Another year, another 4-10 reviews up in a two month span of whiskies that no one man should ever drink.
But here I am.
I know what you’re thinking: I must be fat. And drunk all the time. Only one of those are true, and I’m not drunk right now, so fatty’s going to keep writing.
Like I said before, I passed the peat barrier, so I had to have more peat. And more peat meant more Islays. Or hunting for something else at The Feather’s Pub. No one wants to do that.
No, instead they want to have their dessert, and they, being my family, are waiting patiently for it. Who am I to delay dessert? I order an Islay. A Port Ellen, in fact.
Port Ellen 1979 21 Douglas Laing Old Malt Cask if we’re being super duper exact about it.
Port Ellens and I get along…
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