#all the heathers gave some kind of fruit vibes

[hollisiguess]

heathers was kinda radiating fruit ngl

[acommonloon]

TL;DR

about last night's mperfect ending. After stops at three Louisville venues, each more fun than the last, we decided to get a nightcap in New Albany. We didn't manage to get a drink at any of four stops in that sleepy town but we did witness a police officer chasing a black man down the side of State Street. Still watching for a news report.

Alternately a night for Morgans

_____________________________________________________________

D's niece's husband, J, is a sweet guy. He has almost no family of his own living in the area and his own family unit consists of an unruly teen (not his) a precocious 6 year old and 3 year old twins. It's a lot.

With that in mind, I always wait for him to contact me and he always earns his kitchen passes so when he texted me he had a free night out I was glad to hang with him. I only asked if he had a curfew. No sir. He's nearing 40 and regularly admits he wishes he could more often frequent the places D and I do, meaning bars and restaurants. I remember those days when self came last.

Our 1st stop was World of Beer. With 50+ taps and hundreds of bottles and cans sitting in glass front coolers directly across from the bar, it's one of my go to spots. J immediately set about building a flight of five small pours while I took my time picking one or two low gravity beers to sip since I was driving. They had two bartenders on this Wednesday night, Morgan was ours and our service was prompt and friendly. By the time we finished a plate of tots, loaded with melted cheese and fresh jalapeno slices I had our plan.

I hadn't been to Commonwealth Tap since before 2020. This small wine bar is in a movie set sort of town called Norton Commons. Think "The Truman Show." The houses were all built over a small number of years and though they are comprised of many different styles, with no two near each other being the same, they are on the same size lots and there is no variety in terms of weathering or decoration. Everything to plan. Unreal. Creepy.

I glanced at the wine list on a chalkboard noticing a Turley Zin at $18 and a Cotes de Rhone at $8. When the bartender asked what I wanted, I said, "Talk me out of the Turley and into the Cotes. He hesitated for a second and I said, "I want something minerally, earthy, not fruity." Like a Beaujolais Morgon or an Italian grown on the side of a volcano. Before he could reply, a guy sitting at the bar said we don't have that on tap. The Cotes is your best option and the bartender handed me a generous taste saying, try that.

I took the glass all the while evaluating the man who'd spoken up. He'd said "we" don't have that. He was alone at the bar except for us. I doubted he was just a bold regular, maybe drunk, who felt everyone benefited from his opinion, he wasn't drunk. Then he stood up and walked over the the wine racks. His search was one of familiarity and he pulled a bottle and sat it down on the bar next to me. Was he an employee or maybe a distributor on good terms with the staff? Then he began talking about the wine, about his many trips to France, and I suddenly I knew. "You're an owner here aren't you?"

He laughed and admitted he was. He introduced himself, Neal Morgan and for the next 40 mins or so he told us about himself and the bar. He told us about his wife, a pediatrician who worked for 20 years in Indiana and he went so far as to describe his Scottish heritage along with his general thinking about wines. When he said he was going a friend's house for a pizza party, I thought he was about to leave. Then he said he was going to take a kick ass wine but first he wanted me to taste it. It was a California pinot noir priced at $30 more than the first bottle he'd put down on the bar. It was fantastic! He gave us tasting notes and I admitted I couldn't perceive half of what he reeled off. I said he spoke like a sommelier and he laughed again and said he claimed he had a better palate than Kenny, the sommelier who worked for him. He thanked us for coming in and seemed sincere. When he left, J looked at me and said, "That was amazing." I laughed and said it was a Wednesday at a bar.

Before we left, I asked Rainha to make me a Penicillin and we talked about Scotch. She related how she introduced her brother to Scotch and now that's all he drank. We talked about how things were during the shutdown and I told her about a new place I'd been the previous Saturday. Outside, J exclaimed this was just the best time! He said he'd never be able to talk staff like that, let alone the owner. I said talking to industry people was one of my favorite things. They are so interesting and I think they find it refreshing when someone at the bar wants to hear about them instead of wanting to talk about themselves. Then I said, I know where we'll go next. Maybe Stephen is working.

Our next stop was at Cuvee Wine Table and Stephen greeted me at the door with a huge "Shane!" and a hug. If J was impressed with Commonwealth, I thought he should fasten his seatbelt. Stephen is a trip. Except, Stephen exclaimed I'm on this side of the bar now! To my quizzical look, he said he was the manager now. Amidst introductions, our bartender, Andie came over and introduced herself. She was tall, regally thin, and wore a colorful scarf on her head. She offered an engaging personality I perceived as professional banter but sensed alos she seemed to enjoy her job.

