Tastes

From marvellous to meh and back again. Nearing the end of a bottle of Oban 14 yo, which got me thinking about my relationship with this whisky, for it begs to be analysed - it's either that or I find myself with too much time on my hands. Decades ago, during my initiate's foray into single malts, Oban 14 and Pulteney 12 followed that most archetypical of a novice's selection, the trinity of the Glens. Initiations drive sentimentality and sentimentality breeds subjectivity. For me, subjectivity manifests itself into a disproportionate affection for Glenfiddich 12, Glenmorangie 10 and Glenlivet 12, and that salty workhorse, Old Pulteney 12; but none for the eldest of the five, Oban 14. Oban, the distillery, has been making whisky since 1794, one of only two remaining working distilleries in the rugged western Scottish Highlands. Certainly, they've had ample time to perfect their art and it shows in the quality of their whisky. Oban 14 is a fair coloured, very well made whisky. It is elegant and restrained, aged just right for the price, viscous in the mouth but not cloying, with a hint of salty peat, just enough to remind one that Oban is a coastal town and a small port. Other than a light peppery feel at the back of the palate, the apparent lack of spice or nutty flavours, coupled with a predominance of sweet and sour fruits and a short to medium finish should make this a good candidate for an aperitif or a pleasant spring/summer evening sipper. Backtracking to the nose, there's restrained maltiness serving up a fresh fruit selection, mostly of pear, green grape and unripe banana. The light peatiness is presented as a faint smoky tendril of seaweed and brine, but you'd be forgiven for missing it, as it only serves a cameo role to the main protagonists in this dram: demi-sec white wine, black liquorice and candy shop aromatics; have you ever opened a bag of Bassetts Liquorice Allsorts? It is an appetising smell, straight from childhood, albeit one that can easily turn into 'meh' after a while, or even veer into slightly nauseating territory if you go at it for too long or too deep into the bag. And, perhaps, therein lies the crux of the matter. With some less, others more, our impression of a dram's merit can be affected by the time of day and the kind of mood we find ourselves in as we partake. Semi-dry white wine, black liquorice and sugary soft candy of Oban 14's appear to be sensitive to that; the whisky can be masterfully marvellous at one time or mediocral meh at another; inspire a second fill or be left unfinished in the glass, only to be picked up after a while and elicit wonder at why it's been left unfinished. Side note: Oban 14 is one of the original six Classic Malts of Scotland, first released in 1988 by United Distillers, now Diageo; displayed together in a row in bars and stores, the six have made their own contribution in terms of raising visibility, increasing popularity and helping to grow what is today's global single malt market.

With a good blend, the master blender has put in a lot of work for you; the vatted malts and grains have been selected to work together and to produce well-meshed flavours, a homogenised bouquet of aromas. A good blend's flavourscape is like a sphere; regardless of the angle of approach, the flavour surface is presented the same. On the opposite side, single malts tend to lean individualistic in character, presenting a more discreet set of flavours; sniffing and sipping over time, the drinker can more easily identify, classify and name individual flavours. Good single malts do this well. Better ones take it up a notch and release new and balanced notes as they breathe out in the glass, or are diluted with water. The top malts can give an impression of unfolding structure, indulge you to a geometrical mind game of flavours. Some malts present their flavourscape vertically, the unfolding taking place one peeled-back layer at a time, with flavours such as "Christmas cake", "tarty apple pie" and "smoked herring" used to describe each layer. Other malts present their flavourscape horizontally, in a series of columns, inviting the drinker to go back and forth, one column at a time. Bunnahabhain 12 is one such "horizontally-orientated" top single malt. There are flavour columns of fruit, spice, herb and nuts, all bound together by a circle of Islay sea salt. On the nose, the Column of Fruit shows up with dried plums, figs, and darkest of raisins. At the top of the column there's a bunch of overripe but still fresh pinot noir grapes. The Spice Column is prominent and stacks up clove and nutmeg, a most enticing spice mix of cumin, thyme and ginger, and a couple of vanilla pods perched right at the top. Right next to it stands the Column of Herbs, not as tall as Spice, but wider, with heather, fennel and Alfalfa hay, recently cut. The Column of Nuts is short and thin but elegantly made; it gives out waxy walnuts, blanched hazelnuts, and cleaned and toasted pumpkin seeds. Bunnahabhain 12 is unchillfiltered and it shows in the mouthfeel with a soft, full and engaging texture. The arrival on the palate is of a sweet intensity, similar to that of a PX sherry, but only for a second; the tongue quickly recovers from that initial shock, flattens the sweet, amplifies the bitter and salty, until a balance is reached midway through, a warming malty development that includes dark fruit, wood spices, a touch of pepper and tendrils of smoky nothingness - this last is either a semblance of peat, or the mind is playing tricks from knowing this to be an Islay dram. You don't really want the taste to end and are rewarded by a long, luxurious recap of a finish; despite the 46.3% ABV, there's no residual heat, but instead you're passed from one flavour column to the next, visiting the fruits, the spices, the herbs and that nutty aftertaste for as long as you choose, until the next sip. This is easily one of the best 12 year olds out there. Similar to a goodly bar of +70% dark chocolate, a bottle of the Bunna 12 needs always be stocked in the house - just knowing it's available and at arm's reach should be enough to increase dopamine levels. Side note: The distillery is known for its very large onion shaped stills; their large copper surfaces combined with low fill levels help to produce a clean, light and elegant distillate. Bunnahabhain 12 yo is vatted from three different casks: sherry, ex-bourbon first-fill and second-fill. There's a count of a measly 2-3 ppm of peat in it, which, together with Bruichladdich, practically makes them the only two distilleries on Islay to offer unpeated whisky in their core lineup.

