Tastes

GLENDRONACH SHOWDOWN GlenDronach 12 “Original” GlenDronach 15 “Revival” GlenDronach 18 “Allardice” Continuing to work through whiskies in my collection that I’ve not yet reviewed. I’ve loved GlenDronach from my first sip way back when, and in addition to these three, I’ve been fortunate enough to have had the 21 “Parliament” and the 25 at Milroy’s in London; they distill several other expressions as well (Core, Travel Retail, Special & Limited Releases). GlenDro is in sherry-bomb territory, and for me, that’s a good territory to be in. It also speaks to the beauty of Scotch whisky: while I’m a huge bourbon lover, that whiskey is almost monolithic in terms of the breadth and depth of styles inherent of Scotch whisky, and sherry-finished or even “bombed” ones represent one part of that spectrum. GlenDronach 12 “Original” Color is a deep amber, or clear Pantone 138. Obvious sherry nose shows sweet fig preserves, candied walnuts, light petrol, quince, white pepper (aroma, not spiciness), pomander, a little vanilla, and a gentle spearmint coolness. Of the three, the 12-year is not nearly as round or generous as the 15- and 18-year expressions. There’s some saline and dates in addition to the olfactory descriptors. Ethanol arrives on the back end, leading to a little chili spice and a shortish finish. The complex nose is the high point for me. The palate lacks the roundness of its two older siblings; the ABV is lower; and the finish is shorter. GlenDro 12 can be had for about $60. Would I buy it again? Yes. 3.75 on the Distiller scale. Non-chill filtered. No added coloring. Aged in both Oloroso and PX sherry casks. 43% ABV. GlenDronach 15 “Revival” The deep burnt orange of the 15 is a few shades darker than the 12-year; Pantone 153. A nose in the glass is greeted by rich and warm aromas of Christmas pudding, brown sugar, tangy barbecue sauce, and a pinch of salt. The whisky is rounder and more expansive than the 12-year; there’s no overt viscosity in terms of mouthfeel. Similar flavors as the nose, along with pralines and a touch more saline. There’s a peanut brittle note on the finish, along with white pepper, dark honeyed yeast rolls, and gentle petrol. The GlenDronach distillery was mothballed for a few years in the late 90s and early 2000s, and the “Revival” naming of the 15-year-old expression is a reference to the distillery coming out of that period. The overall impression of this whisky is one of power, complexity, and finesse. In contradistinction to the dark, stewed-fruit aspects of many aged sherry-casked whiskies, the Revival exhibits a certain youthfulness and strength, appropriate to its name, and the history behind it. It retails for about $90 online, but I rarely see it on local shelves. The GlenDro 15 Revival is outstanding. This sherry bomb is not merely a sherry smack in the face (or palate), but a deep dive into all its complexities. I’d love to have a cask-strength version, akin to Aberlour A’Bunadh (GlenDronach does show a NAS cask-strength whisky on its website, but none with an age statement). Would I buy it again? Yes, assuming I can find it. 4.5 on the Distiller scale. Non-chill filtered. No added coloring. Aged in both Oloroso and PX sherry casks. 46% ABV. GlenDronach 18 “Allardice” The 18-year expression is the darkest of the three: a clear Pantone 159. The nose offers rich raisin paste, toasted and buttered raisin bread, vanilla, apple butter spread, prunes, crème brûlèe, cinnamon, and espresso. It is the richest of the three. The palate begins to show a little viscosity. Like the 15-year, the higher ABV is hidden with the robust flavor profile. Finishes with some smoked pulled pork, dark chocolate, and a dash of espresso bitterness. “Allardice” is a reference to GlenDronach’s founder, James Allardice. The impression of the 18-year is a deeper, richer version of its younger siblings. Not vanilla, but vanilla extract. Not raisins, but warm raisin paste (if such a thing exists). Not dark plum fruit, but prunes. Not coffee, but espresso. Not chocolate, but warm, melted dark chocolate. Quite different than the 15-year, but outstanding in its own right. 4.5 on the Distiller scale. Non-chill filtered. No added coloring. Aged in Oloroso sherry casks.46% ABV. P.S. I purchased the 50 ml nip (of an 18-year-old whisky!) shown in the photo in London; I’ve not seen those here in the U.S. Each of these whiskies, while showing obvious signs of sherry aging, are quite different. There is a progression in color and complexity. While the 12- and 15- year are stated as being finished in PX and Oloroso sherry casks, the 18 states only Oloroso—a bit surprising, since PX is darker, and the 18 is darker as well. I adore both the 15- and 18-year expressions, for different reasons. And the 12, which is significantly less expensive than the other two, is a value for an introduction to GlenDro’s house style. These are quality whiskies that command a premium price not on marketing hype, but rather on the liquid in the bottle. Highly recommended. The GlenDronach distillery, founded in 1827, has seen a few ownership changes over the years. It was most recently purchased by Brown-Forman in 2016. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

GLENDRONACH SHOWDOWN GlenDronach 12 “Original” GlenDronach 15 “Revival” GlenDronach 18 “Allardice” Continuing to work through whiskies in my collection that I’ve not yet reviewed. I’ve loved GlenDronach from my first sip way back when, and in addition to these three, I’ve been fortunate enough to have had the 21 “Parliament” and the 25 at Milroy’s in London; they distill several other expressions as well (Core, Travel Retail, Special & Limited Releases). GlenDro is in sherry-bomb territory, and for me, that’s a good territory to be in. It also speaks to the beauty of Scotch whisky: while I’m a huge bourbon lover, that whiskey is almost monolithic in terms of the breadth and depth of styles inherent of Scotch whisky, and sherry-finished or even “bombed” ones represent one part of that spectrum. GlenDronach 12 “Original” Color is a deep amber, or clear Pantone 138. Obvious sherry nose shows sweet fig preserves, candied walnuts, light petrol, quince, white pepper (aroma, not spiciness), pomander, a little vanilla, and a gentle spearmint coolness. Of the three, the 12-year is not nearly as round or generous as the 15- and 18-year expressions. There’s some saline and dates in addition to the olfactory descriptors. Ethanol arrives on the back end, leading to a little chili spice and a shortish finish. The complex nose is the high point for me. The palate lacks the roundness of its two older siblings; the ABV is lower; and the finish is shorter. GlenDro 12 can be had for about $60. Would I buy it again? Yes. 3.75 on the Distiller scale. Non-chill filtered. No added coloring. Aged in both Oloroso and PX sherry casks. 