#Octomore

[whiskyblog]

Bruichladdich Whisky Octomore Edition 15.3

Bruichladdich is known for its innovative spirit and commitment to craftsmanship. The Octomore 15.3 continues this approach and offers a unique tasting experience. The Octomore range is renowned for delivering whiskies with a peated phenol content measurement (ppm - parts per million) that is almost unrivalled in the whisky world. The Octomore 15.3 has a phenol content of 307.2 ppm, making it one of the most intensely smoky whiskies on the market.

The Concerto barley harvested in 2017 for this Octomore comes from Octomore Farm on Islay and was distilled in 2019. The whisky matured in first-fill bourbon casks and first-fill oloroso sherry casks from Fernando de Castilla in Jerez.

61.3 % alc./vol. 307.2 ppm

[angelsportion]

Review - Bruichladdich, Octomore 12.3, (No Age Stated), 62.1%

The summer’s early morning sun, as full at this moment as it will be in the late evening, is peering through my window. Its beams promise a wonderfully scorching day. There are no such promises in autumn or winter. I’m a summer man. I need what summer brings. However, as a Michigander, I’ll admit to an occasional affair with autumn. But never winter. Winter is the devil’s business. Autumn is…

[pixelmesh-studio]

Happy Birthday zum 40. Robert.

[tarithenurse]

One for the road

Fandom: Supernatural. Pairing/starring: Dean Winchester x fem!reader. Word count: 1900. Content: Drinking, selfloathing. Something something smut. With some sort of hurt/comfort. It’s a mood. A/N: As per usual please like, comment, reblog. Here’s my TAGLIST and my MASTERLIST for more.

One for the road

Dean was sitting at the scuffed table with it’s dried beer stains. He didn’t drink beer himself (at least not tonight) – tonight he needed something stronger. Something that burned at least as much as the sense of self-loathing did. Not that he’d ever admit to that, of course. So it’s a whiskey he’s cradling, smokey enough to taste almost like a chimney but it doesn’t matter. Taking a sip, Dean allows the drink to scour his throat before picking a peanut from the tiny bowl.

There’s a cheer from over by the pool table and for a moment the hunter entertains the idea of hustling the players but he’s not really in the mood, so he just stays, glaring at anyone who dares come close.

One person doesn’t take the scowl seriously, coming over to wipe down the table with a cloth that probably is just as dirty but at least she refills the peanut bowl too. And she’s a pretty thing, Dean has to admit: the right curves accentuated by tight leather pants and a tank top that does little to hide what she’s got.

He drains his drink, watching her work, and then holds the glass out to her. “Get me another?”

She takes it, sniffs the contents and nods. “Octomore...someone likes pain.” And with that she’s gone again.

Hips sway, causing more than Dean to look after her.

---

There are only a few patrons left, allowing the staff to slowly start cleaning up. Well...what staff is still at work, anyways. He’s watched her send home a couple of them already, forcing her to tend the bar herself rather than buss the tables and mingle with the patrons.

Leaving his spot, Dean ambles up to one of the stools, taking a new place and getting closer to see her.

She works efficiently, cleaning the glasses and putting them on the shelves and in the racks with measured movements.

“One more for the road?” she nods to his almost empty glass. “Gonna be a long walk to the nearest motel.”

“I’ll sleep it off in the car.”

“Ah,” she nods, reaching for the bottle on the high shelf, “a man of simple pleasures.”

Dean can’t help but grin a bit at that because it is kind of true: give him a drink or a pretty girl, some good music or Baby...and he’ll be fine.

“The 67 is yours?” she asks as she pour a generous amount, catching him a bit off guard.

“Yeah, that’s my baby.”

She grabs his glass, taking a swig before handing it back. Not a grimace on her face as she swallows the acrid drink and even if Dean isn’t the kind to share food or drinks, he’s got to admit it’s a bit impressive.

“So...what’re you hunting?” Her gaze doesn’t leave him.

“I’m not a hunter.”

That makes her smile crookedly. “Sure you are...you’re a Winchester.”

Carefully reconsidering her, Dean also becomes aware that he’s the only patron left in the bar, the bouncer and this chick being the only others left.

“You got me there...and you are?”

“Not your prey,” she smiles. “My dad was a hunter. A lot of my regulars are...as much as such an occupation can allow that.”

