A princely efflorescent malt carrying our nose to a whole host of places: the scent is Moorish, Latin perhaps, or rather Byzantine ... smacking of the stone walls of Otranto, that bridgehead from Italy and what was left of the Western Empire, to the dazzling Constantinople.

And immediately our mind is jolted back to the monasteries of Asia Minor where myth, faith and search for self began in the mists of time.

Then a great vegetable garden lush with plants all destined for the kitchen: aubergine, sweet pepper and mint; now
lavender, an unknown number of flowers in full summer, powder and peach. All
a prelude to an abundant satiating and fulfilling palate.

A rich and dense spirit whose specific gravity is noteworthy. Leaving grooves onour tongue which, as second follows second, are filled with piquant and surprising meaning.

We remain seated in a corner of the ballroom as we look on at the glitter of the gowns and envisage nights of passion between whiskies. Thoughts and fears entwine and perhaps darken us a little.