It's the snack counter at York's famous cinema conversion project - as we pass the fire-hardened 13th century oak door we move on to the mixture of sweet and salty popcorn.

This has a powerful, aromatic capriciousness (best taken orally) but still has a whiff of an unfinished PowerPoint, which Ali was convinced had something to do with The Pelican Brief and the taste of his school pal Nick Marsh.

Like cruising through city streets in the summer (verging on the edge of regret) the taste of warm tar and worn leather merges with a strong theme of burnt food: sugar, soda bread and toast with marmalade.

First sip makes a big impression; this isn't just smoky, it's a forest in flames, a peaty explosion. Sugar and salt tickle the palate in delicious combinations, smoky bacon with maple syrup, toffee apples, honey-roasted nuts and sweet and sour pork.

The nosings spread out a little bit into a plethora of nature's best offerings: plants and herbs (oniony fennel, coriander leaves, licorice and coffee), more tangy offerings (orange zest, aniseed, paprika and pepper) and some nice locations (a pebble beach with a fire, The W...

Japanese crabs, tumbledriers and 'accidentally snorting orange juice' provided a summary that's pretty darn hard to interpret. Add to that acetone, eucalyptus and oesophageal burn and you're getting a gnat's breath closer to perception, but sherry came through at the end to ...

'Salted almonds'. As far as openings go, in an olfactory game of chess, that truly was a Grob's Attack. So much so, that it was immediately declared to be 'wrong'. But foolhardy he or she who dismisses the Swiss International Master Henri Grob..

There are memories of the Jorvik Museum, nasty sea water, damp swamps, a used griddle and dunking your head in the river – we all hold those dear.

Those savoury thoughts expand out to mid-Century Scandinavian rosewood unpolished furniture, the feeling of a recently blown out match on the tongue and an olive oily texture (no, we weren't drunk, promise.).

The flames have died down, now it's like chocolate. It's got a creamy yeah (a creamy yeah), yeah. Yeah. Yeah yeah yeah. Are you recording this? If it smells like velvet, it tastes like corduroy. I really wish I had a cigar right now.

Well, despite his unfortunate decent into chronic financial problems and alcoholism towards the end of his distinguished career, this tastes surprisingly nothing like I imagine he would have tasted.

It’s foosty, like an old Scout Patrol tent or a wool tie from a charity shop. There are also notes of syrup, burnt jam and perhaps a meaty flavour? It’s going to be 'ham-azing' to taste..!

Most people felt this had a medium finish (20 yards out?), which kinda means a short finish as no one ever says short, except the people who said short and one who sat on the fence so much we creosoted her, saying 'short-to-medium-to-long'. One wag (in the droll, not doll, s...

The database doesn't like umlauts :(

If i were going to stick any firework up my arse, it would be a roman candle - so it looks like you're pooping fire

The length seems somewhat hard to pin down, somewhere between being inside the 6-yard box to lost in the opposition half - most agree it's medium. The aftertaste brings a fair bit of salt, with much more fruit than before: melon, sour apples, lemon and aniseed.

"Oh boy! Empire biscuits!", yelped an intolerable Victorian child, as the HMS Dandelion & Burdock began to dock. A hive of activity erupted from deck as smells of sweetened sawdust morphed into that of a barn in summer for those with an imagination powerful enough to transmo...

The finish is a fleeting pepper balsamic vinegar, an insistent hot and sour soup, a subtle peppered mackerel, a lingering post-Thai chilli high, a melodramatic steakhouse pepper and a breezy flat 7up - unique!

This does justice to soothing the remnants of last night’s spontaneous soiree. An interesting mix of cider, sherry and apple sourz chasers served with green olives.

One thought it was 'unfun' and that is goes down like a pint of crushed glass. Others were more positive in their review: Smells of arse, but tastes nice. Grape shit. Toxic waste. And some were bordering on glowing in praise: Flippers.

With Russell's declaration that he went to an amateur wrestling match ringing in our ears, we cracked on with the smells. The result reads like a shopping list for the dessert menu of an ailing restaurant, whose chef is unable to see the difference between wackiness for its ...

From the sawmills to the farmyard, with undertones of burning turf and old leather, it’s stylishly unrefined. And for those dessert enthusiasts, there’s even a dollop of molasses in there to sweeten the deal.

Intensity-wise, it's a spirited kick up the goolies and a spicy punch in the nose (schnozbob) - a double-dose of white wine and then a sprinkle of garlic.

Sour like green apples and the last salty vinegar strokes of a final fatal asphyxiwank, in a flat meticulously cleaned in preparation for said act, mingled with the tang of the lemon that he failed to bite down upon at the crucial moment (every day’s a school day!). ...

You're having a porky barbecue with ribs, except that guy you didn't want to come came and the pork he brought was oldand he got some cheesy maple syrup from Pizza One Pancake Too in Norwich and insisted that everyone try his candied Kerosene and medicine-flavoured ice-cream...

There’s something else going on too, it’s kind of dry and tangy, like ironmongery perhaps? Or flat Tennents and skunk? Sounds like a dangerous combo…

Oh dear. I think things got a bit out of hand... Apparently tastes include SPUNK (jizz), PR@WNS!!!, the lack of fish and 'like standing on the side of the road under the Botswana sun waiting for a car that will never come'.

A rich, earthy flavour with the windswept reminiscence of moorland walks with a grouse. The breeze brings thoughts of seasalt, lavender and highland pastures; a blade of grass clenched between milk teeth.