When I described what kind of wine I preferred, she said, "OOh how about a white?" Ooookay??? I thought to myself, this is going to be fun. Stephen came back as Andy set my glass down in front of me and asked, "What are we having?" Andie said, it's the Santorini. Stephen, a newly minted sommelier, immediately launched into an enthusiastic description about this remarkable wine from a Greek Island. He said it was so constantly windy, they braided the vine boughs into bowls to protect the fruit on the inside. I smelled it and it reminded me of a Sav Blanc but when I tasted it, I knew I'd found a new favorite. It had a salty savory aspect with more minerality than any white I'd had previously.

Andie was from Lexington and our other bartender, Heather, was newly arrived from the Nashville area. Heather was training behind the bar but seemed tres calm. At one point she asked us to wish her luck and I realized she was going to take an order. When she came back, I was a little surprised but delighted when J asked her where she was from specifically. It turned out they were from the same area and knew the same high schools and such. Great fun. When Stephen came and asked if we were eating, I said, "What am I having?" The cassoulet he responded immediately and then he tried to add in sweet breads but I insisted I was out on that. J selected a flatbread and when my giant bowl of white beans with pork and a small chicken leg came, I felt I'd got the better order. He admitted sheepishly he just didn't like beans and that was that.

I suggested we finish with a French brandy served in proper snifters and asked for a bottle of the Santorini to go home. It was full dark but comfortably warm walking to the car and J asked if I were up for one more on him. I suggested we go see Emily at Brooklyn and the Butcher. She made me a perfect drink in January and I'd been craving another ever since.

All the way to New Albany, J kept bringing up how much he enjoyed the two wine bars and how he hoped he and his wife could indulge in similar experiences when their children were older. He worried his wife didn't really like anything but sweet wine and was picky about that. I laughed and said D was exactly the same but she was game to hang out and recently started to appreciate ciders and frutied beers, and even some semi-sweet wines.

There were still plenty of cars parked on the street when we arrived at Brooklyn and the Butcher. I noticed there was no one at the hostess stand when we walked in but I breezed past into the bar. There were two women sitting at the bar and I was a bit disappointed when I realized the bartender wasn't Emily. I was even more so when she came over and apologized but said they'd closed already. I laughed and made a joke about the owner being an old man for closing so early then I realized who it was sitting at the bar. I asked, "Is that Emily sitting at the bar?" she said it was and I got up and walked over. We talked for ten minutes about my last visit and I asked her about her trip to Savannah. She kept apologizing for the bar being closed but I assured her I would be back. It was fine, we'd walk down to The Earl.

I got a bad vibe the minute we walked in. The bar was mostly full and there was only one bartender. He was wearing short shorts and took forever to get us a drink menu then never looked our way for the next five minutes. I suggested we go to Recbar nearby. There it was the same. The lone bartender, woman this time, was overwhelmed and though the bar was half empty she never looked our way before I lost patience.

Okay then. We were driving to my final option (so I thought) when I stopped at a light. J said, "Look at that! A cop is chasing that guy!" Sure enough through the sparse traffic I could see a black guy sprinting along the side of the normally busy road. His arms were pistoning up and down, his hands flattened into chopping motions like a track sprinter. Coming behind but steadily losing ground was a hefty police officer. He looked ridiculous and I can only imagine he might be thinking everyone watching thought he looked ridiculous. I wondered if he might pull his gun.

The light turned green then and I moved forward. That's when we spotted a car with the front passenger side crushed in where it had impacted the guardrail, on the opposite side of the road. There was a cop car with its lights flashing parked behind it. I couldn't see any activity around the cars as we drove past. About a half mile up the road we pulled into the parking lot of our 4th attempt to get a last drink. It was closed.

We laughed and decided we'd had enough fun. As we headed back towards the scene of the incident, sirens and flashing lights were suddenly all around us. I guess there was a manhunt. I weaved through parked cruisers while J counted eight more with lights flashing on side streets . Fifteen minutes later I dropped him off. He thanked me profusely but it nothing but what I like to do anyway.

20 mins later I pulled into the garage and for a second my heart did the little flutter it always does when I see D's car parked in its spot. Then I sighed remembering she wasn't home and wouldn't be for another week.