43% ABV. GlenDronach 15 “Revival” The deep burnt orange of the 15 is a few shades darker than the 12-year; Pantone 153. A nose in the glass is greeted by rich and warm aromas of Christmas pudding, brown sugar, tangy barbecue sauce, and a pinch of salt. The whisky is rounder and more expansive than the 12-year; there’s no overt viscosity in terms of mouthfeel. Similar flavors as the nose, along with pralines and a touch more saline. There’s a peanut brittle note on the finish, along with white pepper, dark honeyed yeast rolls, and gentle petrol. The GlenDronach distillery was mothballed for a few years in the late 90s and early 2000s, and the “Revival” naming of the 15-year-old expression is a reference to the distillery coming out of that period. The overall impression of this whisky is one of power, complexity, and finesse. In contradistinction to the dark, stewed-fruit aspects of many aged sherry-casked whiskies, the Revival exhibits a certain youthfulness and strength, appropriate to its name, and the history behind it. It retails for about $90 online, but I rarely see it on local shelves. The GlenDro 15 Revival is outstanding. This sherry bomb is not merely a sherry smack in the face (or palate), but a deep dive into all its complexities. I’d love to have a cask-strength version, akin to Aberlour A’Bunadh (GlenDronach does show a NAS cask-strength whisky on its website, but none with an age statement). Would I buy it again? Yes, assuming I can find it. 4.5 on the Distiller scale. Non-chill filtered. No added coloring. Aged in both Oloroso and PX sherry casks. 46% ABV. GlenDronach 18 “Allardice” The 18-year expression is the darkest of the three: a clear Pantone 159. The nose offers rich raisin paste, toasted and buttered raisin bread, vanilla, apple butter spread, prunes, crème brûlèe, cinnamon, and espresso. It is the richest of the three. The palate begins to show a little viscosity. Like the 15-year, the higher ABV is hidden with the robust flavor profile. Finishes with some smoked pulled pork, dark chocolate, and a dash of espresso bitterness. “Allardice” is a reference to GlenDronach’s founder, James Allardice. The impression of the 18-year is a deeper, richer version of its younger siblings. Not vanilla, but vanilla extract. Not raisins, but warm raisin paste (if such a thing exists). Not dark plum fruit, but prunes. Not coffee, but espresso. Not chocolate, but warm, melted dark chocolate. Quite different than the 15-year, but outstanding in its own right. 4.5 on the Distiller scale. Non-chill filtered. No added coloring. Aged in Oloroso sherry casks.46% ABV. P.S. I purchased the 50 ml nip (of an 18-year-old whisky!) shown in the photo in London; I’ve not seen those here in the U.S. Each of these whiskies, while showing obvious signs of sherry aging, are quite different. There is a progression in color and complexity. While the 12- and 15- year are stated as being finished in PX and Oloroso sherry casks, the 18 states only Oloroso—a bit surprising, since PX is darker, and the 18 is darker as well. I adore both the 15- and 18-year expressions, for different reasons. And the 12, which is significantly less expensive than the other two, is a value for an introduction to GlenDro’s house style. These are quality whiskies that command a premium price not on marketing hype, but rather on the liquid in the bottle. Highly recommended. The GlenDronach distillery, founded in 1827, has seen a few ownership changes over the years. It was most recently purchased by Brown-Forman in 2016. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

GLENDRONACH SHOWDOWN GlenDronach 12 “Original” GlenDronach 15 “Revival” GlenDronach 18 “Allardice” Continuing to work through whiskies in my collection that I’ve not yet reviewed. I’ve loved GlenDronach from my first sip way back when, and in addition to these three, I’ve been fortunate enough to have had the 21 “Parliament” and the 25 at Milroy’s in London; they distill several other expressions as well (Core, Travel Retail, Special & Limited Releases). GlenDro is in sherry-bomb territory, and for me, that’s a good territory to be in. It also speaks to the beauty of Scotch whisky: while I’m a huge bourbon lover, that whiskey is almost monolithic in terms of the breadth and depth of styles inherent of Scotch whisky, and sherry-finished or even “bombed” ones represent one part of that spectrum. GlenDronach 12 “Original” Color is a deep amber, or clear Pantone 138. Obvious sherry nose shows sweet fig preserves, candied walnuts, light petrol, quince, white pepper (aroma, not spiciness), pomander, a little vanilla, and a gentle spearmint coolness. Of the three, the 12-year is not nearly as round or generous as the 15- and 18-year expressions. There’s some saline and dates in addition to the olfactory descriptors. Ethanol arrives on the back end, leading to a little chili spice and a shortish finish. The complex nose is the high point for me. The palate lacks the roundness of its two older siblings; the ABV is lower; and the finish is shorter. GlenDro 12 can be had for about $60. Would I buy it again? Yes. 3.75 on the Distiller scale. Non-chill filtered. No added coloring. Aged in both Oloroso and PX sherry casks. 