Ach, the Highlands

 Ach, the Highlands. You want to love them, don't you? I mean the Highland whiskies. If you've been to the geographical feature, I will assume you genuinely love that. If you don't love the glens and mountains of the Scottish Highlands, you should ask yourself some hard questions about your values, choices, and tastes. But the whiskies are harder to love, which is a shame because it would be lovely to pair a magnificent product with the magnificent landscape.

Why are they harder to love? First, let me back up a little and clarify something. The official division of Scotland into five whisky regions - Highlands, Lowlands, Speyside, Islay, and Campbelltown - is a bit daft. The so-called Highlands region is a grabbag covering an enormous and highly diverse area - basically any part of Scotland that is not in one of the other smaller, more coherent and homogenous regions. Consequently, many of our favourite whiskies, such as Oban, Highland Park, and Old Pulteney are technically Highland whiskies. So yes, we do "love the Highlands", but mostly just the coastal and island bits. At the Cabinet we consider this to be a separate region and intend to lobby the Scotch Whisky Association to correct their classification of regions. 

The "Highlands" that we don't typically love are the whiskies from the actual hilly bits inland from the coast. This includes most Speysides, a region that was carved out of the Highland region in 1909 by the Report of the Royal Commission on Whisky and Other Potable Spirits. (I'm not making this up. There was an actual Royal Commission on whisky. God bless King Edward VII, who was by all accounts an enthusiastic imbiber.) When I write that we typically don't love them, I don't mean that we don't like them. We like many of them well enough. But there's a distance between love and like. And when you're spending upwards of a hundred dollars a bottle, you want to love what you're spending it on.

That's three full paragraphs to get me to the point where I tell the patient reader (thank you) that The Cabinet met last Thursday evening to take another look at the actual Highland whiskies in our stocks. This was prompted by my own recent journey to Scotland and tour of the Blair Athol distillery in Pitlochry. I truly enjoyed the tasting I did there. "Truly enjoyed" being somewhere between like and love. 

With this in mind, we blew the dust off our Cardhu 12, Deveron 12, and Aberfeldy 12 (night of the 12 year olds!). We were disappointed. The Cardhu didn't even clear the "like" bar. The Deveron was acceptable, but just barely so. Only the Aberfeldy was liked. Then, with some trepidation, we opened the Blair Athol (another 12 year old...). We liked it a lot! This was a full-flavoured whisky with an enjoyable density and mouthfeel. I don't normally describe specific flavours because they are so subjective and often bullshitty, but perhaps there was some black pepper there. Anyway, a good solid whisky. Whew. So, what gives? On reflection, the key may be in the statement, "we blew the dust off". It's reasonable to assume that oxidation did no favours to these malts. Non-peated whiskies are more delicate and likely suffer more sitting half-empty for years. 

Before I leave you to enjoy Ivan's photography, a quick note on whisky drinking in Scotland. I was in numerous bars, pubs, and other whisky serving establishments, and it was always presented neat in a Cairngorm glass. As the guide at Blair Athol said, putting ice in your whisky is like putting your bacon in the freezer before eating it.

Slainte!

Scarabus!

  Kapow!

Sometimes when we are tasting a new scotch, whatever conversation had been going on continues. There'll be a few murmurs of appreciation for what we are tasting. Someone might remark on an element of its mouthfeel or taste. Someone else might note that they don't like it as much as what we had before. And then someone will say something unrelated about Donald Trump.

But sometimes when we are tasting a new scotch, all conversation ceases and we look at each other, eyes wide. "Wow!" "Holy crap!" "Kapow!"

Scarabus was the latter. One sip, and our mouths were filled with such an intensity of flavour that we were all taken aback. This is a whisky you taste not only on your tongue, but on the roof of your mouth, the insides of your cheeks, and the back of your throat. And you keep on tasting it for five, ten, maybe fifteen minutes after. 

We loved it. The irony was that we approached it with a higher than normal level of skepticism and cynicism, which is saying a lot for us (we can be a crusty bunch). This is because it is labeled as Islay, but it's an independent bottling by Hunter Laing, who refuses to divulge which of the nine Islay distilleries they sourced it from. In fact, they take pride in the "mystery" element. Scotch reviewers have variously guessed Caol Isla, Bunnahabhain Toiteach A Dha, and Bruichladdich Port Charlotte 10. We happen to have the latter two in our stocks, so the idea was to line them up and unmask Hunter Laing's silly deception. Silly us. There was no way to make a rational comparison. Maybe the Bunnahabhain, but only maybe? This is a completely different beast. At first we thought that perhaps the hefty 57% abv was distorting the picture, but even watered down, the Scarabus retained an intensity that the others, albeit lovely whiskies in their own right, did not have.

