Welcome to Volume Six of Westland’s ongoing love affair with Quercus garryana—a.k.a. Garry oak, a tree so rare and dramatic it should have its own HBO series.
This ain’t your average oak, folks. It’s wild. It’s unruly. It’s Pacific Northwest-y. So to keep Garry from going full lumberjack on your tastebuds, Westland brought in some seriously posh backup: second fill Pedro Ximénez butts (fancy sherry for people who wear scarves indoors), ex-Calvados casks (French apple brandy, because of course), and barrels that once held American grape and apple brandies, which probably have vineyard tattoos and opinions on jazz.
The result? A deliciously weird, complex blend where Garry oak gets to be the star, but not the kind that yells over everyone. More like the one who shows up in sunglasses and says, “You’ll get it when you’re older.”
Only 5,922 bottles were released, because Garry doesn’t do mass production. He’s artisanal, obviously.
Tasting Notes
Nose: A glorious fruit parade—honeyed apricots, pears, and plums all waving from atop a float made of toasted wood and sweet spice. You can almost hear the distant sound of soft jazz.
Palate: Imagine a farmstand exploded in the best way: dried stone fruits, fresh-picked apples, and rich raisins do a dance on your tongue, while malty oak brings some bass to the party.
Finish: Cloves and baking spices show up late like rockstars, followed by dark sugar, baked apple, and a gentle kick of pepper—like someone politely spiced your pie.
In short: It’s the whiskey equivalent of a woodsy philosopher with a sweet tooth and excellent taste in casks. Sip it, ponder deeply, then probably text someone about how underrated Garry oak is.
