A whisper of peat carried on a Welsh wind. Celt is not about brute strength — it’s about nuance and restraint. If you’re expecting Islay levels of smoke, you’ll be disappointed. But if you want a dram where peat is a mood rather than a weapon, this is it.

The nose is gently smoky, like an extinguished campfire beside the sea. Smoked applewood, brine, and sweet cereal grains mingle with hints of honey and underripe apricot. There’s a clean peat note — more forest floor than hospital bandage — and a mineral tang that smells like wet stone and morning mist.

On the palate, the smoke is subtle, but persistent. It drapes over a core of sweet malt, orchard fruit, and a touch of lemon zest. There’s a pleasing contrast between the soft, sugary entry and the drying smoke that comes in behind it. Mid-palate reveals roasted grain, cracked pepper, and a faint medicinal note — not iodine, but more eucalyptus or herbal lozenge.

The finish is dry, a little saline, with that peated hum lingering under the tongue like distant thunder. There’s also a faint vegetal bitterness, like scorched rosemary or charred herbs, which adds grip and complexity.

Celt is an excellent gateway to peated whisky, and a quiet reminder that smoke does not need to dominate to make a statement. Drink it neat on a rainy evening or pair with smoked trout, grilled mushrooms, or aged sheep’s cheese.