Tasting Notes: Clynelish

I want to talk about the bottle I just put to rest; Clynelish.

My husband gave it to me mid summer as an experiment. Knowing our supply was low he ventured into the liqueur store across the street and arbitrarily picked from the whisky shelf behind the cash register. I’m always up for learning something new so I poured us both a glass and perused the label while I sampled the fare. My first impression was near revolt. Too damn salty! A closer look at the label revealed this scotch was, indeed, made near the sea and there was an inherent flavor of sea air in the liqueur. I thought perhaps this would go with a hearty steak dinner and possibly I would never take another sip of this stuff again. But I couldn’t waste a perfectly good glass of scotch so I persevered and made an amazing discovery.

After the initial burn and subsequent numbness of my mouth from the first few sips I found an awesome after-taste growing on the back of my tongue. It was an intriguing and powerful sensation. I looked at the amber liquid in my cut crystal glass and took another careful sip of the Clynelish. Rather than being hit by brackish fire water I was swept away into a land of sweet ecstasy. It drew me in and pushed me away at the same moment, like crazed lovers dancing between desire and repulsion. I was in limbo unable to do much but sit and let my taste buds go on a psychotropic trip. This is not a writer’s embellishment; it was a powerful sensation and truly demanded all of my attention. The dynamic between the sweet and the salt formed a harmonic chord of electric caramel that ran up and down my mouth, jolting me with occasional flashes of chocolate and cayenne. I regretfully finished my small glass and gazed out the window onto the summer eve, lost in thought.

I put the bottle in the cupboard and lingered momentarily, gazing at it with reverence. It was a most sensual drinking experience and that night my husband and I enjoyed the best sex we’d had together in a long while. This did not turn out to be his drink of choice so he gladly handed it off to me where I kept it safe and drew upon it’s potency as need or desire called for it. I was careful not to slip into flavor complacency and loose the adventure of a wild glass of Clynelish so every now and then I’d bring forth the bottle and pour myself a glass. Every time I was rewarded with an orgy of taste, but nothing beat that first time! I will never forget it and neither will my husband.