Tastes

Get your 20 brand ambassadors, let them loose in your No.2 warehouse with instructions to each select one cask, then tell your master blender to blend all 20 casks together. The result is Glenfiddich's Project XX, or Project 20. Glenfiddich's experimental streak inspires me to undertake my own experiment and use Charles Maclean's tasting wheel to (ahem, more objectively?) make tasting notes. So, without further ado: Pour 30ml of Project XX into a Glencairn. Gently swirl to coat glass walls. Let sit for 10 minutes. Load said tasting wheel on laptop screen. -- Start Nosing -- Pass #1: On the wheel, moving clockwise from 12 o'clock and checking off on the aromas listed around the wheel's periphery. Cereal? Check, probably. Fruity? Check, definitely. Floral? Yes, no, maybe, hmm. Peaty? Absolutely not. Feinty? [sotto voce] What? Sulphury? No, for sure. Woody? Check, for sure. Winey? Check, most definitely. Pass #2: On the wheel, again moving clockwise from 12 o'clock and now reading aroma headings listed near the wheel's centre. For category Cereal I cannot find anything close to the XX's aromas. Does this mean I should uncheck Cereal entirely? Google says Yes. Unchecked and forgotten. For Fruity I've got Fresh Fruit, Cooked Fruit, Dried Fruit. For Floral I have Hay-Like...I think? For Feinty (this one again), I get Honey and Tobacco. For Woody, I smell Vanilla and New Wood. For Winey, I get Sherried and Nutty. [Quick sidebar: Google again, reveals that Feinty refers to aromas/flavours produced during the tails, or feints part of the distillation process.] Pass #3: On the wheel, for the third and final time, moving clockwise from 12 o'clock: now reading the detailed aromas in the middle of the wheel, I try to put those words in a cohesive tasting note format, minus the lyrical part (I'm looking at you @DigitalArc). Immediately on the nose, Project XX brings to mind Glenfiddich 12. There are apples, pears and apricots aplenty, and the all too familiar notes of butterscotch, vanilla and cinnamon, albeit fainter, more nuanced; but this is just the beginning - there's a fullness and richness in the aromas that cajoles further exploration. This, in turn, brings up notes of autumn's plum jam, supple black raisins and dried figs. A faint herbal note of heather is mixed together with the aroma of honeyed mead sprinkled down with a dusting of nutmeg. -- End of Nosing -- I found the tasting wheel to be quite the tool, no pun intended. It helped structure the thought process taking place behind the nosing experience and provided with associations that perhaps at times I would've found elusive. At the same time though, for me, it took something out of the pleasure of actually smelling the water of life and recollecting/rediscovering aromas of memories past. I won't go through this process again for the palate. Suffice to say, that Project XX delivers on the palate what the nose already promised. The mouthfeel is creamy and soft with a dry sensation coming from the sherry and port vattings. For a 47% ABV, NAS bottling, there is barely any alcohol burn, the flavours are rounded and full, and the medium length finish is oaky and satisfying, which makes me suspect that some old casks may be involved in this blend. Well done Glenfiddich, for me this is definitely a VfM offering.

Blending at home has become quite the sport of recent times; I throw blame at our favourite geeky whisk[e]y Youtubers, who all too often will offer good natured suggestions in the form of: "Try blending A with B, then half that C and drip a drop or three of D ... et voilà!". If it is not blending, then it's infinity bottles, also a form of blending but of a longer lasting duration depending on drinking habits. The truth is that the art of blending is anything but just mixing an arbitrary selection of whiskies using randomly reached-upon ratios (oh I know, mix three malts and use 1/3 of each, because it's three). More often than not, one ends up with ruining a goodly number of fine-as-they-were-why-did-you-have-to-go-ahead-and-mix-em single malts. Which brings us to Glenfiddich 15. An earthy, musty note greets the nose at first sniff. Ripe plums and an assortment of raisins and sultanas mixed together with slices of red apple, poured over with trails of thinned caramel and sprinkled with cinnamon and nutmeg. A nondescript mouthfeel gives way to an arrival of ethanol which very lightly burns the tongue as it travels its way from front to back of mouth. Candied apples, cinnamon, brown sugar, the sweet mustiness of the fermented grape, orange zest, honey and wood tannin notes make up the palate. A combination of ethanol, astringent oils and winter spices creates a short-lived impression of muted red hot chilli peppers - a disappointing finish for a 15-year old whisky. This dram is the result of a three-cask vatted (blended) whisky. Previously aged spirits from ex-bourbon, sherry and virgin oak casks are mixed together in a 37,000 litre solera tun which has always stayed half full of all the previous vattings since 1998. Knowing this and coupled with the fact that it is a 15-year old whisky, I expected this dram to impart either of two experiences: a full-bodied whisky presenting flavours that slowly change over time, allowing me to journey through the different casks and previous vattings, or two, a cohesive, well-integrated, rounded and rich whisky that might just possibly impart a new taste profile for me. Was my expectation met, one way or the other? There's a competition going on within this dram. The result is a jumbled up, confusing and rather muted drinking experience. The people at Glenfiddich are not, by any stretch of the imagination, home blenders. Really good, single malt whisky comes out of their distillery. And so the answer to the question is a soft no, I was expecting much more of this. Overall I'd give this whisky a mark of 2.75, add 0.25 because I'm sentimental about Glenfiddich, subtract 0.25 because it's Glenfiddich, I'm sentimental about it and the expectation has gone unmet, and add 0.25 for affordability.