43% ABV. GlenDronach 15 “Revival” The deep burnt orange of the 15 is a few shades darker than the 12-year; Pantone 153. A nose in the glass is greeted by rich and warm aromas of Christmas pudding, brown sugar, tangy barbecue sauce, and a pinch of salt. The whisky is rounder and more expansive than the 12-year; there’s no overt viscosity in terms of mouthfeel. Similar flavors as the nose, along with pralines and a touch more saline. There’s a peanut brittle note on the finish, along with white pepper, dark honeyed yeast rolls, and gentle petrol. The GlenDronach distillery was mothballed for a few years in the late 90s and early 2000s, and the “Revival” naming of the 15-year-old expression is a reference to the distillery coming out of that period. The overall impression of this whisky is one of power, complexity, and finesse. In contradistinction to the dark, stewed-fruit aspects of many aged sherry-casked whiskies, the Revival exhibits a certain youthfulness and strength, appropriate to its name, and the history behind it. It retails for about $90 online, but I rarely see it on local shelves. The GlenDro 15 Revival is outstanding. This sherry bomb is not merely a sherry smack in the face (or palate), but a deep dive into all its complexities. I’d love to have a cask-strength version, akin to Aberlour A’Bunadh (GlenDronach does show a NAS cask-strength whisky on its website, but none with an age statement). Would I buy it again? Yes, assuming I can find it. 4.5 on the Distiller scale. Non-chill filtered. No added coloring. Aged in both Oloroso and PX sherry casks. 46% ABV. GlenDronach 18 “Allardice” The 18-year expression is the darkest of the three: a clear Pantone 159. The nose offers rich raisin paste, toasted and buttered raisin bread, vanilla, apple butter spread, prunes, crème brûlèe, cinnamon, and espresso. It is the richest of the three. The palate begins to show a little viscosity. Like the 15-year, the higher ABV is hidden with the robust flavor profile. Finishes with some smoked pulled pork, dark chocolate, and a dash of espresso bitterness. “Allardice” is a reference to GlenDronach’s founder, James Allardice. The impression of the 18-year is a deeper, richer version of its younger siblings. Not vanilla, but vanilla extract. Not raisins, but warm raisin paste (if such a thing exists). Not dark plum fruit, but prunes. Not coffee, but espresso. Not chocolate, but warm, melted dark chocolate. Quite different than the 15-year, but outstanding in its own right. 4.5 on the Distiller scale. Non-chill filtered. No added coloring. Aged in Oloroso sherry casks.46% ABV. P.S. I purchased the 50 ml nip (of an 18-year-old whisky!) shown in the photo in London; I’ve not seen those here in the U.S. Each of these whiskies, while showing obvious signs of sherry aging, are quite different. There is a progression in color and complexity. While the 12- and 15- year are stated as being finished in PX and Oloroso sherry casks, the 18 states only Oloroso—a bit surprising, since PX is darker, and the 18 is darker as well. I adore both the 15- and 18-year expressions, for different reasons. And the 12, which is significantly less expensive than the other two, is a value for an introduction to GlenDro’s house style. These are quality whiskies that command a premium price not on marketing hype, but rather on the liquid in the bottle. Highly recommended. The GlenDronach distillery, founded in 1827, has seen a few ownership changes over the years. It was most recently purchased by Brown-Forman in 2016. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

GLENFARCLAS SHOWDOWN Glenfarclas 10 Glenfarclas 17 Glenfarclas 25 Continuing to work through whiskies in my collection that I’ve not yet reviewed: and while these are each quite different expressions, and thus should contain noticeable differences, they are the only Glenfarclases I have in my collection, and the “Glenfarclas” aspect is a common denominator for comparison. I’ve tasted each of them previously, several times, and my recollection is that Glenfarclas is somewhat subtle across the board, which is a bit unusual for a sherried whisky. Let’s see if my recollection is accurate. Glenfarclas 10 Color is a clear Pantone 153. The fragrant nose was immediately apparent upon pouring, with clear sherry notes: dark plums, carrot cake, dark butterscotch, and warm mulled cider. There appears to be a very thin, almost parrafin-waxy mouthcoating aspect in the mouth. The palate has some honeyed sweetness, some char, and a surprising spice for the 40% ABV. There is an almost smokey burnt orange on the finish, which is in-between short and medium in length. But keeping the mouth closed, inhaling and exhaling through the nose, an almost petroleum, tar-like phenolic element appears much later: subtle, but lingering very long (the aforementioned paraffin wax is also a derivative of the petroleum process; obviously there’s no petroleum here, but the two may be related in some way). I’ve written many times about the economics of 80-proof whisk(e)y: it is the bare minimum proof that is allowed. A distiller dilutes the distillate from the barrel with water to reach a particular proof (ABV); thus an 80-proof whisky will give the largest amount of whisky allowable from the same amount of “raw” whisky, thus increasing yield and number of bottles. That being said, this is Farclas’s entry-level whisky, and given the bottle’s age statement and the brand’s otherwise traditional, old-school craftsmanship, I can look past this shortcoming a bit. Would I prefer the more standard 43% ABV / 86 proof? Unquestionably. But as is, the whisky is complex, aromatic, and flavorful. It is without a doubt the best 80-proof whisk(e)y I’ve ever experienced, and far more complex than I remember. This is a whisky which, like Oban, would appeal to the entire spectrum of consumers, from neophyte to connoisseur; it is approachable, pleasant, and yet complex. Widely available, and priced around $50. Would I buy it again? Without question. Solid 4.0 on the Distiller scale. I feel certain that I’d rate the 12-year higher, given its 43% ABV. I can’t wait to try it. Chill-filtered; uncolored; 40% ABV. Glenfarclas 17 Surprisingly, the color of the 17 is a clear Pantone 153, despite the longer maturation; perhaps the sherry-cask aging component is of the same length as the 10-year. The initial impression is similar to the 10, but a bit more muted on the nose: it begins with both pomander and stewed cinnamon apples, unexpected strawberry jam, Christmas cake, vanilla, and dates. Whereas butterscotch was evident on the 10, it’s not nearly as noticeable here. The entry is smoother, with some caramelized sugar sweetness and a gentle espresso bitterness, and the higher alcohol is kept in check. The finish is medium in length, with a soft, wet-oak element, and a smidgin of woody tannins; but it lacks that lingering petroleum aspect that was evident with the 10. The 17-year-old Farclas can be found for around $125. It is a different whisky than the 10-year, as it should be; but the overall impression is one of more subtlety and smoothness rather than overt “betterness” per se. Would I buy it again? Not as quickly as I would the 10-year, but I’d like to think that I would, despite the significantly higher price. The extra age is always a positive, even if only intellectually. 