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It immediately transports Bill to a psychedelic scene from Yellow Submarine that was cut from the film because during it, the trip Paul was experiencing suddenly presaged the boulder scene from the opening of Raiders of the Lost Ark–only the golden idol was made of candy, and it was a giant orange that was rolling after him. Sweet and Tart, but not fully Sweet Tart, the mouth is also somewhere between viscous and creamy, as though it were emulsified by angel farts. This must be what it’s like suckling on a unicorn’s uniteet: neither oily nor buttery, it’s like direct brain stimulation/simulation from the Experience Machine. Bourbon Barrel 54.6% is the warmth and sweetness of his smile in The Party (2017)–There was a melancholic sweetness in his eyes as a guardian angel, but the full ripening of life experience brings something even sweeter, and there’s nothing melancholy in this dram.

I get at first a preposterous array of sensations that I strain to make sense of: buttercups, lilies, candied limes lightly parboiled, pulp-free orange juice, newspaper sheets stuffed into wet brogues, and grilled swordfish. I feel that such a thing as this, a thing that tastes so good, cannot be right; I feel that something has adulterated the spirit; I look for chains of custody that lie broken and scattered on a marble courtroom floor. It is no wonder that baptism would come to symbolize not just cleanliness in preparation for prayer or ritual, as it had in its pre-Christian roots, but an ontological reworking of ourselves into something reborn, something new. New realities are entered into, and the old are discarded like work clothes that still hold our body heat, but briefly.

Stephen and John got a stale mix of airline peanuts and Cancun sand, inadvertently brought back to the US by a chagrined senator, who isn’t grinning much, because of course they did. We also got an ebonite door jamb dropped into a lacquer bowl of dark miso soup; the kind with skinny slivers of scallions, tiny tofu cubes, and wiry enoki mushrooms. It’s a great song, but click the link at your own peril; you’ll find yourself unable to stop singing, “Gary, Indiana,” aloud to the confusion of everyone in the room with you. Similarly, it’s a great whisky, but open the bottle at your own peril; you’ll find yourself unable to stop drinking, “Garryana, vV.” [Garryana version V]

But I’m going to say that this is like taking the bananas from Runts® candies and making them into banana bread for a child who was already slightly hyped up on Pop Rocks®. The nose goes from there to a whole bread pudding topped with Bananas Foster–and some caramel just to make sure it does you in. But to be more specific, it’s bright like Pink Floyd’s crazy diamond, sweeter than The Sweet’s Lollipop Man, and syrupier than Young the Giant’s Cough Syrup. But I should note: the spicy wood/oaky notes are there, too, but they’re nearly fully integrated with the fruit, which is impressive for a whisky of this age.