From the first nosing, you know this is not your uncle’s dram. The nose bursts open like a jar of homemade berry preserve — raspberry, blackcurrant, and macerated cherry laced with sweet oak and a twist of pink peppercorn. Beneath the fruit, there’s vanilla bean, cinnamon stick, and a hum of toasted grain that keeps it grounded. Think jam on fresh sourdough, eaten barefoot on a wooden deck somewhere sun-drenched.

The palate is lush and velvety, but with bite. Those ripe red fruits come rushing in — strawberry compote, rhubarb crumble, maybe even a glug of mulberry syrup — but they’re stitched together with spice and wood. There’s a pulse of oak tannin, clove, and a little cocoa nib bitterness that reins it all in. Mid-palate is fuller: honeyed malt, burnt sugar, a flicker of herbal heat. It wears its youth proudly — bold, expressive, not smoothed into blandness.

The finish is warming and gently drying. Fruit lingers — dried cherry, blackcurrant jam — alongside spiced biscuit, red apple peel, and a hint of cracked pepper. There’s a tension here: between sweetness and structure, between dessert and depth. It’s the kind of whisky that leaves your lips tingling, and your glass demanding a second pour.

This would shine neat, especially in a Zalto or wide-bowled glass to let the aromatics bloom. Or pair it with dark chocolate tart, hard sheep’s cheese, or even a few curls of jamón to play with its sweet-savoury side.