That's the good stuff. Maybe not the best stuff, but really good stuff.
Bowmore, single-malt. From the oldest operating distillery on the island of Islay. The second oldest in all of Scottland.
Aged for 12 uninterrupted years in a single sherry barrel. Slowly, patiently absorbing the warmth of oak and salt air.
Islays are known for their intensely smokey, peaty aromas. This one is not as sharp as some (Laphroaig and Lagavulin reign as most distinctly flavorful). But Bowmore is full of character and flavor, while remaining extremely well balanced and very smooth.
It rolls around on the tongue, dangling a hint of honey behind rich smoke that disolves into flavors of pear and - if you wait for it - dark chocolate. Close your eyes and savor it, and you can smell the Scottish sea-mist wafting over the malting floor.
Bad scotch is like so much "Christian" fiction. Bland, convoluted, uninspired, soul-less. Great scotch drinks like Edwards reads. Resonating echoes of the better country. Steeped in archetypal residue. Passing from lips to tongue, evoking the depth of goodness and beauty that must been seen and tasted, not merely told of. Smoothly but resolutely warming as it goes down, it inspires contemplation of the mysterious currents of Word and Spirit.