There's history and pedigree behind this bourbon. The Buffalo Trace Distillery is designated as a National Historic Landmark. It's won multiple awards over the years and produces an estimated annual 10,000,000 litres of whiskey, within an area equal to 330 football fields. Evidently, this is not enough - a US$1.2 billion infrastructure project is ongoing to increase production and warehousing. Given all the above, I was excited to give this dram my undivided attention. On the nose, instantly surprised at how delicate it all felt. I could sniff out the usual suspects in a lineup: the corn's sweet fructose, charred wood and vanilla overtones, dark chocolate infused with a drop of dark fruit liqueur, winter spices from the low rye mashbill. Hiding behind the lineup: a whiff of grain pokes its malted barley head from up top; a note of freshly peeled yellow-green banana skin slips right undernose; a perfumy note reminiscent of Dior’s Poison - of all things - wafts and dissipates. It’s all very gentle and elusive and makes me wish for a higher ABV spirit. --- Rant intermission, skip over at your own preference --- The label on the Buffalo Trace Bourbon 70cl bottle states the minimum allowed 40% ABV. Apropos size, a big thank you to the EU and it’s bottle size standards silliness; switch over to 75cl already, please and thank you. Back to the ABV: I understand that the same bourbon intended for the US market is bottled at 45% ABV. Would a 10% variation make a difference? And for that matter, is the 45% enough to carry a nose this delicate? I haven’t the faintest, because I can’t b****y well get the US release now, can I? Unless, of course, I order direct from the US, and may the twelve gods of Olympus and all the vikings in Valhalla wish me proper good luck with that. --- Rant over, pardon me and on with the matter at hand --- Disappointingly, the palate does not, as the nose promises, deliver. The not so good news arrive with the mouthfeel - it feels weak, diffused, diluted. On the palate, all the good and familiar bourbon flavours are present but, alas, feel muted, watered down. The sweetness from the corn and barrel is low cal bordering on 0%, the rye spices taste flat as if they've sat in a cupboard for a decade or three, and that all dependable, character-building barley has gone and lost its mettle. Moving on to the finish, well, that one is already looking for the flavours at the start of the next sip. Now, it is possible that I’m over exaggerating --- the sudden onset of a rant certainly has not helped. This is, after all, the winner of multiple awards. On the other hand, would you exclude outright the possibility that the intentional dilution of ABV down to 40% has killed this dram dead in the glass? Final word: I understand the distillery's market positioning. This bottle is made for as wide a consumer base as possible, including that guy who orders "bourbon, Maker's Mark or whatever else you have, please mate" at the club/pub/bar/general merry-making do, for all and sundry, and then another and perhaps one more. The dram is actually of good quality and it is easy to drink. It can be mixed in a cocktail, or poured over ice to make it even easier and refreshing to drink. But if you are like me, and odds are that you are, since you’ve already bothered to read this far down my dour review, then, more often than not, you’d give this drink a soft pass (soft as in "ah you’re buying then, cheers mate"). Final, final word: forget even 45% ABV. I want a cask strength bottling. Let us see those aromas at full blast.

