree while the neighbour starts to burn the winter litter. 

Sweet and complex mix of dried orange peel, cherry juice, raspberry ice cream, and sakura and green tea Kit-Kats (try them!) There’s an immediate sense of mass, with concentrated fruits and the thickness of rosehip syrup. Water brings out more oak, a tiny drop of Maraschino liqueur and even a little wax.

That sweetness carries through as does the liquorous elements resulting in the tongue cleaving through the syrupy, caramelised berry fruits. Water makes things slightly darker and brings out more oak which adds a dry balance, though on balance I prefer it neat.

Thick and thrapple soothing.

The seventh member of Morangie’s Private Edition collection, this has been given secondary maturation in charred ex-Portuguese red wine casks. Milsean, according to my Gaelic dictionary, means ’pudding’. That seems appropriate. I like this a lot, but would only take one glass. For medicinal purposes. Nightly. 

Lost in Willy Wonka’s (Billy Wonka’s?) factory.

Surprisingly, given the strength, there’s no great nose burn. In fact if anything this is rather shy with a wispy, dry, biscuity quality/black tea leaves rusting in a tea caddy, but also fresh banana skin and a light floral edge. Water makes it more bready, and sugary. Develops well.

More expressive on the tongue with an intriguing mix of light sweet flavours, and a very subtle hint of tropical fruit. There’s more substance, but it’s still discreet and textured. Floral, slightly oily. Water shows it to be sweeter, but still a little fragile.

Soft and gently drying.

Are you allowed to say ‘Five Decades’? And if you are then why can’t you say what the years of those decades are? Answers on a postcard please. An intriguing, if hard to nail, malt. Well worth the look.

Walking along Brighton Pier dipping your wet finger into a bag of hot sugared doughnuts.