Longmorn 40 Years (1975/2015) - Malts of Scotland

Nose

When we first smell it, we simultaneously think: "Grandma's old woodshed in the countryside." But how chic! There's a hint of rotten, damp wood in the air, as if someone had opened an antique chest. Behind it, heavy red fruits creep in – think of overripe plums that have been lying in the fruit bowl a little too long. A hint of beeswax makes it creamy, while slightly earthy notes (forest floor after rain?) provide grounding. Then it becomes apothecary-like: nutmeg appears like an old acquaintance, followed by an entire apothecary cabinet full of tinctures and herbs. Chalk! Yes, damn it, school chalk. And as if that weren't confusing enough, rose water also floats through – elegant but restrained, like a distinguished lady who doesn't wear too much perfume. This nose is complicated. It demands attention. It wants you to sit down and listen. We nod obediently, but only understand half of it.

Palate

The first sip makes your mouth tingle – you know, that prickly, almost electric sensation on your tongue. The spice hits you immediately: this is no gentle start, it's an explosion of flavour. But – and this is where it gets interesting – despite this intensity, everything remains incredibly well-rounded. Freshly roasted coffee makes its presence felt, followed by slightly burnt nut cake (you know, the crust that everyone wants). White peach brings a fruity freshness that we didn't expect. The whole thing is extremely delicate and multi-layered – as if someone were conducting an orchestra in which each instrument plays solo at times. The spicy oak is always present, but never dominant. It's like a good conductor: you know he's there, but he doesn't push himself into the foreground. After 40 years of barrel ageing, it would have been quite a feat not to become woody.

Finish

"It draaaaaags on like chewing gum," we note. And it's true. This finish knows no end. Soft wood nestles on the palate, lots of oak (surprise!) spreads out, and cinnamon and nutmeg slowly, very slowly, fade away. You sit there, sip, wait, and the whisky is still there. Like that one party guest who doesn't get that everyone else has long since gone to bed. Except that we're not complaining here.