I've found a new whisky to love. It's a 26-year-old single malt from Hokkaido's Yoichi distillery. It's got oak and a gentle, sweet smokiness, a touch of leather, cherries, toasted almonds and I'm just making this up now, because after "oaky" and "a bit smoky," I ran out of vocabulary.
Not that it matters. You fall in love with a whisky not by reading a list of increasingly tenuous tasting notes, but by swirling it in a glass until the aroma waltzes out, by sipping it straight or perhaps with a splash of water, and feeling the tingling heat as the flavors entwine.
You might find fruitiness from the fermentation, cured meats from the malting process or anything from coconut to cognac from its time in the barrels. Or you might just taste whisky, and who could blame you for that?