Oh well. When it's good, it's good, so we're happy to set our prejudices aside. It's perhaps interesting to note that the other whisky that made a similarly big impression this year was also an independent bottling, the Chorlton Ardmore 12 year old. Two doesn't make a trend, but it is at the very least a happy coincidence. A very happy coincidence.

Slainte!

Refighting the American War of Independence

It wasn't a fair fight. It wasn't even a good idea. On the eve of the celebration of the 248th anniversary of the American Declaration of Independence, the Cabinet decided to pitch bourbon against scotch. American whiskey against British whisky. Appalachia against Caledonia. And may the best dram, or snort if you prefer, claim a momentary reaffirmation of history or a rewriting of it. Not that the War of Independence had anything to do with whisky. In fact, America's first military engagement after its victory over the redcoats was in 1794 against its own people in the Whiskey Rebellion wherein federal troops violently asserted the right of Washington to tax whiskey production. Ironic, eh?

But nevermind. This is not about history. This is about the fact that once a year the Cabinet Secretary is inexplicably seized with the optimism that all the chatter about how much better bourbon is becoming has finally developed a basis in fact. Let's jump to the chase and not leave you contorted in suspense. It has not. Bourbon is still... bourbon. Shocking.

Before I go on and stoke a flood of hate mail, let me be clear that I fully recognize that this is completely subjective. Some people love bourbon. Some people love vodka. Some people love water. Everybody has their own preferences. We, at the Cabinet, love scotch. So scotch has an automatic and deep advantage in any contest against any other beverage. But we did try to level the field as much as possible by pitting one of the best reviewed and most expensive bourbons available locally against a middling scotch in the same price range and roughly similar style. Nothing peated. That would be putting Conor McGregor in the ring with... me. 

So it was the Michter's Small Batch Kentucky Straight Whiskey against the Auchentoshan Three Wood. The Michter's was fine, but dull. Malt and alcohol. No finish to speak of. Nice colour though. The Auchentoshan Three Wood was also "fine" and also dull, but less dull. Some other stuff was going on in there. We like the other stuff. An easy win. God Save the King.

We also tried the Basil Hayden's Kentucky Bourbon which has a pedigree extending back to just after the Whiskey Rebellion. Also fine but dull.

It was turning into a bit of dud of an evening. Not socially or conversationally, mind you, but with the tasting. Fortunately we had a clever guest that night who brought along a special bottling of a "Secret Speyside" by Glenkeir Treasures, which I understand to be a housebrand for the Whisky Shop. Leif brought it from Edinburgh many years ago. Marvelous. Light in colour and body, but feinty and sharp on the palate with a lovely long finish.

Had George III plied the colonists with something like this, history would have taken a different course. I'm sure of it.

Slainte!

B-List Redux

The Cabinet met last week to once again enjoy whiskies whose names begin with the letter B. We did this before, in September of 2021. The fact that the three selections this time were all different than last time is a testament to how many distilleries have B names. Since you asked, there are 19 in total. G is, however, the clear winner with 27 distilleries, and A is a close third at 17. No other letters come anywhere near to the top three.

Oh, you didn't ask? My apologies. But now you know. And arcane trivia such as this can become useful at the most unexpected of times. I hope that is the case here.

This is of course one of the most arbitrary ways to line up a tasting, but as I noted in the last "Life Is Random" post, there is a charm and deeper logic to arbitrariness. And to be honest, the embedded joke in calling something "b-list" is hard to resist. Especially when, metaphorically speaking, they were all actually "A-list". It helped that all three were from Islay. We love our Islay whiskies, we do.

The first selection was the Bunnahabhain Toiteach a Dha. That's a Gaelic mouthful, but the cylinder helpfully provides a pronunciation guide, and a translation. Toiteach a Dha means "smokey two". The "two" because it is a follow-up to the original Toiteach. This one differs by having been aged in a sherry cask. We pronounced it delicious.

Next was the much loved Bowmore 15. I say much loved, because we've always praised it. It reliably ticks all the boxes we look for: complexity, intensity, full-mouth experience, long finish. Yet, immediately following the Bunnahabhain, it seemed to pale slightly. Nonetheless, we also pronounced it delicious.