“He long gone? Your dad...”

She shakes her head. “Five years give or take. At least I got the monster that killed him.” Then she nods to the drink. “Why the pain?”

“What makes you think there’s any?” he challenges knowing right away that she’s looked through the lie. “Was too late.”

“Shit that sucks.”

“Hmm. Vampires.”

They are both aware of the pun. Don’t need to say it out loud. She just waves the bouncer off, starting to close down the place on her own.

“What’s your name?” Dean wants to know.

She gives it with a little shrug as if he could have called her anything and she would have been okay with it.

“Got a couch upstairs you can crash on...might be better than the Impala.”

Hesitating, he considers the option. Sam’s back at the motel digging up some new case or whatever. It’s not like Dean will be missing out on anything by spending the rest of the night here.

“Yeah, sure,” he smiles.

---

If he had had any hope of actually sharing a bed with this woman, then Dean had been sorely disappointed because she really did show him to a couch before retreating to her own bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Perhaps it’s for the better, Dean muses as he lies, staring into the darkness before falling asleep.

---

He sees the vampire feed her yet another victim, making the transformation complete and sealing the girl’s fate. She’s so young. A life wasted. He isn’t scared when he pulls out the machete – he knows what he must do – but it’s devastating each time he is too late to save someone. He hates it. At least that hatred can spur him on to end the monsters, making sure they will claim no more victims.

Dean. Someone is calling his name. It sounds strange.

Dean. He feels the touch of a hand on him and he swirls to face them, blinking.

Blinking as the world changes and what was a derelict barn turns into a living room. Then he sees.

The face of the bar owner, eyes wide and mouth drawn into a thin line. She has a hand on his chest and another on his that’s wielding his hunting knife that he never goes without but he now wishes he had left behind because it’s less than an inch from slicing into her neck.

“Dean,” she repeats, appealing to his logical side. His human side.

Pulling back and tossing the knife aside, he shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

But she follows, looking up at him. “Bad dream...don’t be sorry.” She looks past him at something. “You do owe me a new pillow though.”

Following her gaze, he sees that the pillow is indeed slashed, stuffing flowing out like guts.

“Can I make it up to you for that?” he asks.

“Sure.” It’s a crooked smile but pretty and full of promises. “Not like any of us are going to get some sleep for a while anyways.”

She leads him to the bedroom and finally Dean realizes what she’s wearing: a thong and an oversized and holey t-shirt that’s slipping off a shoulder. Together with the adrenaline that still is flowing through his body, it makes him hard and he wishes he’d had a t-shirt on he could tug down to obscure it at least a bit.

But then again...

Her bed is soft as he kneels on it. Not like the couch had been with it’s lumps and crevasses but more smooth. And it smells heavenly like her. Like the warmth of her as she embraces him from behind, her weight dipping the mattress further.

Slender but strong hands trace the muscles of his chest before rising to his shoulders, kneading the tension away there.

“Fuuuuck,” Dean groans, feeling it all the way to his elbows and fingertips.

She tips him easily so he lands face down, straddling his ass to allow to rub corded muscles. “Feels good?”

“So good!” he admits. “Wasn’t what I expected, though, babe.”

She laughs softly, hands leaving him momentarily. Then something lands before his nose and he recognizes it as a torn, oversized t-shirt. He wants to turn to see, but she pins him down, a hand on each shoulder. Sure, he could use his strength and break free of the hold, but he’s curious what she’s going to do.

Reaching for something on the nightstand, she has to stretch along hos torso so her breasts brush his shoulder blades and and shoulder. Warm and heavy, sending shivers down his spine and into his cock that presses against the mattress.

Then her hands return. Firm. Focused. As if using magic, she turns his body into putty in her hands. Working her way from neck to ass, pulling his boxers down when she gets that far, her skill is like something Dean’s never tried before.

Then she turns him over, still straddling him and smiling down at his erection that’s lasted so long it’s almost painful.

“Well hello big guy,” she purrs.

It bobs as if greeting her.

Scooting to hover over his erection, granting him a glance at curls and glistening folds as she guides her entrance to the crown of his cock. When did she take of the thong? He doesn’t know and it doesn’t matter when he can feel the heat and wetness, begging him to push into her but instead he stays still, allowing her to call the shots instead.