I love whisk(e)y. To clarify, lest an intervention comes a-knocking: I love the idea of whisk(e)y. I love the idea of such aromas coming out of a humble communion of water, grains and yeast, oakwood and (sometimes) peat. I love the idea of diverse flavours that high artisanal skills can produce. I love the stories and myth behind whisk(e)y brands and I love being surprised by them, be it in terms of taste, of price, or design. Berry Bros. & Rudd’s original Cutty Sark blend was created at the Glenrothes Distillery in 1923. It was pale, light, flavourful and a great success. Especially in prohibition US, where a lot of it was bootlegged by sea captains/entrepreneurs such as Captain Bill McCoy and his very fast schooner, Tomoka, of whom this whisky pays homage to. The close relationship with the US consumer continued well after the end of prohibition, until in 1961 Cutty Sark became the first Scotch whisky to sell over one million cases in the US. This whisky shares some of the original Cutty Sark profile, but is bolder, tasteful, more pungent. Inside that old fashioned bottle of black glass, Cutty Sark Prohibition packs a lot of surprise, and at 50% ABV, a punch that harkens back to an older type of whisky, one that is light but full-bodied and 'dirty', buttery smooth but full of fire and flavour. On the nose, an ephemeral first note of balsa wood and carpenter’s glue, straight from a model airplane hobbyist's workbench. Brine on old varnished wood follows, reminiscent of an old wooden boat's hold, together with a faint smoky undertow. As the whisky starts to breathe, the nose begins to mellow out, first with heather and honey, then rosewater, cut grass and coffee creamer. Toffee, malted barley and ripe bananas underline it all. Water brings out a perfumed note of wild-flowers-in the-spring, together with orchard notes of orange and mandarin peels, and woody vanilla. The back label states non-chill filtered. The mouthfeel is greasy, buttery on the tongue, with flavour quickly overflowing the palate: sweet vanilla, buttered walnut bread with honey, dusty and dry spices, nutmeg and coriander seeds. Crushed black and red pepper rules the day, black pepper in the development, red pepper for the medium-long finish. Water brings out a malty savoury sweetness, honey and demerara sugar, vanilla cream. Bring the ABV down to about 30% and the grain part of the blend introduces itself, light and sweet, reminiscent of diluted acacia honey. Cutty Sark Prohibition validates all the reasons for loving whisk(e)y - it is an exceptional value-for-money sipping blend. Having said that, this is not a beginner's dram; the high ABV, the crushed peppers and the feinty sulphur note can hide its true nature to the uninitiated. But, if you know your way around blends and have the patience to sit with it and sip, you'll appreciate the full-bodied depth of flavours as they change over time. Side note: Edrington purchased Cutty Sark from Berry Bros. & Rudd in 2010 and released Prohibition in 2013 as a small batch blend. The blend recipe is not disclosed but it is thought that the base is grain whisky from North British and Invergordon, blended with around 40 different single malts, including Highland Park, Glenrothes, Macallan and Bunnahabhain.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the smoothest of them all?" If you're lucky and the mirror is not of the whisk(e)y anorak persuasion [said geeks will rush to inform you that 'smooth' is neither an aroma, a flavour nor a sensation, so would you kindly be a tad more considerate with your descriptors] the answer may very well lie with the Green Spot of Ireland, or, to be fairer, with any of the precious few Irish single pot still whiskies currently on the market including Powers, Teeling, Dingle and, of course, Redbreast. Green Spot's been around practically forever and may very well be considered the ambassador for this style of whiskey (Redbreast and Powers fan persons feel free to raise your hand in objection). The nose is heady and aromatic, the result of a malted/unmalted barley mix, carried on the backs of good quality cask selection and a tried-and-tested vatting recipe of ex-bourbon and oloroso sherry matured spirit that goes back to the 70's. Aromas include butter and vanilla dust, fudge and fruits, especially green apples, backed up by sultanas and toasted wood. But really, what makes the nose unique is a ghostly waft of perfumed coconut oil (if you come across Dr Organic Virgin Coconut Oil Body Wash it is uncannily close to Green Spot's coconut note). Put your nose too close to the glass and you lose it, let the whiskey sit longer in the glass and it intensifies. (to really bring it out, add some water, but at baseline 40% ABV, do not expect the palate to hold) With a mouthfeel similar to fluffy clouds tumbling peacefully end-over-end upon thick velvet, the zero-burn palate follows closely the nose. Whilst not as impressive, the same pleasant collection of gentle flavour notes appears throughout from arrival to development, which adds a touch of black pepper, and into a short finish which adds spice-sprinkled honey, butter and nuts. Whilst, nowadays, a non-age-stated bottling, Green Spot has the depth of smell and taste not unlike that of a 12-14 year old whiskey, bar the finish, which is admittedly short. Everyone should experience a dram of Green Spot, at least once, preferably with company; truly, a feel good whiskey. Next stop, Green Spot's recent re-imaginings, Chateau Leoville Barton and Chateau Montelena, and I'm certainly looking forward to those.

