In the glass, the Deanston 12 is reminiscent of Goldschläger, but with a much less desirable particulate matter swept into a Brownian motion trance dance: think grade-school planaria experiments unattended during a long holiday, or remnants of a recently-flushed bus station toilet. Unfortunately, the visual impressions are a presage of the conspicuously-imbalanced tastes that follow. Sour, bitter, and salty, but unlike the Trinity, these are not harmoniously joined into one. Neither do they redeem. On the contrary, think of Sourpatch Kids candies used to absorb messes on a shop floor, or salted pomegranate pith candied in paregoric, or buried barrels of bleach and anthrax on Vozrozhdeniya Island. Briny? Yes, but closer to Briony Tallis in the breadth and depth of misery it visits upon innocents.
The Deanston 12 is Heraclitus’ posset fragment (DK 125)--a mixture of wine, barley, and cottage cheese, “the posset separates unless it is stirred.” We found it helps to close your eyes and pinch your nose.