You're blindfolded. You can’t see the glass, only feel the weight of it—thick, golden, and warm against your lips. You inhale and everything slows. Apricot, saffron, candied citrus peel—one breath and the room disappears. The first sip is molten. Honeyed, spiced, dripping with memory. It coats your tongue like silk dipped in smoke, moving slow, demanding attention. There’s heat. There’s sugar. There’s something oxidized and nutty whispering from deep inside the barrel it slept in for over a decade.
Time doesn’t exist here. Just sensation. Just the drip of sweetness down your throat and the tingle of caramel and crushed almond licking at the edges. Every nerve is lit. Every moment is loud. And when it ends, you’re not sure if you swallowed or just floated.
Serve it with Roquefort, burnt Basque cheesecake, or alone in a velvet chair with a candle melting down beside you.