4.0 on the Distiller scale. Chill-filtered; uncolored; 43% ABV. Glenfarclas 25 The clear Pantone 153 color is identical to the 17 and 10, which seems unusual given the older age. This is different: the tar that I noted on the 10-year has returned, this time on the nose, along with dark honey, apple cider, and warm spice cake—with a pat of now-melted butter (perhaps the extra wood exposure introduces some diacetyl). Like the 10-year, the butterscotch has returned, but this time it’s not Brach’s candy, but some sort of imaginary artisanal, rare, perfected butterscotch—if such a thing exists. Cocoa. Vanilla. Espresso. Chocolate-covered cherries. There’s no real viscosity on the palate; the smoothness is not in the creaminess of the mouthfeel, but rather in the flavor integration. Sweet, but not cloyingly so. Lots of sherry on the finish, as well as some drying, leathery notes. The closed-mouth, inhale-exhale tar aspect returns, having skipped a generation (the 17-year), though not as pronounced as the 10-year. There’s something special about drinking a 25-year-old whisky. Time cannot be substituted or rushed. I purchased this particular bottle a few years ago, and who knows how long it had been sitting on the shelf; the combination of these three items mean that it was distilled well before the millennium. The Farclas 25 drinks like a 25-year-old First-Growth Bordeaux: the age is apparent, but there’s plenty of gas in the tank. It’s the same “iron fist in a silken glove” that is often applied to a quality, aged Cabernet or meritage blend. Glenfarclas has 40- and 50-year old expressions available; and while I don’t know if I’ll have the opportunity to experience them, I’m willing to bet that my overall impression with be similar—a combination of youthful exuberance and aged experience, imparting the best of both worlds. Would I buy it again? I’d like to, though I’ll savor this one for some time. I’ve shared it with one or two friends on special occasions. I don’t recall exactly what I paid for it—I think it was around $150 a few years back. An Internet search reveals that it can be had for $200-250 currently. That’s certainly not inexpensive, but if you can swing it, and can take the time to delineate complexity from ostentatiousness, the answer is a resounding yes. 4.5 on the Distiller scale. Uncolored; 43% ABV. Overall summary Glenfarclas is a traditional, family-owned, old-school distillery. To my knowledge, they don’t produce NAS whisky. They also don’t employ the marketing hype or fancy packaging of some other distilleries; they just produce damn good whisky that achieves an objective goodness on its own merits. It is priced relatively lower than other whiskies with similar age statements; perhaps that’s a function of not being owned by one of the corporate behemoths like Diageo or Pernod Ricard. I’ve not enjoyed any of my three Farclas bottlings in some time—a lapse in good judgment that I’ll rectify in short order. Each of these expressions is outstanding—the 10-year in particular, given the 40% ABV, and the fact that it is the youngest of the three. Given the quality of the 10-year, I would actively seek out the 12-year: while it only possesses two extra years of aging, it has the higher 43% ABV, and I would expect an even more enjoyable flavor profile. And I’d love to have the Glenfarclas 105 cask strength, which I see rarely in my neck of the woods, and have yet to purchase. I’ll be keeping my eyes out for it. The Glenfarclas range, or at least these three bottlings, represents a different sherry-cask influence, in my experience: they’re a bit more youthful. Whereas a whisky connoisseur commonly associates dark fruit, stewed fruit, and more intense baking spices with sherry-casked drams, each of these Glenfarclas expressions emit a younger fruitiness. These aren’t sherry bombs like Aberlour A’Bunadh (which I adore) or Edradour (which I also love); nor do they exhibit the refinement of a sherry-finished whisky like Macallan 18, which, while expensive, is nevertheless a high quality benchmark. Glenfarclas to me is a bit more rustic, though certainly not rough; think “gentleman farmer” to Macallan’s urbane refinement. There was a time a few years back in my drinking experience where I was purchasing every release of Aberlour A’Bunadh, which is a cask-strength offering. Perhaps its high-octane experience jaded my palate somewhat to Glenfarclas when I would taste it (not side-by-side, but sporadically during the same period). Glenfarclas represents old-school balance—think pre-Parker overextracted wine, or pre-whatever overhopped IPAs—and is a benchmark of what a sherry-finished Highland single-malt should be. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

