Notes

Not loving this. Like drinking hot wax.

Like getting a sweater for Christmas, it's pleasant, but not exciting.

'Twas the night of the eighteenth tasting, and all through the room, I poured a glass of whiskey and hung up Zoom. The aromas so rich, allowed me to unwind, I believe my palate is becoming a bit more refined. I sniffed the first dram, my nose gave a sign, “Why does this one smell a bit like red wine?” More scotch, I exclaimed, my palate intrigued, The journey began, and my taste buds agreed "Delicious!” I declared as my glass emptied out, Do I like scotch now? It seemed there was no doubt. Is this year's selection better, or have I just grown? It's certainly been many years since I use to chug Keystone.

Pretty solid. Definitely getting pears on the nose, a bit weak on the finish. A decent supper though.

'Twas the night of the seventeenth tasting, and all through the house, Not a glass was left empty, not even for a mouse. The dram of fine bourbon lay snug in my hand, While I listen to a live album of one of my favorite bands. The leather aroma, it danced in the air, A hint of the warmth that this evening would share. It may be a tad hot, but I'm enjoying the taste, Not this year's best, but this tasting is certainly not a waste. So I raised up my glass, in the soft Christmas light, Merry sipping to all, and to all a good night!

If you don't want to trim your nose hairs, just give this a whiff. This thing is hot. The finish doesn't stand up to the nose and palate, but it's a good sipper nonetheless.

'Twas the night of the sixteenth tasting, with a whiskey in hand, Not much on the nose, I must say quite bland. A hint of the Scotch, but quickly fading away, Yet the finish is so smooth I simply must say. A whiskey so subtle, a mystery unfurls, Could it be Scotch? The smoothest in the world. On a cold winter’s night, by the firelight’s glow, I continue to ponder as I sip this glass, slow. With the firelight glowing and glasses held high, I toast to this journey, this 24 day whiskey flight. Each bottle, each day, a treasure to cast, In this holiday advent, I'm having a blast.

Diggin' it. It's easy, light, and a scotch that's not too scotchy.

'Twas the night of the fifteenth tasting, and as I look through the glass, Every swirl and each sip brought new flavors to pass. My first whiff was a symphony, welcoming in, For vanilla and wood is where the notes did begin. On the palate it danced, not quite as it seemed, For the taste wasn't quite where the aroma had me dream. Yet there was charm in the difference, a twist in the tale, A flavor adventure that begged to set sail. So I ponder, I sip, in the amber's embrace, Wondering, "Is this our first other?" in this whiskey chase.

Got that sweet heat. Big flavor on this one. Huge fan.

I really like this one. The finish is unlike anything I've had. It almost tastes like a Christmas tree...without the risk of swallowing the needles.

'Twas the night before Christmas, and in my glass clear, A whiskey that whispered of good holiday cheer. With a nose hinting maple, and honey, a touch, A warmth from the spirits, though not overly much. On tasting it wheaty, a grainy delight, Yet on balance it stayed just an average bite. No twinkling stars, no fantastical tale, But comfort it brought in its simplicity scale As I took a small sip, it was wheaty and neat, This average whiskey's flavor was discreet. By the fire we sat, in the soft candlelight, Toasting our glasses to a calm winter night

'Twas the night of the thirteenth tasting, and all through the night, Each dram was evaluated by palate and sight. But one pour was puzzling, as baffling as can be, A mystery to solve, perhaps only for me. It smelled faintly of wheat, but then what more to find? No other scents registered, left me so blind. Then came the tasting, oh what a dread, The flavor was awful, just as I said. In a twist of fate, others might think it divine, But this whiskey's for them, not for this tongue of mine. So cheers to the nights, and the tastings we seek, For every bad dram, a new favorite we meet!

'Twas the night of the twelfth tasting, and all through the air, Came scents that were hot, hot, hot—none to compare. A young whiskey, perhaps, or high proof, maybe both? A complex aroma that teased like an oath. With a taste smooth and smoky, like a fine Scotch allure, Each sip was a marvel, each note so pure. A sweet finish lingered, oh what a delight, I dreamt of a bottle on that cold winter's night. The magic of whiskey, like Christmas so near, Brings warmth to the soul and holiday cheer. So, raise a glass high, to flavors refined, For a dram so exquisite, truly one of a kind.

This one seems young and all over the place. Speaking of, happy birthday to my son Reece!

Really wanted to like this, but I just don't. Tasting those apples though.

Nothing to write home about. Not offensive, but if I remember correctly, it's kind of forgettable.

'Twas the night of the eleventh tasting, I sat holding my glass, thinking about yesterdays whiskey and feeling a bit crass. The first few whiffs, a delight to behold, Maple syrup, perhaps cherry, a tale to be told. But as I sipped slowly, with great expectation, The taste didn’t match up, what a consternation. For the smell was enticing, a heavenly brew, Yet the flavor was average, making my Christmas blue. A Tennessee whiskey, with charm in the nose, But the taste left me pondering, just how it goes. So here’s to the bottle, though not quite the best, May tomorrow whiskey be better, and hopefully I have a good guess.

'Twas the night of the tenth tasting, in a room softly lit, A glass of whiskey, waiting where I decided to sit. The nose was elusive, not much did it show, Just a wisp of light smoke, in the faint evening glow. A sip on my tongue, I channeled Ron’s cheer, "Scotch scotch scotchy scotch," but love wasn't near. Mellow and smooth, for a scotch it was tame, I'd drink down a glass or two, though not with much acclaim. It danced on my palate, with a decent embrace, But it wouldn't be winning the top of my taste. Yet there in the quiet, with night closing in, A sip of this scotch made for a restful evening in.

Kind of tastes like grass and dew. Not my thing.

'Twas the night of the ninth tasting, and all through the air, Sweet caramel and toffee scents lingered with care. I swirled the glass gently, anticipation to sip, As the amber gold shimmered on the edge of its lip. The first taste was deep, a bold, hearty embrace, Its strength held a warmth, like a firelit space. But just as it roared, it softened somehow, Mellow and smooth, like a comforting vow. A finish so lovely, it lingered, then fled, Leaving echoes of flavor that danced in my head. With a nod of approval, I set down my cup, And whispered to whiskey, "You’ve filled my soul up."

Hanging out in Denver for a bit which is cool, but this whiskey is just so so. Not getting a lot here. A little watery so kept it neat.

Dear Scotch, We have to stop meeting like this. You and your high proofs make me think you're leading me on and as soon as I give you my heart, you're going to go back to your low proof ways. I just don't want to get hurt.

'Twas the night of the eighth tasting, and in my glass clear, A dram sat before me, both puzzling and dear. It smelled like a Scotch, with its essence refined, Yet doubts lingered softly in the back of my mind. A sweetness arose, like a candied delight, But its name evaded me, try as I might. Its flavor was rich, its warmth held me close, A comforting riddle in this amber dose. Though it whispered of Scotland with a Highlander’s croon, I sensed I would find out my guess was wrong again soon. So I'll savor this puzzle, let its mysteries unfold, For each sip of whiskey is a story about to be told.