Just a Wednesday.

[natskys-w]

Tarny part 2 (during the missing time/judes exil.)

I’m assuming that things got worser and worser whilst jude was in exile. The parties and revels Locke held and that Taryn had to host grew larger and larger and more chaotic as time went on, and Locke continued to push and push Taryn boundaries more and more and maybe at first she excused it, since the “fae don't love the way we do.” as Locke always so keen to remind her and love in her eyes comes hand in hand with pain.

I think a part of her felt that if she suffered enough, she would grow more beautiful in Lockes eyes, like the princesses in her stories. Where the prince "finds her beautiful. Beautiful, not despite her suffering, but because of it.” (tls, Pg 70).

Another example of her equating love to pain, is when she meets/talks about Heather and she doesn't understand how

“Vivi could possibly love a mortal girl. She didn’t know anything. She had no magic. She didn’t even seem like she’d done much suffering.”(tls pg 302) I think that the reason their meeting shook her up a little was that it put in to question her views and understanding of love.

She's convinced that if she tries hard enough, suffers hard enough and works hard enough. She can orchestrate her own happily ever after. Which probably entails being married with a nice house and a husband who kissed her when he came home, and a family of her own.... but that’s not Locke for him that would be a boring ending.

Like he mentioned in the lost sisters for him pain, sadness, suffering, anguish are all simply just spices (which are needed for a good story). Which is probably (again l am just assuming) that there marriage was a tug of war. Both of then trying to course correcting there story and trying to mould it to go down the root or path they desire.

Locke pushing her to get a reaction whether its with more extravagant parties, parading new lovers, belittling her to there guests, inviting people she hates or that mock her for being the daughter of a traitor, pushing her take part in things she hates, emotionally manipulating her or just leaving her alone for weeks on end to be with other lovers and to test her love.

I think he gets a rush out of her losing her composure since he says “There it is. That temper you try to hide. You know what fascinates me about you? You’re a hungry person sitting in front of a banquet, refusing to eat.” (tls, Pg 368)

I think maybe at first Taryn was coping with what he was throwing at her but it got harder as time went on, since even before things got real she says.

“Jealousy wasn’t a spice to me then. It was the whole meal and I was gagging it down.”

And that’s not even mentioning his scheming and the darker things he was hiding. That even we as the fans were surprised about, he gave the Ghost as basically a dowry present to Madoc, who by the looks of it had no problem also treating him like a pet and keeping him in his cell until he was needed.

(Imagine what it would have been like, when the ghost came by as Madocs and Lockes messenger boy/errand boy/play thing.)

I think she grew numb along the way, started losing hope and realised that this is it. This is what its always going to be. There no happy ending and probably went from eating fairy fruit as a dare/proof she can fit in, to consuming it as a kind of daily drug, to go into auto pilot mode/escape, to still be the perfect wife and to focus on other things like the house and the garden.

I think the moments she was alone, with only the staff and her enemies and Locke never came home. She finally understand what her mother went through. How she grew to hate the place that she once loved, as it became more like a beautiful cage then a home. A cage she was soon going to be sharing with a baby, who she will have no means to protect, not fully anyway and how all this time she misjudged her and didn’t want to be anything like her. Yet out of all three of her sisters she ended up like her the most.

I think the baby was what changed her and made her snap out of her daze. Realising that it’s not just her anymore, she might be able to settle for Lockes version of love but the baby doesn't deserve to, he/she didn't chose this.

Which led to her confronting Locke, maybe after coming back from being with mistress or partying all night. She probably tried to put her foot down and said things had to change and just let everything she had pushed down out. I think she tried to reason with him but he wasn’t having it and probably tried to convince her to give the baby away (Changling). Swap it with a human family and have the human baby go where all the other human children taken away go. I can imagine him coming up with a bullshit excuse like “this is for us, if you love me you will give it away. A baby is only going to get in our way and we’re not ready for it, years from now it will come back to us. If you love me prove it. its me or the baby.”

Then when flattery didn't work, he tried to tear her down with words and maybe even tried to man handle her or maybe hit her. (Okey so this part may be a bit of a stretch but)

A part of me questions if maybe it wasen't just anger at what he said that made her snap... maybe just maybe he tried pushing the boundaries and she snapped/her training kicked in.

"You got the same instruction in swordplay she did; you must remember some of it. I was never very good. I kept apologizing when I hit anyone,” I reminded her." (Tls)

(Tqon) (ldk for me it gave me the vibe, that there was alot more Taryn left out of the story. That maybe she wasen't ready to talk about yet).

