Going Low

Asked to picture "Scotland", almost everyone thinks of the Highlands. On the one hand, it makes sense because the most iconic scenery is there and it comprises about half the land mass, but on the other hand, only 10% of the population lives there. 80% live in the Lowlands. (For the mathematically inclined among you, the missing 10% is distributed between the islands, and the non-Highland areas north of the Lowlands.) Moreover, and of interest to the readers of this blog, the Lowland Whisky region has 20 distilleries, only 5 less than the mainland portion of the Highland Region. However, whereas I'd be surprised if you couldn't rattle off the names of a dozen Highland whiskies, I'd be even more surprised if you could name any from the Lowlands other than Auchentoshan. If this is true, you're in for a treat. By the end of this blog post, you'll be able to name two more. (Maybe three if you pay careful attention.)

But first a short anecdote about Scottish drinking habits. A couple of years ago my wife and I were staying at a small castle hotel in the Highlands. The other guests were a group of serious looking Scandinavian women and a stag hunting party from just outside Edinburgh, i.e. in the Lowlands. My favourite thing to do at the end of the day was to go get a whisky from the bar and sit in a big leather armchair by the fire in the lounge. You'd think that that would be everybody's favourite thing to do, but I was often there by myself. Go figure. However, one evening I was joined by a gentleman about my age all kitted out in what I took to be stag hunting attire. We exchanged pleasantries and then we got into a detailed discussion about his day stag hunting, or rather, 'deer stalking' as it was done on foot with a small group, whereas 'stag hunting' is more accurately applied to a larger group on horseback with dogs. He had a fascinating story, but it is well beyond the scope of this blog, so you can relax, I'm about to mention scotch. He eventually asked what I was drinking. It was a Talisker. He scoffed. "You Americans..." he said. I cut him off, "Canadian!" "Right, sorry. Americans and Canadians, then. You're always drinking that peaty crap. We Scots don't touch that stuff."

And he's right. Famous Grouse and Dewars far outsell the single malts in Scotland, and among the single malts, the lighter Highland and Lowland whiskies are favoured. Islay mostly produces for export. 

This implies that the Highland and Lowland whiskies are similar, which is true, but there are a few theoretical distinctions. The Lowland whiskies are often triple-distilled, similar to Irish whiskey, and they are never peated, whereas some Highland malts may be lightly peated. 

Historically, we've only been able to get the Auchentoshan in Winnipeg, and occasionally a Glenkinchie. But a couple years ago, the King's Inch was briefly available, and now the Glasgow 1770. So those two, plus an Auchentoshan Three Wood became our Lowland lineup. 

What can I say about these? They're all very simple and straightforward. No faults or unpleasantness. Just rich malt and alcohol. Also a touch floral perhaps, and the Glasgow 1770 hinted of peach or apricot. Nothing here to blow your socks off. But sometimes, you just want to keep your socks on. Sometimes you want to be like a proper Scot. They may not always wear pants, but, to make this metaphor scream in pain, they apparently always wear socks. Also, these Lowlands were very inexpensive, so from a value for money perspective, they did very well.  However, we finished with the non-Lowland (Islay, in fact) Scarabus. Yes, it was time for the socks to come off, which they did. It was good to be proper Canadians again.

Given that two of our selections were from Glasgow (King's Inch in addition to the obvious one), I'll close with a brief Glasgow anecdote. A  number of years ago a friend and I hiked the West Highland Way. The night before flying home we hit the town in Glasgow. We were at one pub, which was quiet by local standards, when the door opened and someone in a full hazmat suit walked in. He strode purposefully across the room and went out through a door behind the bar. Nobody batted an eye. We didn't see him again. This sums Glasgow up nicely. I loved it.

Slainte!

p.s. Special thanks to our guest, James, for his marvelous painting of our group.