This is not a drink — it is a gentle memoir of orchard life, bottled. Willie Smith’s Pommeau de Tasmanie is a tribute to patience and place, conjuring the misty hills of the Huon Valley where apples grow fat with cold air and clean rain. Made by blending unfermented apple juice with their own apple brandy and ageing it in oak, this is Tasmania’s answer to the great pommeaux of Normandy — but with a sunnier accent and a distinctly Antipodean edge.

The nose is a slow unravel — not showy, but layered and inviting. At first, it offers baked apple skin and fresh orchard air, sweet and earthy. Then it deepens into caramelised sugar, sultana, and hints of golden scone crust. You’ll notice the subtle tension between fresh and aged elements — the fruit is ripe and generous, but there’s a backbone of matured complexity: hints of almond husk, dusty library shelves, and the faintest suggestion of barrel char. Somewhere in the background, there’s the ghost of cider lees, bringing a touch of wildness.

On the palate, this is where time does its best work. The texture is unctuous without being syrupy — slow-moving and mouth-coating like golden nectar. Initial sweetness gives way to poached pear, quince paste, and the unmistakable flavour of warm apple pie — spiced, buttery, just browned at the edges. There’s a luxurious density to the mid-palate, with caramel, honeycomb, and an echo of orange blossom. A vein of acidity runs through it, bright and just tart enough to keep the sweetness from collapsing in on itself. Towards the finish, you get a lovely grip from the oak — almost a touch of walnut skin bitterness, grounding all that fruit and sugar.

The finish itself is a quiet symphony — lingering warmth, echoes of baked fruit, cinnamon bark, and that dried fig note that pulls it toward the savoury. It doesn’t vanish quickly; it sits there in the background like an afterthought you can’t shake — soft, satisfying, and just a bit nostalgic.

Serve it lightly chilled, and sip slowly. Perfect at the end of a meal, with aged cheddar or a slice of tarte Tatin. Or drink it alone, in a quiet room, as a love letter to craftsmanship and apples done right.