Nose: The day we moved to the canaries and walked into our first grocery store, we had an intense moment of deja vu. A large box of fresh, luscious ripe Driscol strawberries sat right at the entrance. I understand when I see the same candy brand in different countries, but the fact that the strawberry grower who produced most of California’s berries not 10 miles from our home, was the main provider to a small island off of Africa, that was a strange moment of global awakening. It’s all connected. We’d pick strawberries and set them on warm hay. Mom would get such an abundance when I lived in LA that we would dehydrate them, concentrating their flavors and adding a touch of tannic intensity. While we have pineapples on the island, they are odd stunted little creatures, nothing like the potent juicy ones from our time in Hawaii. I loved grilling on the lanai, cutting a pineapple in half and caramelizing it on the bbq. I’ve had this a few times and those two notes, ripe strawberries and overripe pineapple are the DNA I associate with HERR. But tonight I also get that cloying smell that comes from hanging next to the cotton candy machine during carnaval. And the slightest moment of brine and salinity, olives and red bell peppers marinated together.

Palate: The palate is so deeply concentrated as to make me pucker. Potent cedar note first followed by a wallop of sweet eucalyptus honey lozenges. Papaya while still firm. Twice fried sweet plantains with lime and seasalt. Pineapple dance party. The hint of salinity on the nose is a full on tsunami, dutch double salted licorice. I honestly would love this whole experience as a bubble gum flavor.

Rating: 7 / 10 – this is amazing. While I truly enjoy the powerful complexity in this bottling, it’s so overwhelming as to be a tiny sipper. I would rarely reach for it. But it is also not my favorite HERR. That was the black label with the pink ribbon – 57 if I remember – that Christian poured for me? That was all the glorious fruit and none of the intense salinity.