GLENFARCLAS SHOWDOWN Glenfarclas 10 Glenfarclas 17 Glenfarclas 25 Continuing to work through whiskies in my collection that I’ve not yet reviewed: and while these are each quite different expressions, and thus should contain noticeable differences, they are the only Glenfarclases I have in my collection, and the “Glenfarclas” aspect is a common denominator for comparison. I’ve tasted each of them previously, several times, and my recollection is that Glenfarclas is somewhat subtle across the board, which is a bit unusual for a sherried whisky. Let’s see if my recollection is accurate. Glenfarclas 10 Color is a clear Pantone 153. The fragrant nose was immediately apparent upon pouring, with clear sherry notes: dark plums, carrot cake, dark butterscotch, and warm mulled cider. There appears to be a very thin, almost parrafin-waxy mouthcoating aspect in the mouth. The palate has some honeyed sweetness, some char, and a surprising spice for the 40% ABV. There is an almost smokey burnt orange on the finish, which is in-between short and medium in length. But keeping the mouth closed, inhaling and exhaling through the nose, an almost petroleum, tar-like phenolic element appears much later: subtle, but lingering very long (the aforementioned paraffin wax is also a derivative of the petroleum process; obviously there’s no petroleum here, but the two may be related in some way). I’ve written many times about the economics of 80-proof whisk(e)y: it is the bare minimum proof that is allowed. A distiller dilutes the distillate from the barrel with water to reach a particular proof (ABV); thus an 80-proof whisky will give the largest amount of whisky allowable from the same amount of “raw” whisky, thus increasing yield and number of bottles. That being said, this is Farclas’s entry-level whisky, and given the bottle’s age statement and the brand’s otherwise traditional, old-school craftsmanship, I can look past this shortcoming a bit. Would I prefer the more standard 43% ABV / 86 proof? Unquestionably. But as is, the whisky is complex, aromatic, and flavorful. It is without a doubt the best 80-proof whisk(e)y I’ve ever experienced, and far more complex than I remember. This is a whisky which, like Oban, would appeal to the entire spectrum of consumers, from neophyte to connoisseur; it is approachable, pleasant, and yet complex. Widely available, and priced around $50. Would I buy it again? Without question. Solid 4.0 on the Distiller scale. I feel certain that I’d rate the 12-year higher, given its 43% ABV. I can’t wait to try it. Chill-filtered; uncolored; 40% ABV. Glenfarclas 17 Surprisingly, the color of the 17 is a clear Pantone 153, despite the longer maturation; perhaps the sherry-cask aging component is of the same length as the 10-year. The initial impression is similar to the 10, but a bit more muted on the nose: it begins with both pomander and stewed cinnamon apples, unexpected strawberry jam, Christmas cake, vanilla, and dates. Whereas butterscotch was evident on the 10, it’s not nearly as noticeable here. The entry is smoother, with some caramelized sugar sweetness and a gentle espresso bitterness, and the higher alcohol is kept in check. The finish is medium in length, with a soft, wet-oak element, and a smidgin of woody tannins; but it lacks that lingering petroleum aspect that was evident with the 10. The 17-year-old Farclas can be found for around $125. It is a different whisky than the 10-year, as it should be; but the overall impression is one of more subtlety and smoothness rather than overt “betterness” per se. Would I buy it again? Not as quickly as I would the 10-year, but I’d like to think that I would, despite the significantly higher price. The extra age is always a positive, even if only intellectually. 4.0 on the Distiller scale. Chill-filtered; uncolored; 43% ABV. Glenfarclas 25 The clear Pantone 153 color is identical to the 17 and 10, which seems unusual given the older age. This is different: the tar that I noted on the 10-year has returned, this time on the nose, along with dark honey, apple cider, and warm spice cake—with a pat of now-melted butter (perhaps the extra wood exposure introduces some diacetyl). Like the 10-year, the butterscotch has returned, but this time it’s not Brach’s candy, but some sort of imaginary artisanal, rare, perfected butterscotch—if such a thing exists. Cocoa. Vanilla. Espresso. Chocolate-covered cherries. There’s no real viscosity on the palate; the smoothness is not in the creaminess of the mouthfeel, but rather in the flavor integration. Sweet, but not cloyingly so. Lots of sherry on the finish, as well as some drying, leathery notes. The closed-mouth, inhale-exhale tar aspect returns, having skipped a generation (the 17-year), though not as pronounced as the 10-year. There’s something special about drinking a 25-year-old whisky. Time cannot be substituted or rushed. I purchased this particular bottle a few years ago, and who knows how long it had been sitting on the shelf; the combination of these three items mean that it was distilled well before the millennium. The Farclas 25 drinks like a 25-year-old First-Growth Bordeaux: the age is apparent, but there’s plenty of gas in the tank. It’s the same “iron fist in a silken glove” that is often applied to a quality, aged Cabernet or meritage blend. Glenfarclas has 40- and 50-year old expressions available; and while I don’t know if I’ll have the opportunity to experience them, I’m willing to bet that my overall impression with be similar—a combination of youthful exuberance and aged experience, imparting the best of both worlds. Would I buy it again? I’d like to, though I’ll savor this one for some time. I’ve shared it with one or two friends on special occasions. I don’t recall exactly what I paid for it—I think it was around $150 a few years back. An Internet search reveals that it can be had for $200-250 currently. That’s certainly not inexpensive, but if you can swing it, and can take the time to delineate complexity from ostentatiousness, the answer is a resounding yes. 4.5 on the Distiller scale. Uncolored; 43% ABV. Overall summary Glenfarclas is a traditional, family-owned, old-school distillery. To my knowledge, they don’t produce NAS whisky. They also don’t employ the marketing hype or fancy packaging of some other distilleries; they just produce damn good whisky that achieves an objective goodness on its own merits. It is priced relatively lower than other whiskies with similar age statements; perhaps that’s a function of not being owned by one of the corporate behemoths like Diageo or Pernod Ricard. I’ve not enjoyed any of my three Farclas bottlings in some time—a lapse in good judgment that I’ll rectify in short order. Each of these expressions is outstanding—the 10-year in particular, given the 40% ABV, and the fact that it is the youngest of the three. Given the quality of the 10-year, I would actively seek out the 12-year: while it only possesses two extra years of aging, it has the higher 43% ABV, and I would expect an