[This is the first of many shorter, link-free reviews we'll be
crafting on current Scotch Malt Whisky Society offerings. We've been asked to give our objective impressions of these expressions. That is all that the SMWS has asked from us in providing us with these samples, and that's what we're providing. Still, if you're worried about our journalistic integrity, please see our disclaimer for MoM here--the same sentiment applies to these reviews. That said, if you want to find out more about the SMWS or their bottlings, you should visit www.smws.com]
The reconditioned Stanley Steamer screeches to a stop, tires smearing skid marks, and she steps out—sultry—smoking a salty, svelte, stubby, sea-brined cigarillo. She approaches me, and swooping down, the actress Rachel Macadams, heir to the road-tar-paving fortune of Angus MacTarpaver, kisses me sensuously, deeply, longingly, lovingly. [John: Bill! The actress is "Rachel McAdams," and you need to stop gibbering at the keyboard!] There are burnished kumquats rolled in halls of oats, tobacco, and bituminous coal. Strange sea life, from symmetric single-celled organisms up to sperm whales. Down in the beds, fossils not yet hardened, like semi-frozen ice cubes in an asphalt tray. All this to say: Islay Lucy! Was that too forced? [John and Stephen: YES!] It's an Islay incendiary device, lighting up the Tarry, Tarry Night! It's an Atari console being used to balance a tray of steak tartare that was smoked by burning Satan's boxer briefs. The long finish is a funnel down to...Dick Cheney's undisclosed locations.
Adding water brings out the floorwax at the Alhambra, a shy sweetness, temperate elk pudding, and urethane wheels with steel ball bearings skidding at a roller rink where hipsters skate (ironically, naturally) holding hands humming Clash songs against the sonic backdrop of Chuck Berry and Sha Na Na. It's sassy, like icing on a prison cake.
The SMWS 3.182 is Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture (finale) performed with real cannons--Boom! Boom! Boom!