As Cardhu 12 is to Speyside, so is Caol Ila 12 to Islay. Used by Diageo in their varied Johnnie Walker blendings and bottlings, both, in their respective style and taste, are rounded and balanced single malt whiskies, consistently well-behaved ambassadors of their regions. Caol Ila is a paradoxical distillery - it is the largest and probably the least known of the Islay distilleries. It sits well hidden on the east coast of the island, a narrow body of water separating it from the island of Jura - caol is gaelic for narrow, caol ila translates literally to island strait. Just like its three south coast, smoky, siblings, Caol Ila 12 is also peaty, briny and peppery, bar the drama; there is none of Laphroaig's spiky stabbings of burnt rubber and iodine, the tartness of Ardbeg's has gone AWOL, whilst the rich fruitiness of Lagavulin's is now transmogrified into a light floral essence. Caol Ila 12's personality is characterised exactly by this - the absence of its siblings' drams' dramas. The nose is peat and brine forward, but it's a gentle kind of peat and the brine has been tamped down by a recent healthy rainfall, one that has also anchored down the nose with a petrichor, nutty undertone. Holding the Glencairn at half a palm's length from the nose, an elegant but elusive floral note emerges, a cross-stitched scent of watered mint leaves and wet jasmine flowers. The mouthfeel is neither oily nor light, with promises of a long finish to come. On the palate, the peat and salt continue their harmonious co-existence. A suspicion of presence perhaps, but no discernible citrus or dark fruit flavours; taking centre stage are notes of granny smith apples sprinkled with cinnamon, with short-lived, white pepper appearing at the back of the palate; as the dram oxidises further, drops of vanilla extract show up, pears join the granny smiths and nutmeg competes with the cinnamon. Tannins, however, remain hidden and out of view by the well-balanced nature of this dram. As the last of the white pepper disappears, the finish presents a perfumy quality - have you ever back tasted through the nose? it's a thing - with the mint and the jasmine returning for a final encore, hand-in-hand with the smoke, the salt and the baking spices. in summary, Caol Ila 12 is a very good VfM Islay bottling, an impressive exercise in restraint and a bottle that is worth keeping around on the shelf or in the cupboard.

If the neighbours were bars in an alternative universe: Laphroaig 10 is the bar that doesn't care; step through the door or don't, but if you do, you'll keep going back, because it's fun and exciting and it will take good care of you. Lagavulin 16 is the trendy but classy one - red velvet and mirrors at the entrance, soft ambient lighting and plush leather wing chairs inside. You can spend hours in those armchairs and will always cherish the experience going back. The third of the bunch, Ardbeg 10 is a beach bar. The evening's warm, colorful light bulbs are swinging with the gentle sea breeze which brings iodine and brine to the nose, there's soft folklore music playing in the back, someone's grilling the catch of the day and cool, sweet, salty and tarty cocktails are now being served with a slice of lemon. Stop reading the reviews - if you haven't already, go and get all three of them. If you have already, sláinte.

A word of warning: this is a big boys' bourbon - running the risk of ruining olfactory receptors and desensitising taste buds for the rest of the tasting session, water was added immediately after the first tentative nosing and sip. Effectively bringing the ABV down from 50% to around 43%, the pour opened up nicely. On the nose, dark chocolate and honey, ripe black cherries and plums, and that rare of occasions when you can smell both the clear and the dark vanilla. All this packaged and served up by big oak and nutmeg. The mouthfeel is viscous, velvety and dry. Immediately on the palate, a 1-2 punch straight from Lindt's Excellence series of dark chocolate: Caramel with a Touch of Sea Salt followed by Chilli Dark Chocolate. Midway through and the rye serves up a big spice bomb, finely tuned to counterbalance the cloying corn sweetness which threatens to inundate any and all taste buds. Mission accomplished, balance is restored. At the back of the tongue, sweet toffee is served with thin slices of lemon and lime, the tartness expertly spiced down with cinnamon and nutmeg; spices give way to a long, luxuriant, kaleidoscopic finish of all the prior flavours, blanketed by the thinnest mist of smokiness. In summary, this is not just a big boys' bourbon, Four Roses Single Barrel is a big bourbon, period. It is rich, oily, full, spicy, dry and aggressive. Give it some water and sense it mellow down and open up. It will take time and patience to deconstruct, analyse, eliminate and identify the different layers of smells and flavours at play here, and you will love and appreciate every moment doing that.