even more enjoyable flavor profile. And I’d love to have the Glenfarclas 105 cask strength, which I see rarely in my neck of the woods, and have yet to purchase. I’ll be keeping my eyes out for it. The Glenfarclas range, or at least these three bottlings, represents a different sherry-cask influence, in my experience: they’re a bit more youthful. Whereas a whisky connoisseur commonly associates dark fruit, stewed fruit, and more intense baking spices with sherry-casked drams, each of these Glenfarclas expressions emit a younger fruitiness. These aren’t sherry bombs like Aberlour A’Bunadh (which I adore) or Edradour (which I also love); nor do they exhibit the refinement of a sherry-finished whisky like Macallan 18, which, while expensive, is nevertheless a high quality benchmark. Glenfarclas to me is a bit more rustic, though certainly not rough; think “gentleman farmer” to Macallan’s urbane refinement. There was a time a few years back in my drinking experience where I was purchasing every release of Aberlour A’Bunadh, which is a cask-strength offering. Perhaps its high-octane experience jaded my palate somewhat to Glenfarclas when I would taste it (not side-by-side, but sporadically during the same period). Glenfarclas represents old-school balance—think pre-Parker overextracted wine, or pre-whatever overhopped IPAs—and is a benchmark of what a sherry-finished Highland single-malt should be. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

GLENFARCLAS SHOWDOWN Glenfarclas 10 Glenfarclas 17 Glenfarclas 25 Continuing to work through whiskies in my collection that I’ve not yet reviewed: and while these are each quite different expressions, and thus should contain noticeable differences, they are the only Glenfarclases I have in my collection, and the “Glenfarclas” aspect is a common denominator for comparison. I’ve tasted each of them previously, several times, and my recollection is that Glenfarclas is somewhat subtle across the board, which is a bit unusual for a sherried whisky. Let’s see if my recollection is accurate. Glenfarclas 10 Color is a clear Pantone 153. The fragrant nose was immediately apparent upon pouring, with clear sherry notes: dark plums, carrot cake, dark butterscotch, and warm mulled cider. There appears to be a very thin, almost parrafin-waxy mouthcoating aspect in the mouth. The palate has some honeyed sweetness, some char, and a surprising spice for the 40% ABV. There is an almost smokey burnt orange on the finish, which is in-between short and medium in length. But keeping the mouth closed, inhaling and exhaling through the nose, an almost petroleum, tar-like phenolic element appears much later: subtle, but lingering very long (the aforementioned paraffin wax is also a derivative of the petroleum process; obviously there’s no petroleum here, but the two may be related in some way). I’ve written many times about the economics of 80-proof whisk(e)y: it is the bare minimum proof that is allowed. A distiller dilutes the distillate from the barrel with water to reach a particular proof (ABV); thus an 80-proof whisky will give the largest amount of whisky allowable from the same amount of “raw” whisky, thus increasing yield and number of bottles. That being said, this is Farclas’s entry-level whisky, and given the bottle’s age statement and the brand’s otherwise traditional, old-school craftsmanship, I can look past this shortcoming a bit. Would I prefer the more standard 43% ABV / 86 proof? Unquestionably. But as is, the whisky is complex, aromatic, and flavorful. It is without a doubt the best 80-proof whisk(e)y I’ve ever experienced, and far more complex than I remember. This is a whisky which, like Oban, would appeal to the entire spectrum of consumers, from neophyte to connoisseur; it is approachable, pleasant, and yet complex. Widely available, and priced around $50. Would I buy it again? Without question. Solid 4.0 on the Distiller scale. I feel certain that I’d rate the 12-year higher, given its 43% ABV. I can’t wait to try it. Chill-filtered; uncolored; 40% ABV. Glenfarclas 17 Surprisingly, the color of the 17 is a clear Pantone 153, despite the longer maturation; perhaps the sherry-cask aging component is of the same length as the 10-year. The initial impression is similar to the 10, but a bit more muted on the nose: it begins with both pomander and stewed cinnamon apples, unexpected strawberry jam, Christmas cake, vanilla, and dates. Whereas butterscotch was evident on the 10, it’s not nearly as noticeable here. The entry is smoother, with some caramelized sugar sweetness and a gentle espresso bitterness, and the higher alcohol is kept in check. The finish is medium in length, with a soft, wet-oak element, and a smidgin of woody tannins; but it lacks that lingering petroleum aspect that was evident with the 10. The 17-year-old Farclas can be found for around $125. It is a different whisky than the 10-year, as it should be; but the overall impression is one of more subtlety and smoothness rather than overt “betterness” per se. Would I buy it again? Not as quickly as I would the 10-year, but I’d like to think that I would, despite the significantly higher price. The extra age is always a positive, even if only intellectually. 4.0 on the Distiller scale. Chill-filtered; uncolored; 43% ABV. Glenfarclas 25 The clear Pantone 153 color is identical to the 17 and 10, which seems unusual given the older age. This is different: the tar that I noted on the 10-year has returned, this time on the nose, along with dark honey, apple cider, and warm spice cake—with a pat of now-melted butter (perhaps the extra wood exposure introduces some diacetyl). Like the 10-year, the butterscotch has returned, but this time it’s not Brach’s candy, but some sort of imaginary artisanal, rare, perfected butterscotch—if such a thing exists. Cocoa. Vanilla. Espresso. Chocolate-covered cherries. There’s no real viscosity on the palate; the smoothness is not in the creaminess of the mouthfeel, but rather in the flavor integration. Sweet, but not cloyingly so. Lots of sherry on the finish, as well as some drying, leathery notes. The closed-mouth, inhale-exhale tar aspect returns, having skipped a generation (the 17-year), though not as pronounced as