Ardbeg Ardbog emerges from the bog

When you look into the past, you can find out that the official story does not tell the whole picture. It looks into facts and figures, but often makes assumptions based on modern world. If you dig into the bog, find the peat, and find some artifacts you can weave a story that may not be true, but it can be a lot more interesting than the one you find in history books.

Deep inside the peat, in the bog, a sword emerges. Worn by the time and the fighting, it is now deformed but it’s fine blade still wears the marks of victory. The taste of fury, bronze slash of sunshine, cries of havoc and battle are evident deep inside the sword’s backbone. A deep cut into the peat, as a sign of battlefield mastery. Tall tales echo in the long gone campfires. Smoke and the frying meat, fish and onions bring in the feast. What would better accompany this than a dram of ancient drink?

It was made in the bog. In the peat, the taste grew and evolved. Nicely complex taste, sweetness and smoke, ash and delicate touches. Some say this tastes like a burned rubber, but I do know that taste and smell, and this definitely was not it. There is a bit of sherry and a taste of pit fight. Ardbog is harsh, and it is not a drink for those who are afraid of the truth. This is a pure ancient blast, and it has finally reached the modern ages. It is easy to imagine where the elementary peat was sleeping, amongst stories that were over 1000 years old, amongst forgotten bones and jewels, just on top of those mammoth skeletons. This is a celebration to the time gone!

Some say, Ardbog keeps on repeating it’s taste every year. Some say, it is but a blast of peat and smoke. To the latter, I say you can keep on drinking old Jack for all I care. I enjoy peat and smoke to it’s fullest. As for the other subject, I surely have enjoyed Alligator and Galileo, and I surely enjoy Ardbog. They are different, yet cousins from the same mother. Close, but not triplets. The most important fact is, that Ardbog is a source for stories. The taste gives a gale to imagination, spurring the tale forward into the night sky like sparks of a smoking bonfire. It is like a dragon brushing it’s teeth with a unfortunate wandered, he was too careless and got on the way. You feel the energy and the emotion put into this, and yet it has been tamed by those years in the bog.

This is not Corryvreckan. This is not Uigeadail. This is Ardbog. It really depends how and where you drink this, what is the order of drinks. This can be a excellent top, or suffer as a bottom under a more powerful old fire drake. There is complexity in the taste, but also the stingness when you drink small knives. The oiliness smooths it, and gives out a splendid aftertaste! Slainté