Since she never come off as violent (manipulative..yes at time... but violent not so much). Since she turned out more like Oriana then Madoc and even admitted she looked down on Jude for resorting to violence.

I think if Jude had killed him it wouldn't have been the same. (I think even if it was for her own good she might have resented her.) Since she'd probably wonder if she could have changed him, made it work. Also l don't think Jude or Cardan would have killed him since he's Nicasia and Cardans friend and Jude and Cardan where feeling forgiving in tqon. *l shudder at the thought of him being alive at the end* If he had lived Locke and Tarny would have probably still been in the same vicious cycle and my new favourite baby ship (txg)💓, woulden't have even had a chance to even touch the water.

........moving on.........

For me l now see the lost sister as an apology letter/story that Taryn is going to give to Jude after the queen of nothing. It's her way of apologising in the best way she nows how, through story. I think its something she's written and rewritten and has added to as time/events unfold. 🤔

I think the reason why some fans had trouble forgiving Taryn is because of how its kind of left to interpretation/open ended, our experiences shape how we see it. Reflecting on the book l think that maybe the reason why we never got to see it properly or talk about in the book was partly because of time, the book had alot to cover in only 300pgs and who knows maybe the reason why was that Holly realised that since its a delicate story/senstive topic, it needs its own book to fully do it justice. If it is how l think it is, its an arc that you either have to see for yourself or have some experience in.

If you read this far, l'm surprised, l really tried to keep it short but there was alot on my mind. Thats why it ended up being split into two posts. 😂

All l can say now is

[180abroad]

Day 131: Kilchoman, Bruichladdich, and the Atlantic Coast

Today we picked up a car and headed over to the western spur of Islay, known as "the Rinns." This enchanting area is home to the younger distilleries of Kilchoman and Bruichladdich, as well as the sleepier corners of the island that you can't get to by bus.

Using our knowledge of the bus system that we'd gained the day before, my dad rode up to the car rental agency at the Islay airport. He picked up a car that he'd arranged to rent for the next three days, then drove it back to pick us up from our Airbnb.

The drive was a bit unnerving at first, especially since the weather had turned. It was starting to drizzle, and fog was beginning to settle across the landscape. But the roads were largely empty and straight--at least at first--so my dad was able to get his bearings quickly.

We quickly made our way up to Bowmore, then pressed onward along the shore of Loch Indaal, the large inlet that fills the center of Islay's horseshoe shape. Eventually, we turned off onto a smaller side road that lead inland, then continued to turn off onto smaller and smaller back-country roads on the way to our first stop.

Kilchoman ("kill-HOH-man") is Islay's newest distillery and bills itself as the island's only "farm distillery." The other distilleries are all located on the coast and (mostly) import their barley from other growers. Kilchoman, on the other hand, is located inland and grows (some of) their own barley.

Right inside the front door, we were greeted by a friendly helper and a well-organized arrangement of all the distillery's whiskies. We were each given a free sample of their core Machir Bay whisky, and all of their other whiskies were available for tasting at a la carte prices:

Machir Bay: Kilchoman's most affordable whisky is also perhaps its most impressive. The first sip hits with a strong blast of deep, warming Islay peat smoke, but that heavy flavor almost immediately resolves into a clean, crisp, citrusy aftertaste. It's like magic.

Sanaig: This is Kilchoman's other core whisky, but we actually didn't taste it until later that night, when we opened a sample bottle we'd bought at the distillery. Sanaig is finished in sherry casks, giving it a sweet and spicy flavor. It was good, but we all preferred the Machir Bay.

Loch Gorm:  A more traditional Islay whisky, Loch Gorm has a strong smoky flavor like those of the south-coast distilleries, but it manages to avoid the medicinal flavors that make those whiskies so challenging. I still prefer those whiskies to Loch Gorm, but Jessica loved this one.

Port Cask 2018: One of Kilchoman's many one-off special releases, this whisky was finished in port casks instead of the usual bourbon or sherry casks. This treatment gave the whisky a rich, semi-sweet flavor with a hint of red berries and a long, warming finish. Unsurprisingly, I adored this whisky. It was the one whisky on Islay that I was the most tempted to buy a bottle of, but in the end I abstained. It was fairly pricey, and we had to keep our limited backpack space in mind. Plus, me and my dad both generally dislike buying limited-edition consumables. Either we finish them and are sad that we can't get any more, or we save them until they're no longer any good.

