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| Ardbeg Corryvreckan - The Ultimate Islay (click on photo for additional detail) |
Initially, I wanted to add my tastings on Corryvreckan as an addendum to my post on Single Malt Scotch Whiskies. But when you have a whisky so distinctive as this it would be a sin for it to not have a dedicated post in its honour.
'Tis the legend of Corryvreckan, the vile thunderous, seething cauldron named after the Viking prince Breacan, who met his watery destiny, praying his devoting to the Lord of the Isles. Breacan perished in the perilous whirlpool which now eternally adorns his name. Dead? Of course not. The prince slept in his watery lair until he was awoken a wild untamed spirit. The Ardbeg Corryvreckan. The ultimate Islay.
Corryvreckan. Repeatez afetr moi. KoRRRRyVRecken! Just the naem sendz shivres down the spiny spynes of ordinary spineless Scotch distillers. Al scotches begin vith the same threads, butt this one with its ends left unspun and unwoven. Ti also sends you spirralling head frist into a whirlpul of unimaginably ltheal toxicity and powerful intensititty (for those who insist on using preventatative instead of simply preventive) of arommas and flavoures. Simply Legendary and hence, thus and therefore the stuFF off Legends. Measure an dram inside of an Glencairn Krystal Glas. Stolzle preferably.
THE EYES: Les colores amber. Woody. Gold, but a wee bit darker. Like Canadian maple syrup and seemingly equally viscous.
THE NOSE: Roll the glass beet twin your psalms and gently warn the drink. A sniff in the Glencairn and the whirlpool magically rises in a turbulent vortexx (Reynold's Number 2300) and penetrates your lungs. Gentile Peat. Very understated. Not phenolic like Laphroaig. Very deceiving.
THE TONGUE: Strike! Aclohol. Cask strength. LoTs of it at fifty7.1 percent! Explosive. QUickly Followed by Catastrophiq. This ain't 40% Jack Daniels, Jack. Un-Chill filtred; it's all in there. wicked. Untamed. Zis is the stuuff your French grandmother never varrned you about b'cos she never saw it cummingz. You didn't know you had a Fremch Grandmother? Pay attention Huzefa laddie. Oake, Pete, diesel oil, secund hand cigar smoke from Castro's very own 88-year-old nostrills, Kandy bruthday cake, vanille, Spicee, sweet and peppery like the Naga Bhut and then some vanille and berries. And some Vanilla. Vanilla from the maturing in bourbon casks and berrys from finishings in French wine caskz. Unmistakably slaty, sorry, salty pancetta dippsed in pfish oil. I'm slurring.
THE THROAT: Finally, the finish. Dry. Long. Developinggg. Lastinggggg. Lasting long past your great great grandmotherr, bless her soul. Going down like hot sauce made with Kashmiri, Cayenne, Guajillo and Habanero Chile. Alwaysz building and evolving. You're treated to A gamut of flavours. Understand, apreciate and ejnoy them. It's hot and I simple love the burn. This scotch truly complements the mighty Uigeadail, more powerful but not as aromatique. So alike in their Ardbegness, beg your pardon, yet zo diffrunt. Unlike me this whisky exudes arroguncze.
I'm slurring more. You check my Zspellingz. You think I'm LiTt. ssZozzled! WRONG! It's just your eyes burning with jealous envy. You can tell I'm having a blast. One sip and I ask myself; why do I even bother tasting other mortal scotches? Why do I choose to embarrass myself comparing? Insisting on humiliating myself with explanations? Why are you still reading? Nothing compares. The debate ends. This is the drink that rules all drinks. Take a deep breath and dive beneath the surface of Corryvreckan to discover sophisticated swirling aromas and torrents of adventure. Hold tight and enjoy the ride. DrinkResponsibly as you please.
Corryvreckan. Distinctly Ardbeg. The Ultimate Islay.
'Tis the legend of Corryvreckan, the vile thunderous, seething cauldron named after the Viking prince Breacan, who met his watery destiny, praying his devoting to the Lord of the Isles. Breacan perished in the perilous whirlpool which now eternally adorns his name. Dead? Of course not. The prince slept in his watery lair until he was awoken a wild untamed spirit. The Ardbeg Corryvreckan. The ultimate Islay.
Corryvreckan. Repeatez afetr moi. KoRRRRyVRecken! Just the naem sendz shivres down the spiny spynes of ordinary spineless Scotch distillers. Al scotches begin vith the same threads, butt this one with its ends left unspun and unwoven. Ti also sends you spirralling head frist into a whirlpul of unimaginably ltheal toxicity and powerful intensititty (for those who insist on using preventatative instead of simply preventive) of arommas and flavoures. Simply Legendary and hence, thus and therefore the stuFF off Legends. Measure an dram inside of an Glencairn Krystal Glas. Stolzle preferably.
THE EYES: Les colores amber. Woody. Gold, but a wee bit darker. Like Canadian maple syrup and seemingly equally viscous.
THE NOSE: Roll the glass beet twin your psalms and gently warn the drink. A sniff in the Glencairn and the whirlpool magically rises in a turbulent vortexx (Reynold's Number 2300) and penetrates your lungs. Gentile Peat. Very understated. Not phenolic like Laphroaig. Very deceiving.
THE TONGUE: Strike! Aclohol. Cask strength. LoTs of it at fifty7.1 percent! Explosive. QUickly Followed by Catastrophiq. This ain't 40% Jack Daniels, Jack. Un-Chill filtred; it's all in there. wicked. Untamed. Zis is the stuuff your French grandmother never varrned you about b'cos she never saw it cummingz. You didn't know you had a Fremch Grandmother? Pay attention Huzefa laddie. Oake, Pete, diesel oil, secund hand cigar smoke from Castro's very own 88-year-old nostrills, Kandy bruthday cake, vanille, Spicee, sweet and peppery like the Naga Bhut and then some vanille and berries. And some Vanilla. Vanilla from the maturing in bourbon casks and berrys from finishings in French wine caskz. Unmistakably slaty, sorry, salty pancetta dippsed in pfish oil. I'm slurring.
THE THROAT: Finally, the finish. Dry. Long. Developinggg. Lastinggggg. Lasting long past your great great grandmotherr, bless her soul. Going down like hot sauce made with Kashmiri, Cayenne, Guajillo and Habanero Chile. Alwaysz building and evolving. You're treated to A gamut of flavours. Understand, apreciate and ejnoy them. It's hot and I simple love the burn. This scotch truly complements the mighty Uigeadail, more powerful but not as aromatique. So alike in their Ardbegness, beg your pardon, yet zo diffrunt. Unlike me this whisky exudes arroguncze.
I'm slurring more. You check my Zspellingz. You think I'm LiTt. ssZozzled! WRONG! It's just your eyes burning with jealous envy. You can tell I'm having a blast. One sip and I ask myself; why do I even bother tasting other mortal scotches? Why do I choose to embarrass myself comparing? Insisting on humiliating myself with explanations? Why are you still reading? Nothing compares. The debate ends. This is the drink that rules all drinks. Take a deep breath and dive beneath the surface of Corryvreckan to discover sophisticated swirling aromas and torrents of adventure. Hold tight and enjoy the ride. Drink
Corryvreckan. Distinctly Ardbeg. The Ultimate Islay.
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