The nose is fascinating. You will find the peat smoke, of course, but one that imparts a viscous sweetness not unlike a Kansas City-style barbecue sauce. This gives way, almost immediately, to the aroma of salty corn chips, straight from a freshly opened bag. Beneath the surface, candy cinnamon hearts and, further below, anise. Marvellous!
The palate does not disappoint. Delightfully peated of course—though certainly not to the degree of a Bruichladdich Octomore or an Ardbeg Supernova—but here the cinnamon hearts sing, adding spice overtop a layer of orange zest and malty brown sugar. And, as advertised, I tasted not a hint of iodine. Finally, the body is light and pleasantly oily. This dram departs utterly from the typical Islay; the smoke positively dances off the tongue, completely unencumbered by the “weightiness” I find so common among the Lagavulins and Laphroaigs of the world.
The Bruichladdich Peat is an absolutely gorgeous whisky. I have enjoyed it, almost ritualistically, on many evenings since I purchased those first bottles, sublimely paired with a few squares of dark chocolate. I am left each time with a feeling of wistful remembrance that carries me off to bed for the night. I could ask for little else from my spirits.