the 10-year. There’s something special about drinking a 25-year-old whisky. Time cannot be substituted or rushed. I purchased this particular bottle a few years ago, and who knows how long it had been sitting on the shelf; the combination of these three items mean that it was distilled well before the millennium. The Farclas 25 drinks like a 25-year-old First-Growth Bordeaux: the age is apparent, but there’s plenty of gas in the tank. It’s the same “iron fist in a silken glove” that is often applied to a quality, aged Cabernet or meritage blend. Glenfarclas has 40- and 50-year old expressions available; and while I don’t know if I’ll have the opportunity to experience them, I’m willing to bet that my overall impression with be similar—a combination of youthful exuberance and aged experience, imparting the best of both worlds. Would I buy it again? I’d like to, though I’ll savor this one for some time. I’ve shared it with one or two friends on special occasions. I don’t recall exactly what I paid for it—I think it was around $150 a few years back. An Internet search reveals that it can be had for $200-250 currently. That’s certainly not inexpensive, but if you can swing it, and can take the time to delineate complexity from ostentatiousness, the answer is a resounding yes. 4.5 on the Distiller scale. Uncolored; 43% ABV. Overall summary Glenfarclas is a traditional, family-owned, old-school distillery. To my knowledge, they don’t produce NAS whisky. They also don’t employ the marketing hype or fancy packaging of some other distilleries; they just produce damn good whisky that achieves an objective goodness on its own merits. It is priced relatively lower than other whiskies with similar age statements; perhaps that’s a function of not being owned by one of the corporate behemoths like Diageo or Pernod Ricard. I’ve not enjoyed any of my three Farclas bottlings in some time—a lapse in good judgment that I’ll rectify in short order. Each of these expressions is outstanding—the 10-year in particular, given the 40% ABV, and the fact that it is the youngest of the three. Given the quality of the 10-year, I would actively seek out the 12-year: while it only possesses two extra years of aging, it has the higher 43% ABV, and I would expect an even more enjoyable flavor profile. And I’d love to have the Glenfarclas 105 cask strength, which I see rarely in my neck of the woods, and have yet to purchase. I’ll be keeping my eyes out for it. The Glenfarclas range, or at least these three bottlings, represents a different sherry-cask influence, in my experience: they’re a bit more youthful. Whereas a whisky connoisseur commonly associates dark fruit, stewed fruit, and more intense baking spices with sherry-casked drams, each of these Glenfarclas expressions emit a younger fruitiness. These aren’t sherry bombs like Aberlour A’Bunadh (which I adore) or Edradour (which I also love); nor do they exhibit the refinement of a sherry-finished whisky like Macallan 18, which, while expensive, is nevertheless a high quality benchmark. Glenfarclas to me is a bit more rustic, though certainly not rough; think “gentleman farmer” to Macallan’s urbane refinement. There was a time a few years back in my drinking experience where I was purchasing every release of Aberlour A’Bunadh, which is a cask-strength offering. Perhaps its high-octane experience jaded my palate somewhat to Glenfarclas when I would taste it (not side-by-side, but sporadically during the same period). Glenfarclas represents old-school balance—think pre-Parker overextracted wine, or pre-whatever overhopped IPAs—and is a benchmark of what a sherry-finished Highland single-malt should be. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

Continuing to work through whiskies in my collection that I’ve not yet reviewed—and I cannot believe that I’ve yet to review Maker’s Mark! Perhaps because Maker’s is the Everyman of the bourbon world. It’s not showy or ostentatious, but it gets the job done, like a utility infielder (in baseball terms), or a backup quarterback (in football terms), or a sixth man (in basketball terms), or a Ford F-150 (in pickup truck terms). It’s an iconic, omnipresent benchmark: so much so that I used it as a touchstone today in my previous review (Noah’s Mill) to double check if all of the rye elements I was getting in the NM were correct. One sip of the Maker’s Mark confirmed it. Color is a clear Pantone 138. There’s a lot of classic bourbon elements on the nose: caramel apple, cola (vanilla Coke), chocolate-covered cherries, caramel, snickerdoodle cookies, oak, and a little mint. Fruity palate shows apple cider doughnuts, vanilla, and cinnamon spice. The finish is smooth, with a nice blend of oak, char and vanilla. Straightforward and unpretentious. About ten years ago, Maker’s was considering lowering the proof from 90 to 84. As I’ve written several times, this is entirely an economic decision. More dilution equals more inventory to sell. Many drinkers use Maker’s for cocktails, so apparently management’s thought was that people wouldn’t notice or care. But notice and care they did. There was something of a public backlash among bourbon drinkers, and the decision to dilute was ditched, and Maker’s Mark remains 90 proof to this day. While there’s no magical flavor profile with 90 proof (Maker’s does offer a Cask Strength expression, as well as numerous oak-stave expressions that have a higher proof), the fact that they didn’t bow to the economic altar shows that they have a pride in their product. I respect that. And the hand-dipped red-wax bottles? Also iconic. And unnecessary. And not without cost. But they do it anyway. That, and the shape of the bottle, are probably the single-most recognizable visual-shelf elements of any bourbon out there (Blanton’s round bottle ranks highly as well, but buyers hardly ever actually see that on the shelf these days). Maker’s doesn’t have a “wow” factor. It’s not high-octane. But it’s good, and relatively inexpensive, and widely available. It can serve as a daily sipper neat, or imbibed on the rocks, or used in cocktails. No bourbon enthusiast’s collection can be complete without Maker’s Mark, and the same can be said for Maker’s 46 and several of their barrel-stave offerings. Would I buy it again? Hell yes I would. Maker’s Mark is an icon. It’s a staple. It is quintessential wheated bourbon. It’s a must-have in your portfolio. Maker’s Mark is part of the Beam Suntory portfolio. NAS. 90 proof. 3.75 on the Distiller scale. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

