Walsh distillery was, I think, working feverishly in their castle laboratory on this one for an eternity of stormy nights. Their wiry white hair being flung by the wind whipping in through the stone window openings, flashes of lightning like strobe lights across the oak casks and the orange glow of the copper still. In their maniacal quest for something so easy to drink that it would drive countless authors to madness (or brilliance, or simply death) they must never have rested. Then, one fateful night, they finally brought this recipe to their lips, slowly smiled, and threw their arms wide, screaming their victorious howl at the night sky.
I have a special place in my heart for whiskeys because they are the quintessential sipping experience. Beer is for drinking, but whiskey is for the small sips and the joy of the afterglow. The flavors roll in sequence across your tongue and then (if the whiskey is a good one) there is a slow spreading warmth from your belly outward. A whiskey this easy to drink, this mellow, sweet, and seemingly harmless, is the femme fatale of the breed. Smoky voiced with the smell of caramel and vanilla, it puts a warm hand on your thigh and reassures you that it is here for you. Whatever you want, it promises. If you’re not able to enjoy it for a moment and then set it aside, it will gut you and laugh.