None of these whiskies had age statements, and were eye shocked to learn that they were all very young, most between 5 and 7 years old. Apparently, Kilchoman is able to coax this complexity from their whiskies by fermenting them for a much longer period--around 70 hours instead of 45-50 hours. This produces a wider variety of esters, the fruity flavor chemicals that make alcoholic beverages taste like apples, berries, or bananas even though they aren't made from those fruits at all.

My dad compared Kilchoman to a craft brewery. They haven't been around long enough to make old whiskies, so they've tackled the problem of making better young whiskies. And out of all the distilleries we visited on Islay--which is all of them--Kilchoman was undoubtedly our most delightful new discovery.

We took advantage of Kilchoman's in-house restaurant to enjoy lunch while we sobered up. We all got the house specialty--Cullen skink: a smoked fish chowder popular across the islands and coastal regions of the Scottish Highlands.

Before returning to the highway, we made our way even deeper into the countryside until we reached Machir Bay and the Atlantic coast. The namesake of Kilchoman's signature whisky, Machir Bay is considered one of Islay's most beautiful beaches.  Today, it was socked in with fog, giving the place a timeless, ethereal quality. Only other person we could see was someone walking their dog in the distance.

Jessica and I also discovered how to use the selective focus feature on our smartphone cameras, so we spent an arguably excessive amount of time taking pictures of the decidedly excessive number of caterpillars feeding on the local  flora.

Before returning to the highway, we made a second detour to see the ruined Kilchoman Church, which was still in use until the 1970s.

The cemetery includes the much older Kilchoman Cross, which dates back to the 14th or 15th century. You can still see a carved depiction of the crucifixion in its center. As we'd learned in Ireland, Celtic crosses were originally used to portray biblical scenes--like stained-glass windows translated into stone.

Finally, we made our way back to the highway and continued along the inner coast of the Rinns to Bruichladdich ("BROOK-lahd-dee") distillery, near the village of Port Charlotte and almost directly across the loch from Bowmore.

Bruichladdich stands apart from the other Islay distilleries. The place has a distinctly beachy vibe, with a strong teal motif and pennant strings lining the walls. There was no tasting menu for people like us who hadn't booked a tour, but there was a bartender who would distractedly pour a free splash of whichever whisky you asked for. My dad had to abstain since we'd be getting back on the road as soon as we finished. Feeling a little awkward and not wanting to take advantage, Jessica and I settled for sampling their two entry-level core offerings:

Original Laddie: This is the distillery's signature unpeated whisky. The first sip was surprisingly strong and fiery, but a drop of water opened up the floral notes it's advertised for.

Port Charlotte 10: This is described as a "heavily peated" whisky, but we found it to be very smooth and not nearly as peated as the south-coast whiskies from Ardbeg, Lagavulin, and Laphroaig. It was surprisingly smooth, though--much smoother than the Original Laddie--and a drop of water brought out some honey notes.

In addition to their "Bruichladdich" series of unpeated whiskies and "Port Charlotte" series of peated whiskeys, the distillery also produces a special "Octomore" series of limited-edition whiskies that are as heavily peated as they are technologically capable of making them. They don't make it every year, and it’s a little different every year they make it.

As we learned on the Ardbeg bog walk, a typical peaty whisky has a phenolic content of around 50 ppm, and their extremely peaty Supernova is just over 100 ppm. The various Octomore releases start at around 150 ppm and have gone well over 200 ppm. This is probably the most interesting whisky that Bruichladdich makes, but unfortunately we didn't ask to try it.

If Kilchoman is the craft distillery, Bruichladdich struck us as the hipster distillery. Which may be a blurry distinction, but let me try to explain.  And I'll preface by saying that we didn't have the best experience at Bruichladdich for a number of reasons that really weren't their fault, high among them being that we didn't really do much actual tasting there.

Bruichladdich bills itself as "the progressive Hebridean distillery," and their marketing materials lean heavily on words like progressive, organic, and provenance. They are an intellectual distillery, and their guiding philosophy seems to be "what if?"--What if we made a totally unpeated Islay whisky? What if we made the most heavily peated whisky possible? What if we made a tasting set of whiskies, each made with only a single variety of barley?

I don't have any inherent problems with this mentality. I actually think it's pretty cool. But the problem is that for all of these progressive buzzwords and conceptual conceits, they have very little to say about how their whiskies actually taste. And when we tasted their two core offerings, we just weren't that impressed.