[for the purist amongst you, smoke and peat are used interchangeably] Of the Islay peats, Lagavulin's, for me, is the hardest to describe. It is unlike, for example, either of its two closest neighbouring distilleries. Laphroaig's is pungent, briny and medicinal, Ardbeg's is pungent, briny, and tarty. Lagavulin 16 on the nose is a sweet smelling kind of smoke, neither pungent nor timid; the closest I can come to a description is the smell of roasting marshmallows over a gentle pinewood campfire, only you're not camped in a forest clearing or next to fresh water, but rather at a pebbled beach - there's a bit of a swell and those sweet campfire aromas blend in with the fresh brine in the air mixed with the old smell of the sea coming off the pebbles. And somewhere not that far away, someone is smoking an aromatic pipe! Take away the peat and this whisky might just give Speyside's sherry-casked bottlings a run for their money. As it stands, peat and all, the mouthfeel is oily and velvety, the palate full of smoked goodness. The rich arrival is that of sweet stewed fruits, dusted with grains of salt. Mid-palate and umami takes over from sweetness; flavours of a savoury peat, impressions of a blend of soy, oyster and fish sauce. Campfire grill gives way to more sweetness at the back of the mouth, in turn followed by a cameo of peppermint nothingness. The finish is long and luxuriant - smoked and salted nuts, and a ghost of a peppery note to round it all off. Ron Swanson was never wrong!

This is not a review. For a review to actually be worth the paper it’s written on, or in our case, the bits and bytes expended, a bare minimum amount of objectivity is required - which in itself is actually ironic, since taste and smell together represent the epitome of subjectivity - but I digress. Aeons ago, Glenfiddich 12 was my first single malt. Prior to that, had come a medley of fancy-named, sugary cocktails, six-packs of the best advertised lagers, tall glasses of ice-cubed, cola-laden Johnnie Walker Reds (Black when I felt fancy, but keep the ice and the cola) and J&B on ice if I felt “sophisticated”. The ‘fiddich showed me an alternative path and I took it gladly, and for that my perception of it will forever be dramatically and irrevocably skewed - don’t ask me to free-associate, the word “ambrosia” comes to mind. My second single malt was Glenlivet 12, my third Glenmorangie 10 (yes, at the time I was painting by the numbers). I have reviewed both - dare I say, ahem, objectively - and you’re welcome to peruse my findings. As for the ‘fiddich, if you haven’t tried it yet, what are you waiting for, and if you have already, then nuff said. PS: All three musketeers have received an honorary rating of 4. Still on the look out for a d’Artagnan.

Distinctly rich and fruity, the nose on the Glenlivet 12 is a meandering walk amongst orchard trees during picking season. There are trees of apples, of pears, and plums, and a neighbouring orchard of orange trees; a light breeze at your back is infused with bourbon vanilla. You might, or not, come across a fallen, over-ripe plum, that someone's recently crushed underfoot.These are the things that make up the nose of this surprisingly complex, for the price, 12-year old. Notes of apples, pears and plums persist within a fruit forward, velvety palate. A tarty undertone of orange zest balances out those over-ripe fruit flavours. The vanilla hasn't gone away, but now is accompanied by drops of honey and a dusting of cinnamon. Oily, velvety palates do not a long finish guarantee. Short and sweet, this finish will quickly melt away with a final note of walnuts and honey. PS: More often than not, a review of the Glenlivet 12 will include a comparison to that other Speyside celebrity, Glenfiddich 12. Depending on who does the count, one is number one, the other number two, in either the US market or worldwide. But who's counting. The two are similar but different, enough so that comparisons between them are made redundant and the necessity to choose annulled - simply get both, enjoy and draw your own conclusions.

The tall tall stills of Glenmorangie; standing at 8 meters high, the distillery boasts the tallest pot stills in all of Scotland. A taller still means higher reflux ratio and more exposure to the still's copper walls; in turn, this means a lighter, more refined distillate. Combine this with no sherry cask maturation or finishing and you get the pale gold, archetypical Highland whisky that is Glenmorangie's The Original. On the nose, be patient - this dram has elegance and presents with nuance to be explored. Discover notes of freshly washed and cubed fruits, sprinkled with vanilla dust, cinnamon, and brown sugar, then left to rest for the fruits to first absorb and then release an aromatic fruit salad dressing. On top of that, malted barley, light honey and the herbal notes of heather. The palate is sweet but light, consistent with the nose's presentation. Only, the fruit salad is now replaced by sweet and tarty green apple pie, cinnamon and nutmeg. The sweetness continues but with a light burn sensation at the back end, nothing too nuanced, rather short and simple like orange blossom honey sprinkled with white pepper, which then quickly disappears. The unremarkable and short finish leaves you expectant of the next sniff and sip. Overall, this 10 year-old is a solid dram, and just like that dependable friend of yore, will always be counted upon to deliver as promised.