The Cabinet met the night before last to sample the result of our first democratically chosen scotch. Normally the Cabinet Secretary selects the whiskies, or an individual member proposes one. In advance of this meeting we held an online vote to pick one from a list of locally available bottles that were still within the remaining 2018 budget. The Bowmore Vault Edition "Atlantic Sea Salt" came out on top. Incidentally, second place went to the Lagavulin Distiller's Edition and third was tied between the Kilchoman Machir Bay and the Laphroaig Lore. You can expect to see these names in 2019.
Having decided on the Bowmore we had to build an evening around it. We had the Bowmore 18 year old in our stocks, so that was an obvious choice and then in looking at the map, I saw that Bruchladdich was just 10 km away, around the far side of Loch Indaal on the west coast of Islay. We have their "Classic Laddie", so there's our third bottle. And then finally a member brought a small bottle of the Edradour "Ballechin Heavily Peated" 10 year old malt which he had received as a gift, so although Edradour in Pitlochry is a six hour drive on a good day from Loch Indaal, we thought, what the heck, it's got peat.
Writing this blog can be fun, but at times it can also be dull (I suspect the same goes for reading it). I feel a dullness coming on, so I will take a sharp left turn and abandon the usual format, replacing it with limericks.
Begin with a fireside whisky,
Bruichladdich is not too risky,
Warm fruit on the nose,
No peat that it shows,
One dram and you're feeling frisky.
Then on to Bowmore Vault Edition,
Beats your tongue into submission,
Great lashes of leather,
Wild as big weather,
This bottle has won its audition.
Third is Bowmore Eighteen Year Old,
Soft peat perfume, colour of gold,
It's a sweet smooth dram,
Not something you'd slam;
A sipper to ward off the cold.
Edradour Heavy Peated Malt,
A feinty greasy rough assault,
There's no balance here,
It's a mess I fear,
That will stink up your whole gestalt.
Slainte!
Begin with a fireside whisky,
Bruichladdich is not too risky,
Warm fruit on the nose,
No peat that it shows,
One dram and you're feeling frisky.
Beats your tongue into submission,
Great lashes of leather,
Wild as big weather,
This bottle has won its audition.
Soft peat perfume, colour of gold,
It's a sweet smooth dram,
Not something you'd slam;
A sipper to ward off the cold.
A feinty greasy rough assault,
There's no balance here,
It's a mess I fear,
That will stink up your whole gestalt.
Slainte!
A blog that reads like a dream
ReplyDeleteabout drams, and convivial scene
the warm tasty beginnin's
they portend no misgivin's
but end in a nightmarish scream!