He’s rarely been the one not in charge but he has to admit he kinda likes it. Especially as she begins to lower herself onto him – taking a bit of him before reverting, then a bit further and reverting, a bit further and so on.

She’s tight. Cunt sucking him in. Dean’s eyes roll back in his head and he can’t stop himself from grabbing her hips, tensing for each rocking motion that brings him deeper until he has bottomed out.

“Fuck...so full,” she whispers.

“So tight,” Dean agrees, brows knitted as he has to try to keep himself from rolling his hips.

As if proving a point, she squeezes around him and it makes him snap: thrusting up, he rolls them both over so he is nestled on top between her legs and she’s underneath, gasping as he thrusts deep.

Dean sets a slow pace but pressing in so deep he can feel something nudge at the tip because it makes her gasp and moan in the sweetest way. Little whimpers that she tries to swallow to begin with but eventually lets dripple freely from her tongue for Dean to sweep up with sloppy kisses that she returns eagerly.

Her hands are still slippery from the cream she’d used so she has a hard time finding purchase until she digs her nails into his ass.

“Take what you need,” she manages to gasp, a word carried by each thrust.

It splits his feelings, wanting to make sure she feels good too but a primal side of him roars its head, taking over his mind and body as he leans back so he can place her ankles on his shoulders, folding her in half and allowing him to set an insane pace.

“Fuck yeah,” she moans.

Her hands are all over his shoulders, trying to find purchase as best as she can. Dean knows he’ll have a scored back afterwards and it does indeed sting even now but he likes it, like the pain even if it’s only superficial.

Reaching down between them, he find her clit with a thumb. Pressing circles on it, he makes her cuss again before a long moan tells him what he needs to know together with the pulsing of her cunt. It’s fluttering around his length, trying to milk him for all he has and in two more thrusts he lets it.

Sloppily, lazily, he fucks his way through the orgasm, lightheaded from the sensation.

He can barely make himself pull out and roll off her, she feels so good and warm.

“It’s okay, you can wait,” she whispers as if having guessed what he wants. “You can stay.”

[caraecethrae]

"In another example, which can be found in a story that was recounted by the Rev. Thomas Pattison in 1863, some men by the name of the Mac Arthurs of Glassary (Argyllshire) had finished their work in the fields early one day, much to their delight. With time to spare, the men decided to perform a divinatory rite known as the taghairm. This ritual was supposed to summon some sort of supernatural being, who would then be compelled to answer any question asked of it, and according to this particular story the being who was meant to appear was known as ‘Mac Mollach.’

With the rite successfully performed, this Mac Mollach duly appeared and the Mac Arthurs then eagerly asked their question: they wanted to know what was in land and sea. Mac Mollach, being compelled to answer, showed the Mac Arthurs what they wanted to know. Faced with this revelation, one of the Mac Arthurs decided he was wanting to fight ‘all that was dead or alive within the sea’ (as you do, I guess), and so he positioned himself in the mouth of a corrie right by the shore and issued his challenge. The sea began to roar and rise up in an immediate response, and it came hurtling towards land. The Mac Arthur who’d issued the challenge immediately regretted his bravado and decided to leg it forthwith, apparently thinking that would get him to safety. The sea clearly had no intention of letting him off the hook, however, and it chased relentlessly after the man as he ran thither and yon.

Eventually the man made it to Octomore (a local farm), and he headed straight to the farmhouse. He burst in through the door and found, as luck would have it, the two women who lived there ‘rubbing two sticks together’ as they endeavoured to kindle a need-fire in their hearth. The sea was nipping right at the Mac Arthur man’s heels by this point, but as the need-fire burst into life the waves miraculously retreated. The man who fancied himself a champion was ultimately saved from his own arrogance."