Back on the snacks as we gorge ourselves on peanuts and popcorn all the way to the bottom of the bag as we get the unpopped corn stuck in our teeth.

It's like waking up to some horrific morning after a party - a salty Ginster's pasty, charcoal, post vomit mouthwash, Andrew's salts, flat coke and something undefinable mushy and unpleasant.

Boil the billy furra cuppa mayt! AWWWW MAYT! 'Bonza (itsa billy-o-cawfee mayt!)'. Eeevry bugger’s beltin' “Bonza “itsa “bonza 'itsa billy-o-cawfee mayt!'? Cawfee up the wazoo mayt!

Pear and almond tart hanging off a beech hedge over a sea cliff. Tasty treats and lethal peril.

It was deemed a morning whisky, or breakfast dram, with many attendant caveats. And finally, the sense of something intangible, call it "rhrhyrhtrtgrtg", if you will.

The positive was almond flour. The rest was diluted whisky, clean, empty, acid reflux and a burst balloon. The finish was minus two.

The pitch is ploughed, the javelin throw has failed and we've been rugby tackled by a mint rocket gargling chilli water and vacant peat. Emergency stop please.

We’re down on the farm and we are smoking everything from cheese and tofu, to pigs ears and sausage. And not just any farm, it’s a kinky farm with the condoms stacked up on the fetish tractor.

Things get pretty savoury - toast with English mustard, watercress, paprika, raw onion and crisp-baked tatties. The leather on the nose expands into fusty linen, rubber and cowboy boots.

Six billion. The population of the world if you perform a 'Chinese takeaway', that is for some inexplicable reason don't count the population of China. And round up. It tastes of Chinese takeaway, is what I'm trying to say.

Give it a little while, and you’ll start to discern something approximating the smoky flavours of your usual Lagavulin - barbequed pork-steak and Frazzles bacon-flavoured crisps. Smooth it might be, but balanced to the point of obscurity.

Gob-stopping sweetness; Cherry Coke, cream soda and apricot jam but with the sour ending of the last sugary key lurking at the bottom of a packet of Tangfastics.

Then chili, cloves and lots of wasabi hit with some salt (from the South China Sea as well as good ol' rocks) and salted whale blubber (for research purposes only) as well as the feeling of internal public space.

As the once majestic engine chugs into the station, it begins to reveal its cargo of the world’s exotica: Macadamia nuts, sultanas, fermenting papaya (it was a long journey), under-ripe mashed banana (or not long enough, but bumpy – no Pendolinos here), pickled lemons (final...

Hmm, this is a young whisky, but does that explain the whiff of teenage boys’ aftershave? Oh no, I see, it’s just Chad Kroeger, munching on a mars bar.

On the finish - a resonance of smoke rings (stolen from another) and a coal shuttle but also a contrasting freshness of fir, caraway, heather and mint. The taste lingers but not as much as you might expect.

I’m sat in the saloon, saw dust on the floor, chewin’ tobacco, sipping on a chiili cassis cocktail, garnished with candied peel. I know it’s the end of my marriage.

Like a giant cupcake decoration thrown together by your boozy gran, there was a smorgasboard of sweet things on the nose. We found pink marshmallows smothered in treacle next to chunks of pineapple coated in marzipan!

Definitely the first whisky that has ever smelled of What I go to School For by Busted.

When a whisky is described as 'nail varnish and farty figs', 'goaty' 'cream candy (co)ca(i)ne' and 'expelled air from a bouncy castle', you know it's at least interesting. Oh, and 'figgy piggy' / 'hamnanas & rumtanas' on the taste. Intriguing..

Yikes, well now the party's started - it's a full-mooner, and there's a raging inferno of wasp stings, curry leaves, beef sherbet, Kendal mint cake and jalapeno peppers (stuffed with cheese for good measure) . And just in case you weren't convinced of its strength, someone i...

Watch me drizzle honey all over my lemon, as I slowly unpeel my banana and undress this orange with my teeth. Take a freshly fucked pineapple and cocoNuts and voila – it’s a Penis Colada.

There is a whiff of recently prepared surgical tools but also a floral fruitiness with pineapple, apple (granny Smith to be precise!), cherry pie, lemon (rudely shouted at that) and bluebells feed to a halibut?!

The French have burnt their toast in here with sweet maple syrup, cherry tunes, Werther's Originals, cola cubes and evaporated lime cordial thrown in to hide the taste.

There’s also a subtle earthiness with moss, hay and apple wood (the wood not the cheese)…not sure if I should mention “the blood soaked teddy on a damp fire place�...maybe he meant iron and damp earth?

Lovely cinnamon, cardamom, vanilla custard on rhubarb crumble. Or maybe it’s actually like arse hair in a car mechanic’s workshop. Can’t decide.

McNulty from The Wire's guilt and the salt of the sweat of the Taoiseach before a general election. And finishing the whole thing of are perhaps the less-desirable flavours of melted plastic, yellow snow and oil.

Cherry lip death and very drunken bananas. Like all the condiments I like: Worcester sauce, Tabasco, ketchup, brown sauce and vinegar. And rinds of various kinds.

I have a soft spot for dark wood.

Honey and a damp forest make it more esoteric, whilst 'simple' sums it up nicely in one word. Little encouraged us to give a finish, but we all agreed that 'an impressively bouncy cork' was a good enough summary.