--- Second of two reviews after 3 months and at 1/4 bottle --- Subtitled: Mr Hyde is really Dr Jekyll Slowly over time, once the seal on a whisky bottle is broken and as the content level begins to fall, the smell and taste of the spirit inside can start to change. This much is known, but why does it happen? Some say oxidation, others dissipation; as far as I'm concerned and where the Matsui Mizunara is involved, you might as well call it near-spontaneous transmogrification. If Blackened Whiskey can be aged rapidly in "black brandy" barrels via emission of the "black noise" sounds of Metallica, then why not transmogrification, albeit near-spontaneous? Back to the topic at hand, it hasn't been long since the seal was broken on the Matsui Mizunara Cask and I posted my first review. Three months, 3/4 of the bottle gone and this whisky is no longer the harsh ethanolic and bitter disappointment it started off as. Thus, this second review. The nose has turned elegant and nuanced. Perfumed notes of jasmine and lemon flowers abound, twisted around a pillar of new oak wood. Further exploration reveals notes of sandalwood, toasted malt and an elusive herbal incense of sage and heather. The arrival on the palate is still hot but tamer, even welcoming, for without the heat, the accompanying astringency would’ve been overpowering. As it stands, the short-lived, hot and tarty discomfort only serves to highlight further the palate’s rapid development into a sumptuous lemon meringue pie, complete with elderflower-infused honey poured onto its lightly browned, billowy top. A remarkable taste. Post development and as the liquid runs its course, winter spices of cinnamon and nutmeg appear at the back of the palate. There's a final burst of black pepper, the second, and polite, reminder that this whisky is served at 48% ABV, as it opens up to a leggy finish. More of those winter spices and some white pepper heat now, but those bitter oak tannins of earlier tasting sessions have now subsided enough to let the back of the throat appreciate a final gentle burn of the curiously limoncello-flavoured alcohol. A whole Distiller star bump up for this one. Well done Matsui Mizunara, slow and steady wins the race, but unfortunately, at your price level, you'll be left sitting on the bench next time round. Final word: This whisky was a double gold winner at the 2019 San Francisco World Spirits Competition and a Jim Murray Whisky Bible 2020 top mention. Did these people also taste a 1/4 bottle dram?