—Saining for Gaelic Polytheists by Marissa Hegarty

[yushiang911]

【酒廠故事】Bruichladdich 布萊迪

布萊迪酒廠位於赫布里底群島的艾雷島。  布萊迪酒廠旗下四種獨特的烈酒品牌： ● Bruichladdich 布萊迪，無泥煤艾雷島單一麥芽蘇格蘭威士忌   ● Port Charlotte 波夏，重度泥煤艾雷島單一麥芽蘇格蘭威士忌 (40PPM)● Octomore 奧特摩，全世界泥煤值最高的蘇格蘭威士忌系列 (80+PPM)  ● The Botanist Gin 植物學家，第一支艾雷島琴酒    布萊迪酒廠最初由 Harvey 兄弟於 1881 年建立。 它經歷了包括世界大戰和全球經濟不確定性在內的時期，但於1994 年關廠七年直到2001年重新開廠。 2001 年，馬克•雷尼爾(Mark Reynier)、西蒙•考夫林(Simon Coughlin) 和當時的首席調酒師吉姆•麥克尤恩(Jim McEwan)…

[nickmillermit]

Seeing--or is it tasting?--is believing

Before coming to grad school, I used to lead whisky tastings back in Philadelphia.  Sometimes for friends and sometimes for strangers, I got pretty good at being able to guide people through a proper tasting experience––from choosing the right glass and showcasing the impact of ice to talking about the molecular science of ethanol and exploring the various terroirs of Scotland.

Much like wine snobs, whisky lovers can be, frankly, insufferable at times.  If I had a dime for every time I heard someone say they only drink single malts and won’t touch a blended whisky, only to oogle over an overpriced bottle of Johnnie Blue (which is, you guessed it, a blend)….

Well, this strange phenomenon can likely be attributed to something called cognitive association, or brand equity.  The reality is that massive distillers or distributors like Edrington (Macallan), Diageo (Johnnie Walker), or Beam Suntory (Jim Beam/Makers/Yamazaki) dump millions of dollars each year into building and maintaining their brands so that when you see a $100+ bottle of Booker’s bourbon sitting alone on the top shelf of your local liquor store, you’re already preconditioned to believe that it’s liquid gold.  And don’t even get me started on the lore of Pappy Van Winkle.

But after attempting far too many blind tastings over the past decade, I can tell you that at least I’ve been personally fooled far too many times to keep believing that superficial factors like brand recognition, bottle design, and price are all directly correlated to product quality.

Now look, I’m not saying that I don’t have my favorites––those matte black bottles, eye-popping ABVs, and sustainable farming stories from Octomore make me grab one of their bottles off the shelf every time I see them.  But actually, that’s kind of my point.

I wasn’t shocked at all to read about Wansink, Payne, and North’s research on North Dakotan wine, which more or less tells us that wine labels can bias expectations and tastiness ratings of both the wine in the bottle and the complementary food items that it is being served with.

My hypothesis is that most people just don’t have enough time to really care about everything.  You have to pick and choose your battles.  Imagine going through an entire day having an opinion on EVERYTHING you’re using, from the scent of the soap you wash your hands with to the brand of the toothbrush and toothpaste you use to the logo on the faucet and so on. Funny enough, you might be thinking right now that you DO have an opinion on every single one of those products, but have you really done enough research to know why you choose the products you do?  Did you know that Colgate, for example, makes over 20 different varieties of toothpaste, each with unique ingredients, active formulas, and flavors.  I can't imagine you've tried them all. Now, multiply that across the many brands and thousands of products you use each day, and the number of choices grows exponentially beyond comprehension.

My point is, it would be utterly exhausting to research everything deeply enough to truly form your own unique opinion, and that is why we NEED brands to tell us which is best.  We actively rely on many sources to make these day-to-day decisions easier, whether that is the opinions of our friends and families, online reviews, or even product placement and advertising experts.  But just because you’ve been led down one path and told that it was the best choice, doesn’t mean that it’s necessarily true.

In conclusion, I’m not saying that you should try to impress your next dinner guests with your finest bottle of North Dakotan wine, but hey, maybe if you’re feeling cheeky and running low on Napa Cabs, you can try putting out an unmarked decanter with something cheaper to see if anyone is the wiser….

[beerdujour]

The @bacchus_brewing Islay Reserve. Bottled in 2017, this barleywine is brewed with 100% peated malt and aged in Octomore barrels. Deliciously smooth, outrageously smokey, with some subtle oakey notes.

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A post shared by Coran Stow (@coranstow)

[whiskyblog]

Bruichladdich Whisky Octomore Edition 14.1

The Bruichladdich Octomore Edition 14.1 is an outstanding single malt Scotch whisky with smoky and peaty flavours. This whisky is made from 100% Scotch barley and matured in first fill bourbon casks, giving it a balanced sweetness. With an alcohol content of 59.6% by volume, it is strong and complex, with notes of peat, fruit and vanilla. The Octomore 14.1 is a whisky for lovers of smoky and intense flavours.

