Similes about subtlety are most often ironic or sarcastic; rarely does one find a straightforwardly presented one that yields a fair comparison with something that is in fact understated and fine. But it is precisely this latter sort of description that this outstanding malt calls to mind. It is fair to say that the Glenfiddich 18 is as subtle as Elwood P. Dowd's madness in Harvey, as subtle as the plot of My Dinner with André, and every bit as subtle as the stage presence of the title character in Waiting for Godot. However, a few flavors stand out as slightly less subtle than the others, but one has to work even to identify those: week-four Sea Monkeys spread on a grapefruit half and dusted with nuts--or better, sprinkled with nut dust--then puréed and thoroughly mixed into a 1,000 gallon oak vat full of a first-rate beverage. Actually, it may be Sea Monkeys that yield the most accurate simile here: this malt is as subtle as the activities of creatures that, contrary to the graphic claims of ads in the finest of comic books, are really only tiny brine shrimp.
--On the scale of bitter childhood disappointments--
discovering that there is no Santa Claus (you didn't think I'd go to Sea Monkeys again, did you?)--not the toughest of things to accept, given that you had a sneaking suspicion and the presents keep coming anyway, but it's still a blow.