Mackmyra 2019 Reserve
| Category | - |
| Distillery | Mackmyra |
| Bottler | Distillery Bottling |
| Bottling Series | Reserve |
| Vintage | 2019 |
| Bottled Year | 2023 |
| Age | - |
| Cask Type | Portvinsfat |
| Cask Number | - |
| Bottles Released | - |
| ABV | 52.0% |
| Volume | 500 ml |
| Label | TØNKER MALT (the dark side) |
| Country | Sweden |
| Region | Mackmyra |
TØNKER MALT (the dark side)
Flavor Profile
Tasting Notes
Colour
straw
air Nose
very different, starting mainly on raw beeswax and ink rubber. Gets then more resinous, with also hints of motor oil and quite some linseed oil and waxed paper. Very different but extremely pleasant albeit more austere than the sherry versions
restaurant Palate
just as rich as the ‘sherries’ but more resinous, waxy, mineral and slightly peppery and cardboardy. Excellent bitterness
timer Finish
long, mostly on lemon marmalade (bitterness again) with just faint hints of sweet mustard. Less sweet but certainly not less exciting. 92 points . MUSIC – JAZZ - Recommended listening: tenor sax David Murray (ex World Saxophone Quartet, together with Arthur Blythe, Oliver Lake and Hamiett Bluiett) just stormed the Colmar Jazz Festival. He was magnificent and the local press even mentioned Trane. Let's listen to his Mbizo.mp3 (Live in Cracow; 2003) and buy his music. September 15, 2007 CONCERT REVIEW by Nick Morgan RICHARD HAWLEY The Roundhouse, Chalk Farm, London September 5th 2007 “Fookin’ heck lads, give me a bit of room”. It’s Maurice Michelin Man, who edges past a puzzled Photographer (“lads”?), clutching two pints of beer in his hands, and heads for his chum, Maurice Michelin Man II, and his seat. For some unfathomable reason we’re seated in the balcony of the Roundhouse – the mysteries of on-line ticket booking I suppose – but to be frank, after another day of strikebound gridlocked London it’s nice to have a seat. We’ve got a fine view across the stage and the sound is as good as it is down on the floor. On the stage it’s fookin’ this and fookin’ that as an animated Richard Hawley slips into a Northern pub comic routine (“This fookin’ fella went to the fookin’ doctors, and the doctor said, ‘Look, you’ve got to stop fookin’ wankin’ – ‘Stop fookin’ wankin’ – why?’ ‘Because I can’t fookin’ examine you ‘till you do’”) that most Northern pub comics would be pretty embarrassed by. He’s also in reminiscence mode, telling us about playing guitar in his uncle’s band in Sheffield, clubs, wedding, bar mitzvahs and funerals. He’s very rude to someone in the audience from Ipswich (so rude that I daren’t repeat it lest someone from that fair Anglian city might read my words) – and in fact immediately apologises after his next song finishes – “You know I went all the way through that song feeling guilty about what I just said about Ipswich”. And he’s generous in his thanks
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