All of that said, Bruichladdich is one of the distilleries we are most interested in returning to the next time we come to Islay. Many other visitors we talked to on the island absolutely loved it, and we would like more than anything to be won over by a proper visit in the future.

Back on the road, we had nothing left to do but enjoy the natural beauty and picturesque coastal villages. Before too long, we had arrived at Portnahaven, a small fishing village at the southeastern tip of the Rinns.

Except for the squawking seagulls, the village was peaceful and quiet. Almost eerily quiet, in fact. The only local we ran into was an older man who came out of his house just to see what we were doing there. As the fog rolled in, we began to feel distinctly as though we had wandered into a Stephen King or Alfred Hitchcock story.

The only resident we met was an old man who came out of a house we passed by. The words he spoke were kind and quizzical, but it seemed clear that his real intent was to find out what business the three of us had wandering around there.

After playing around a bit more with our smartphone cameras, we jumped back in the car and drove for safety.

The highway turned back and ran up the middle of the Rinns, taking us through mist-veiled fields of heather and the occasional sheep. As Jessica put it, it felt like we had stumbled into Neverland.

Along the way, we stopped at two different craft shops that we'd found advertising in local brochures. The first--Islay Celtic Craft--was set up in a fancifully painted cargo container outside a lonesome farmstead and marked on the roadside by a deer skull. We found the proprietor inside, working on a piece of painted stone art. Some of the things there were the common mass-produced tourist trinkets, but most of it was an interesting collection of found objects and handicrafts made by the proprietor herself.

The second was Tormisdale Croft Crafts. Located appropriately in a small croft farmhouse, it was a delightful collection of handwoven articles and rustic knick-knacks. They also had a collection of homemade jams, including a jar of redcurrant jam, which we bought delightedly and without hesitation. We wouldn't have the chance to open it for another three weeks or so, but when we did it was spectacular.

After that, we made our way lazily along the rest of the highway until it looped back on itself in Port Charlotte. We tried to stop for dinner at a local restaurant, but they were booked through the night. If you want to have dinner in one of Islay's nice restaurants, plan on reserving a table in advance.

No matter--we drove back to Port Ellen and walked over to the local grocery store to find something easy we could make for ourselves. While we were there, we got to enjoy more of the local small-island culture. Everyone shopping there seemed to know each other, and they happily reached out to include us in their conversations. More-so than the people of Portnahaven, perhaps, the people of Port Ellen manage to have the magical combination of being both perfectly familiar with tourists and perfectly happy to meet them.

We brought our assorted haul home and prepared ourselves a satisfying if not especially balanced meal, which we ate contentedly while watching Monty Python and the Holy Grail--something Jessica and I had been wanting to do ever since we arrived in Britain.

As an aside, my dad later bought us a bottle of Machir Bay for when I got home to California. Sadly, it has yet to prove as delightful as it did at the distillery. The smoky foretaste has more than a hint more funk, and the aftertaste is more fiery than citrus. We've also found that the flavor changes dramatically as it sits in the glass. And it's not a steady evolution that unfolds over twenty minutes or so, as is common with other Scotch whiskies. You could take a sip of this stuff every five minutes and taste a distinctly different whisky each time--sometimes smoother, sometimes not.

To put it in shamefully snobbish terms, it reminds me of an especially coquettish pinot noir.

Maybe some of it has to do with tasting the whisky at the source, and maybe some of it has to do with batch variation and the Kilchoman still being a young distillery working out the kinks of its production methods. But for whatever reason, it just hasn't been as good. It seems to have gotten better over time since we opened it, however, so maybe it just needs a bit of time to oxidize. I wonder, though, if it might have something to do with the distillery's unusual fermentation process.

Because of their short aging process, Kilchoman whiskies get their flavor more from esters produced during fermentation and less from the flavors imparted from the barrel during aging. But esters are inherently volatile chemicals, and perhaps Kilchoman's heavier reliance on them imparts their whiskies with a greater instability and variability than other Islay whiskies have.

All that said--again--we still think that Kilchoman was one of our greatest discoveries on Islay, rivaled only by Bowmore 15 and some of the whiskies from Bunnahabhain, which we would visit tomorrow. It's a young distillery, but it's creating remarkable stuff now, and we can only imagine what it might be making years from now.

Next Post: Whisky and Wonder (Bunnahabhain, Jura, and Caol Ila)

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