[This is one of many shorter reviews we're posting on current Scotch Malt Whisky Society offerings (featuring various Lo-Mob effects on the pics). Check out the beginning of this other post
for more on these posts. If you want to find
out more about the SMWS or their bottlings, visit www.smws.com]
Why don't I adore sherry? Why don't I drink it at every meal? Why do people bottle bad sherry for cooking? I ask because damn if I don't freakin' love me a good sherry bomb. And the SMWS 2.81 is a lovely little sherry bomb. More cherry bomb or even M80 than hand grenade or artillery shell, mind you, but that's a good thing. The nose presents refined, rarified, reified orange essence distilled and distilled into a rare, beautiful red wine poured over a bowl of golden raisins. With a honkin' big snifter of brandy sitting next to that bowl, slowly dispersing (via evaporation) into the room. The wine sneaks onto the mouth as well, but then coats the tongue in warm spiced cream, leaving cinnamon to conduct an afterparty on the palate and the throat. As this dram goes down, it warms my toes and dark corners of my soul. The dark, gorgeous liquid disappears from my glass, and I find myself with unprecedented (for me) thoughts and dreams: I want to be a grandmother, I want doilies, I want more cats and acid-etched sherry glasses in a glass-doored cabinet. I want to take a bath with Pedro Ximénez and wear a rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls and embrace the innuendo of both and worry about the fact that I'm a heterosexual male another day.
The SMWS 2.81 is Molly's soliliquy in the last chapter of James Joyce's Ulysses--I was a Flower of the mountain yes and I put the doily on the newly polished table yes and I put the sherry glass on the doily yes and fill that glass to the brim yes and dream that it's from the cask that then goes to age this whisky yes yes and my heart is going like mad and yes and I drink it yes and I order a bottle of the 2.81 yes and then another yes I said yes I will Yes.