A brief sniff-and-sip is enough to dispel any thought that this Helmsman, Bunny’s new entry level core range whisky, is meant to replace the 12 YO. The two are very different to each other and, I feel confident, easy to tell apart in a blind tasting. The 12 YO is sherry-sweet forward, the Stiuireadair - let’s see now, if I type the name enough times will I manage to spell it blind one day - is salt-forward; The saltiness is less of a briny character and more of the cooking salts variety - the kind that if used in sufficiently large quantities would definitely go well with the whole of 2020, but that’s a different matter all together. Indeed, the very first few sniffs bring to mind the salty and savoury, wheat sweetness of steamy pasta pot water. It gets more peculiar, as right behind the pasta pot water comes the fragrance of slow burning oakwood, with a sherried wine note bringing up the rear; are we cooking Italian or are we drinking Scotch? Fascinating! First sip and the arrival’s salt-forward oak note is progressively replaced by sweet sherry at mid palate. Mild spices mixed with salt and sweet raisins at the back end lead to a long, nuanced finish that should not have belonged to a 6-8 YO NAS dram. The mouthfeel is typical Bunny. Soft, full and satisfying. Creamy, as in the texture, not the flavour. At 46.3% ABV, the whisky practically invites you to try it with a splash of water. But does it make an improvement? The answer’s equivocal. If you’ve been enamoured by the unique, steamy, savoury pasta-and-wine aroma this will dissipate with water; in its place that of a more traditional sherry-driven scotch of good malt, brine and dry fruits and a tiny hint of smoke and ash, with the palate following suit. Still good, but different. I’ve really enjoyed Stiuireadair, with or without water. Much like Bruichladdich’s The Classic Laddie, this kiddo punches well above its undisclosed young age and at its current price offers exceptional VfM. I can easily see it sitting on a shelf next to its 12 YO sibling. A Happy and Generally Less Salty 2021 to the Distiller siblinghood.

A mash bill of malted and unmalted barley, triple distilled in pot stills, matured separately in European oak sherry and American oak ex-bourbon casks and then, at the 12-year mark, brought out of its respective casks and blended together. The result is an Irish whiskey which is imbued with the sweet brown sugar and vanilla notes from the American oak and the dried dark fruits from the European sherried oak. There is an interplay of winter spices from the two cask types which is subtle and integrated. Cinnamon and nutmeg would come, I’d guess, from the American oak, and the heavier cinnamon, clove and pepper base from its European counterpart. The sherried oak's grape mustiness is very much kept in check; it anchors the spirit with an earthy, full bodied impression, but never weighs it down, nor does it overpower it; this dram is not a sherry bomb. Whilst not a light whisky by any means - the oils are heavy and flavourful - there’s also a lightness of smell and taste which allows the senses to go beyond the usual identifiers of vanilla, dried dark fruits and winter spices; let the spirit rest on your tongue awhile and a note of almond and hazelnut makes itself present. The mouthfeel is creamy and soft from the unmalted barley, whilst the oily finish is long and ‘Christmassy’ with a very tight and right combination of sweetness, spiciness and dryness. Intentionally, I have not separated my notes into nose, palate, mouthfeel and finish. Instead I've let descriptors flow within a single paragraph. In doing so, I've tried to convey that feeling of consistent quality that Redbreast 12 imparts throughout the tasting experience. There are no discordant notes here: the palate follows naturally from the nose, the mouthfeel is exactly as forecasted by the nose and at the end the finish draws a complete circle back to the nose. Is there a better 12 YO for its category? We’re coming to the tail end of the dawn of an Irish whiskey renaissance which means there is a respectable amount and, importantly, variety of whiskey coming out of Ireland again. This, in turn, means that the chance of a contender appearing to challenge for top honours is increasing rapidly. There may even already be one out there, waiting for critics to review and punters to partake. Regardless of all this, some things remain constant: Redbreast 12 is the top seller in its category, it is a top shelf dram, and at €44 for the 70cl bottle, remains a top choice to keep on your shelf.

Continuing down the path of affordable blended scotch reviews, JW Double Black reveals itself to be a quality, peated whisky. The folk at the Cardhu distillery, home of Johnnie Walker, have taken the tried and tested blend recipe of JW Black and used deep charred casks to mature the spirit into a more intense, smokier blend which they've called the Double Black. JW Black is a blend of 30-40 malts added to a grain base of corn and wheat distillate. Cardhu and Caol Ila are two of the major single malt contributors to both JW Black and Double Black. Both JW Black and Double Black are well-balanced whiskies, but whereas the flavour profile of the Black would veer towards the sweet Cardhu Speysider, the Double Black's goes the other way, towards Islay's Caol Ila. In doing so, the JW blender has given newcomers to scotch whisky another introduction level to scotch's smoky profile of salt, spice and peat. Slightly darker in colour compared to the Black, on the nose the Double Black offers vanilla, sour apples and winter spice mixed with a drop of lemon, all hiding just behind a diaphanous screen of light peat smoke. The mouthfeel is inconsequential. The palate is peat and brine forward, but delicately so, followed by a kernel of honeyed fruit, sprinkled with waxy walnuts and a dusting of cinnamon. There's minerality at the back palate which gives way to peppery medium-length finish and a final gasp of smoky peatiness. This dram is no substitute to peated single malts. You might find, however, that if you want to build up your peat pregame, Double Black is a good medium to get you there. My only gripe is the price. Just because someone called it Double Black, it does not mean it should be priced at double the Black's price, or even 1/3 above that, which is the actual price level. The Double Black remains a variation of the Black, and a NAS whisky at that, compared to JW Black's 12 year old statement.