And finally, a newcomer to Manitoba and to The Cabinet: the Bruichladdich Port Charlotte 10. Wow. This also ticked the boxes and then some. We instantly pronounced it delicious. A polite debate ensued regarding the merits of this versus the Bunnahabhain. Subjective, of course. And an exercise in picking a favourite among favourites. Consequently, in a departure from our fourth and final pour tradition, the group split on the selection. Each to his own. Everyone was happy.

Slainte!

Life Is Random

You know this, right? You know that life is so full of random forces, encounters, and events that we may as well just summarize the situation by stating plainly that "life is random". Starting right from when a specific random sperm met a specific random egg. Oh, we do try to exert free will, but if you are strong believer in the impact of these exertions, I encourage you to read the neuroscientist, Robert Sapolsky.

You pause a moment and double-check the blog URL. 

Yes, you're still on https://whiskycabinet.blogspot.com/, not https://philosophywanker.blogspot.com/.

Patience, grasshopper.

But whisky selection is surely not random, you say. The tasting themes The Cabinet so artfully crafts six times a year are clearly the product of deepest thought and learned consideration, are they not? I'm glad you think so. I'm glad that you are comforted by this illusion. But the truth is - sensitive readers may wish to skip ahead to the next paragraph - most of the time it's a last minute inspiration pulled out of the air. A whim. And what is a whim but the random sparking of a neuron. I apologize if I have disappointed anyone with this revelation.

So we decided to celebrate the true nature of life and strip the artifice away from the process. Our many whiskies were written on slips of paper and placed in a hat. A Laphroaig hat, no less. (Although, as you'll see, this had no impact on the outcome.) The hat was given a shake. The slips were given a stir. Random drinking began.

1: Bruichladdich Organic 2010.

2: The King's Inch.

3: Ardbeg An Oa

4: Deveron 12 year old.

We were delighted. These are not all stellar malts (for the record, the favourite was the Ardbeg, and the least favourite, the Deveron - no surprises there), but the process of serendipity and surprise was very enjoyable.

Those of you with sharp memories will have noticed that two of these random selections appeared at the last meeting, despite there being about 40 to choose from. This, dear reader, is what is known as Poisson Clumping. No, it has nothing to do with fish. It is named for the French mathematician who first described how random events will tend to cluster. An even distribution is the opposite of random. That's how you can get heads on six coin tosses and it's still random. Or pick An Oa and King's Inch just a couple months after they were last sampled. 

So that's 60% philosophy, 25% mathematics, and only 15% whisky description. I hope the photographs make up for it. And if not, just think of the blog as random too. 

Slainte!

Since you made this far, I have a bonus quiz question for you. Which photo in this post was not taken by the Official Photographer to The Cabinet?

Tak' The Low Road

O ye'll tak' the high road, and I'll tak' the low road,

And I'll be in Scotland afore ye,

But me and my true love will never meet again,

On the bonnie, bonnie banks o' Loch Lomond.

So goes the chorus of the classic Scottish song, "The Bonnie Banks 'o Loch Lomond". The Cabinet met last week to take a version of the low road. But before I get into that, a bit of trivia for you: the low road referred to in the song is death, the road the spirits take. The singer has been killed in the Jacobite wars and is returning to Scotland via that lowest of roads. That's why he and his true love will never meet again. A bit dark. But marvelous.

We did not take that low road. Obviously. Rather we took the Lowland road, and sampled the output of two distilleries near Glasgow. And the reason for that was that our first meeting of the year is always held as close as possible to Robbie Burns Day. Those of us who have kilts wear them. Burns lived in Dumfries, as low as you can get in the Lowlands, so these whisky choices seemed a fitting way to mark the occasion.

The Lowlands have very few distilleries, and even less are available here, so we had to satisfy ourselves with two Auchentoshans, the 12 year old and the Three Wood, and the new(ish) King's Inch from the Courageous Spirits distillery. These were all fine, but none were spectacular. The King's Inch, with it's green apple nose, and fruity flavours was the most interesting, and the Three Wood was enjoyable, with its dominant rich caramel. The 12 year old, however, was thin and dull. None had much of a finish. The Lowlands indeed. 

We wrapped up the evening with a detour to our favoured isle and the Ardbeg An Oa. Even though it didn't exist 230 years ago, Burns would have approved. Actually, probably not. He probably would have hated it. But he took the low road long ago, so we can safely put words in his mouth. 

"Ye're brilliant gentlemen, enjoy yer peaty Islay dram!" - Robbie Burns posthumous quote, January 26, 2024.

Slainte Robbie!