Forty creeks copper pot reserve
“Jennifer wrestled her friend playfully to the ground in front of the snow cone stand… …a crowd gathered almost immediately…”this is disgusting, its pornography” exclaimed a pasty slut white woman, vanilla ice cream smeared across her double chin like a money shot. Counting a balding professor type in his mid forties with his left hand stuffed crassly down the front of his pants “no no no, this is beautiful, this is art.”
By pig destroyer
This is pornography. It is art.
The art comes from the act of blending. John hall is a very important person who makes whisky making a true art form. There is no age statement on his bottles. Why? Because he ages all his single grain whiskies separate and picks them out of the barrel once they’ve peaked. After aging all the single grain whiskies in custom charred barrels, he then blends them together and finishes the aging in sherry casks, to round out and marry the whiskies.
This is pornography. It is sex. It is sexy to pour a glass of this wonderfully colored libation. It smells good, it looks good, it tastes good and it feels good. Don’t rush to get into it, don’t rush to finish it. Make love to this whisky, don’t fuck it. The longer you let it air out, it evolves in the glass. The smells change, become more round, enticing, alluring. First wiff out of the glass I picked up alcohol. A few minutes later, im getting the toffee and citrus peel. Lets get it on.
Citrus, toffee, vanilla, orange peels. Soft taffy candy. Oak and sweetness, blossoms, barnyard and dark roasted nuts, slight leather.
Full and confident. Mouth filling oily richness. Baking spice, clove and oranges, theres that trademark wine finish and searing hot pepper. Spicy rye and cinnamon candy. Raw sugar.
Stop what your doing. Get a bottle. Now.
On top of all that, I read from two whisky writers mainly, and they cant agree on a single thing, except john hall. Go figure.