Lads:
I had planned to drink the entire 4 day weekend, since Larry was coming in and wouldn't have it any other way. But given I was the one cooking the Bird on Thanksgiving and we all had a thousand last-minute chores to do when preparing for relatives (pull the skeletons out of the closet and hide the best silverware), catching a clean moment for a wee dram was going to be rough. A few weeks ago, I bought a bottle of Ardbeg 10yr in Hoboken at 10% off (why, cause it was 'old'?) and it was now sitting under the desk in my office, taunting me the way Laurie T. did in 8th grade: waiting to be opened, but I just wasn't ready, dude. Now that I think of it, there was a certain "peatiness" to Laurie and she sure was smoky for a kid. But try as I might, I don't remember her being under my desk.
I hadn't had the Ardbeg, or Laurie for that matter, and picked November to try it out. What better time for the warmth of an Islay than when the first cold winds of Autumn are whipping down your neck, getting underneath your shirt making your nipples har...wait, that was Laurie again. I ran into the Ardbeg at the latest WhiskyFest in October and waited till the end of the evening to approach, after the sweetness of the Spey's had faded and that disappointing Glenfiddich 21 year finished in Rum Barrel was a bad memory. For some reason, Ardbeg's not been getting a lot of good press on the wires, a ...