Notes

'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.

The first sip was the best one. The rest were good, but not as good as my first.

I'm an easy date for a high proof, but even this one might be too much for me.

🍏🍎🍏🍎🍏🍎🍏 Feels like I'm going apple picking.

'Twas the night of the seventh tasting, the glass in my hand, The whiskey lay quiet, its flavors unplanned. Not much on the nose, but a hint to unveil, A whisper of vanilla, so sweet and so pale. The sweetest thus far, of the bottles we've tried, Its secrets lay hidden, like stars that won’t guide. My last guesses floundered, adrift in the mist, So tonight, I'll keep quiet—no name will I list. A sip is a story, a guess just a game, But the journey's the joy, not the spirit's name. So here's to the night, to the dram and delight, Merry tasting to all, and to all a good night!

'Twas the night of the sixth tasting, still in shock from hearing everyone's "hard pass", I realize I sit here looking like a bit of an ass. However this new whiskey is sweet on the nose, with a bit of fruit in the air. Yet spice crept in, with a bold little flair. I sipped and I swirled, detecting some wheat, A hint of confusion, yet oddly complete. "Is this one a rye?" I pondered anew, Recalling the mix-up from yesterday's brew. A touch of young heat, though not harsh or brash, It danced on the palate, not leaving a clash. With flavors that lingered, both mild and spry, I toasted the moment—a fine whiskey to try.

Good flavor, but HOT!

'Twas the night of the fifth tasting, and all through the air, A sweet woody scent lingered, beyond all compare. Better than the diaper of the baby sitting on my lap. Yes, this scent was earthy like my Christmas tree dripping with sap. The first sip was a shock, with more power than planned, Bolder than expected, yet you can call me a fan. Could it be rye? I’m not sure, I confess, After five years of tastings, I should know this, I guess. But no matter the name, no matter the grain, This whiskey’s a winner, it would put many others to shame. A powerful pour, and my favorite so far A sip that’s so smooth, I can't wait to add it to my bar.

Everything is good up until the finish. There's something strange there. Not mad about it, but not sure I'm loving it either.

🥶 Ice helps a lot with this one.

'Twas the night of the fourth tasting, the glass in my hand, I sniffed at the whiskey, smelling rich and so grand. The first whiff was sweet, with a maple delight, And perhaps cinnamon apples that will dance through the night. Excitement was building as I took the first sip, It hit a bit stronger, as it passed through my lips. A smooth woody flavor, so bold and so deep, Like a fine Tennessee, it was best enjoyed neat. With each little taste, my thoughts did unfold, This whiskey's a treasure, that will never get old!

'Twas the night of the third tasting, I'll give this one a try, The nose is so silent, no familiar scents do I come by. The first taste was harsh, with a burn so strong. I thought, "I am going to need ice to help this process along." This is not very smooth and is not bringing me cheer, This is one of those Scotches that Jonathan mentioned, I fear. Will I give this selection a good grade? Well, it's hard to say. It's highly unlikely, I just don't see a way. So I'll sit with this pour, and think for a while, This whiskey really is not my style.

This one hits all the right notes.

'Twas the night of the second tasting, and all through the room, I took a deep whiff, but the scent had no boom. A faint hint of maple, some vanilla so sweet, But I craved something stronger, a more vivid treat. On first sip, caramel, so smooth and so mild, The flavor’s subdued, not intense or wild. I don’t love it, I don’t hate it, it’s somewhere between, It’s missing the punch that I hoped to glean. Is it a bourbon? I can’t say with ease, But as a warm-up, it’s gentle, it frees. A quiet beginning, not bold or bizarre, A simple start before the night goes far.

So good to be back. And so good to finally see Rye get some recognition in last year's calendar

So many things to like about this one, but mostly is that the advent calendar is back!