Signal & Solstice: A Mature Outing in Apple Whisky

What's been lurking in a cool, dark place

Signal & Solstice JL Tooker (via Canva)

I’ve made apple whisky before—small experiments, playful curiosities—but nothing I’d call serious.

This season felt different. Intentional. A mature outing.

Three thinly sliced Granny Smith apples. A little lemon peel. A trio of whiskies that had no business blending but somehow understood each other: Glenlivet 15, Glenmorangie Quinta Ruban 14, and Glengoyne 12.

A separate jar held the Japanese Kaigan blend—lighter, curious, patient.

Everything rested just under three weeks, then I strained, bottled, and tucked them into a cool, dark place, letting them settle toward solstice. I had hoped to document the whole process, but the decanter I ordered is still wandering its way through the postal dimension, and the jars never got their photo moment.

No matter. Beauty doesn’t always show up on schedule.

Behind the Scenes (All the Things I Didn’t Plan For)

I forgot how unruly lemon peel can be—tiny flecks determined to outsmart every filter. I went on a cheesecloth quest. And then there were the “test sips.” Always early morning, always with the same lie: I just need to check the infusion.

Every maker has a ritual. Apparently mine is tasting whisky before breakfast.

Those imperfect moments grounded the project and made it more mine than any previous attempt.

First Tasting: Solstice Blend

I didn’t intend to taste it this soon, but curiosity won. Three sips changed everything.

Nose

Bright apple greets instantly—crisp, clean, not sweet. A deeper sniff brings a mellowed harmony, as though the whiskies agreed to soften each other rather than compete.

Palate

The mouthfeel is stunning: smoother than any of the individual spirits. The apple sits perfectly—present but never pushy. No sharpness at all. Just warmth, silk, and a soft, satisfying burn that feels like a gentle reminder of its lineage.

My honest first thought:
whisky ecstasy.

Second + Third Sips

Still no spice, just a late-arriving sharpness that proves:
this is whisky, not candy.

And by the third sip I knew something else:
I would never put this on ice. Not a drop of water.
It’s already where it needs to be. A complete spirit.

Signal & Solstice is depth, cohesion, maturity—the kind of result you don’t plan, but earn.

Second Tasting: Eastern Frequency (Kaigan Batch)

This one intimidated me.
The Scotch blend set a high bar.
But the Japanese batch isn’t a competitor—it’s a completely different voice.

Nose

The apple breathes more at the pour—a sweet-tart brightness. Then vanilla drifts in softly, delicate as a thought.

Palate

The entry is much lighter, almost airy. But when I let it sit longer on my tongue, the whisky reveals its real nature: a surprising mid-palate fullness that feels completely unexpected after that gentle start.

A shy fire smolders beneath it—barely there, until the whisky decides to speak louder.

Finish

Here is the shock:
the flavor hangs long after the swallow — longer than a whisky this light should be able to.
It matures in the afterglow, deepening instead of fading.

Color

Clear gold.
A little sun caught in the jar.

Eastern Frequency is evolution, subtlety, resonance—the echo after the first note fades.

What I Actually Made

Not flavored whisky.
Not a holiday novelty.

But two distinct spirits shaped by the same fruit, time, and intention:

Signal & Solstice—depth, warmth, cohesion
Eastern Frequency—clarity, evolution, lingering resonance

Both surprised me.
Both exceeded what I imagined at the start.
Both feel like winter in their own way—one the long night, one the returning light.

What Comes Next

The decanter will arrive soon, and I’ll finally photograph this solstice in a bottle — maybe even imagine a label. Another ritual for another turning of the year.

More creative wanderings, experiments, and seasonal oddities are coming. If you want them delivered (always free), you can subscribe below. Your curiosity keeps the signal ringing.