The topic of Japanese whisky is divisive; I tend to lean towards the negatively predisposed camp, a position born of all the wrong reasons. Pricing, mis-, dis-, or simply lack of basic information and an absence of standards, should not be drivers of preference; unfortunately they are and this is where we're at currently. Which brings us to Tenjaku whisky. On the bottle it says it is a blend of finest select whisky, a product of Japan bottled at 40% ABV. At first sniff, the nose is funky - funky cereal of boiled sweetcorn and barley, funky vegetal of green grass left unwatered. Add a large dollop of butter into the mix and I should be asking why I'm not gagging. Instead, the aroma is not unpleasant, and I get drawn in for a second sniff of coffee creamers and home made butter cooked popcorn. Dive in further for a third and the set is complete with notes of dry white wine and freshly cut green apples and pears. The mouthfeel is soft and creamy. The arrival runs slightly hot and you can tell this is a young spirit. The taste is light, perhaps watery to some, dominated by apple-flavoured green tea, honey, butterscotch and vanilla cream. Oxidation turns it progressively sweeter, honey turns into treacle and a bitter, woody, note appears at the back. The finish is short, oaky with a hint of pepper, but that's probably the alcohol still running hot. Overall, the Tenjaku was a fun dram to drink. It is a light whisky and perhaps can be dismissed as watery and one-note, but like many things Japanese it asks of your patience and perseverance. I felt I wanted to know more about this whisky but the Tenjaku official website offered zero-value information. Further research yields that the owner is a Japanese producer and distributor of wines and spirits, in turn owned by a larger Japanese distributor of beverages. No mention of a distillery or an IB; there's mention of the master blender's name and confirmation that he used actual Japanese whisky to create this blend, based on 'a mash bill of 86% corn and 14% barley'; it's aged in American white oak bourbon barrels; maturation period is either 3-5, or 4-6 years, depending on whose blog you land on. It took time to find these things out and some of it is not that clear. I bought Tenjaku at a sale price of €20; well worth it and I'd buy again. However, it normally retails for around €35, or $40 in the US, according to Distiller. At that price point it is positioned with the 12-year olds of Glenfiddich, Glenlivet and Deanston, and the Irish NAS of Teeling Single Grain and Green Spot; is it still worth it? Thus we come full circle. PS: If you are interested in the non-virgin oak, corn/barley mash bill taste profile, try the aforementioned Teeling or the Kilbeggan Single Grain.

Often times, in that never ending quest to find the perfect single malt, we find ourselves ignoring the blended sibling - there's simply only so much time and ever so many drams to partake of. It is worth remembering though, that 90% of the world's scotch sales is made up by the blended kind. And, as demand for single malts increases and their prices rise higher and higher, I find myself becoming increasingly curious about those staples of the blended world, the ones sitting just above the bottom shelf, the same ones that play such an important part to that 90% market share. Some I know of old, others, not so much; they are the NAS or 12-year olds from Chivas, Johnnie Walker, J&B, Grant's, Ballantine's and Famous Grouse, to name but a few. Thus, this is a side quest to re-view, or in some cases, view anew, albeit through the lens of experience as gifted by the tasting of numerous single malts. Founded in 1786, the Strathisla distillery in Speyside is the oldest continuously operating Highland distillery and the home of Chivas Regal 12. Now approaching its 50th year in production, Chivas Regal 12 is a secret blend of grain whisky and single malts including, amongst others, Strathisla, Longmorn and Glenlivet. On the nose, you're immediately hit with a sweet and sour fragrance of Granny Smith apples, sprinkled with cinnamon and drizzled with heather honey. There's an ever so light and faint minty note at the back. It gives the dram a perfume quality, fresh and clean. The mouthfeel is light with a sense of effervescence. On the palate, apples galore upon arrival; as red apples are to Dalmore 12, so green ones are to Chivas 12. Development leads to pears, salted almonds, a nugget of soft toffee and a sprinkling of spice and pepper. Now turning bitter, the short finish is all about heather, salt and pepper. Overall, you might say perhaps, 'meh, unexceptional'; sure, but I'd also add affordable, dependable and at the end of day, I felt, an enjoyable glass of whisky. Drink it neat, with water, or soda and a twist of lemon, mix it in a cocktail, make a whisky sour, or even accompany it with a tray of smoked meats and cheeses (highly recommended), this one's a jack of all trades.