[chiveraccs]

Whisky: Bruichladdich Octomore 10.1

Como bien he mencionado posiblemente en más de una publicación, existen distintas regiones del whisky escocés. Son cinco o seis, dependiendo de a quien le preguntes. Entre estas regiones se encuentra una llamada Islay, que es de donde provienen todos los whiskies de sabores ahumados y yodados, incluso hasta salinos. Hay otras regiones que las producen también, pero los más característicos son de…

[whiskyaesthetic]

The best Octomore is the Octomore you don't expect. We found this gorgeous @bruichladdich Octomore 12.3 by happenstance and didn't even hesitate. Then we read @drinkdistiller's review, which confirmed we made the right decision. 25% of the distillate spent 5 years in Pedro Ximenez Solera Casks (!), while the rest built the backbone in ex-American oak. But what we love most is that it is made from barley grown in a single field on Islay at Octomore Farm and is comprised of a single vintage. What beautiful work! The PX cask gives it a sweetness that truly complements the 118.1 PPM peat. Extreme dark chocolate sprinkled with pepper and wrapped in leather, in tandem with caramel chews. This installment gets all the thumbs up! . . . #bruichladdich #octomore #octomorefarm #islaybarley #singlefield #singlevintage #heavilypeated #singlemalt #scotch #whisky #whiskey #aquavitae #uiscebeatha #uisgebeatha #Islay #peat #whiskyaesthetic #womenwhowhiskey Bruichladdich Octomore 12.3 62.1% ABV, No Age Statement Region: Islay Cask: Ex-American Oak, Pedro Ximenz Solera (at Salem, Oregon) https://www.instagram.com/p/CiZDOsSrU40/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[pics1-1]

[greatdrams]

ANOTHER MILESTONE HIT AS B CORP CERTIFIED BRUICHLADDICH URGES THEIR SHOPPERS TO GO ‘ONE TIN LIGHTER’ https://greatdrams.com/another-milestone-hit-as-b-corp-certified-bruichladdich-urges-their-shoppers-to-go-one-tin-lighter/

ANOTHER MILESTONE HIT AS B CORP CERTIFIED BRUICHLADDICH URGES THEIR SHOPPERS TO GO ‘ONE TIN LIGHTER’

Single malt whisky, now with no tin? Bruichladdich, Port Charlotte and Octomore single malts, made at Bruichladdich Distillery on Islay, are known for their modern packaging design and convention challenging spirits.

[grosswildjaeger]

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A post shared by Shrinkbrew Ales (@shrinkbrew)

Boozing up stuff #2 : one my favorite beers last year was a deMolen bowmore barrel aged stout so I want to give my stout a twist in that direction. Since a barrel is too big for my 90l batch and a bottle of #octomore too expensive for that purpose I soaked 500g of medium toast oak chips in a bottle of 16y lagavulin and tossed it in... #lagavulin #lagavulin16 #lagavulindistillery #lagavulinwhisky #whiskystout #barreledstout #stout #stoutbeer #stouts #homebrewing #homebrew #homebrewfanatic #homebrewstories #homebrewporn #picobrew #picobrewery (hier: Pratteln, Switzerland) https://www.instagram.com/p/CBAPqWDpYPm/?igshid=1gnuaq8bwfw4m

[mytipsyturvy]

It’s an Octomore kinda night... . #octomore #bruichladdich #whisky #whiskey #scotch #singlemalt #tipsyturvywhisky #mytipsyturvy (at Brussels Galerie) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bz78AeHJsK7/?igshid=bya869usyurm

[whiskyblog]

Bruichladdich Whisky Octomore Edition 14.1

The Bruichladdich Octomore Edition 14.1 is a highly acclaimed whisky from the Octomore range.

With an alcohol content of 59.6% and matured in first fill bourbon casks, it offers flavours of strong smoke, sea breeze and hints of citrus. The Concerto barley harvested in 2016 for this Octomore comes from mainland Scotland and was distilled in 2017.

This edition is for experienced whisky connoisseurs and collectors and is often enjoyed neat or with a drop of water.

Region : Islay 59,6 % alc./vol. 0,7l not chill-filtered Cask type : 1st Fill American Whiskey Casks 128,9 ppm 5 y.o.