Continuing to work through whiskies in my collection that I’ve not yet reviewed. I haven’t had Noah’s Mill in quite some time. I recall first having it at a party, and I liked it, so I bought a bottle (apparently there are different releases, so I don’t know if the one I had at the party was the same release as the one I’d bought later). I haven’t had any in a long time, and with all these other bourbons and whiskies begging for my attention… Pantone 144 in color. Interesting nose: my initial impression was Balsam Fir, which morphed to fruit cake, corn syrup, Heath bar, some rye, a whiff of vanilla, and quite a lot of spearmint coolness. Smooth, creamy mouthfeel with a nice viscosity. Some of the Heath bar toffee shows up again on the palate, along with dried orange rind. The heat is noticeable on the back end, though it’s not disjointed. Finishes medium to not-quite long with vanilla, some char, and a touch of rye spiciness. There’s a lot to like about Noah’s Mill. Like the Jefferson’s Ocean Voyage 17 that preceded it, Noah’s Mill shows more rye than I’d expected, and as such lacked some bourbon typicity (though not nearly as much as the Jefferson’s Ocean). After repeated tasing of the Noah’s Mill, I poured some Maker’s Mark (a wheated bourbon) as a benchmark for comparison; this batch of Noah’s Mill is no-doubt high-rye. Wild Turkey’s mashbill is also high-rye, and I love it; so it’s not the rye per se. It simply lacks overt bourbon typicity. The overall impression is a smooth, creamy, high-proof, high-rye bourbon, but I recall liking this much more in the past. This is not a sipper I’d enjoy; nor is it something I’d use in cocktails. There are far cheaper high-proof cocktail bourbons (Benchmark Full Proof or Old Grand Dad 114); or, I’d rather spend the extra $20-30 for something like Elijah Craig Barrel Proof, which has a 12-year age statement as well as another 15 or so proof points on average, and is far superior in every way, regardless of which of the three annual releases of it one happens to have. Or if I want rye, there’s numerous ryes I could have. Would I buy Noah’s Mill again, even knowing that it was a different release? No. Batch 18-36. 114.3 proof. 3.0 on the Distiller scale. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

Continuing to work through whiskies in my collection that I’ve not yet reviewed. I received Voyage 17 of Jefferson’s Ocean Aged at Sea as a gift. The “Aged at Sea” seems like a marketing ploy. According to the company, “Barrels of Jefferson’s Ocean Aged at Sea® Bourbon travel aboard ships that visit ports all around the globe. The constant motion of the sea churns the whiskey, increasing its interaction with the wood of the barrel. Extreme weather ranging from the coldest of coldest to the warmest of temperatures hyper-ages the liquid in ways no rickhouse could. Jefferson’s Ocean Aged at Sea® Bourbon is Aged At The Mercy of The Sea. Experience a voyage yourself.” It’s an interesting concept: the churning and warmer weather corroborate (conceptually) with the claim of “hyper aging,” though this claim is rendered moot due to the lack of an age statement. And I’m not so sure about the coldest aspect helping with the aging. At any rate… Color is a clear Pantone 138. There’s a certain dusty reticence upon initial nosing, but this fairly quickly resolves to dill pickle, rye, a little vanilla, and spearmint. The palate starts afresh with more rye, and then amplifies it with rye spice, and more heat than the 90 proof would suggest. The finish has some light woody tannins (perhaps due to the swirling of the distillate on the ocean) and a long finish of…rye. Rye, rye, rye: significant rye on the nose, palate, and finish. Since it’s labeled a bourbon, the mashbill has to be at least 51% corn, but I’d wager the remaining 49% is rye. This is a bourbon to me that is initially offputting because it lacks bourbon typicity. It’s like tasting a glass of orange juice that is actually limeade: it’s not bad, but the confusion detracts from the drinking experience until you recognize the familiarity of the unfamiliar. The marketing aspect is not perfunctory; apparently there are separate URLs for each voyage, replete with an interactive map, photos, and a “Captain’s Log” (Voyage 17 can be found here: https://jeffersonsbourbon.com/jeffersons-ocean-voyage-17/). The last sentence of the Captain’s Log exhorts the drinker to “get yourself…an ice cube or two and enjoy”: call me a purist, but when the company itself is telling you to drink an already diluted spirit with ice which not only dilutes it further but reduces the aromatics and taste due to the the physics of cooling, I can’t really take it too seriously. And although this was a gift, I’m not interested in spending $75-80 on a bourbon that doesn’t taste like bourbon, is only 90 proof, and is cloaked in heavy marketing (even if it is interesting, innovative, and perhaps somewhat legitimate). Would I buy it? No. Small-batch blend of straight bourbon whiskeys, so it’s at least two years old. 90 proof. 2.25 on the Distiller scale. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.

Continuing to work my way through whiskies in my collection that I've not yet reviewed. I bought this bottle a few years ago, and apparently it's since been discontinued. It was another impulse purchase when Japanese whisky was really taking off, and my favorite (Hibiki 12) was getting very scarce. Color is a clear Pantone 137. Nose is reminiscent of fruitcake and honeycomb, with saline, malt, and some yeasty bread dough following. Not nearly as viscous as the Mars Iwai Tradition I reviewed immediately preceding this, but there is some creaminess; it's not thin, and the flavors are fuller and more intense. There's some sweet dried orange, and a little smoke and charcoal on the finish. While this whisky is pleasant enough, it pales in comparison to its Nikka Whisky From The Barrel sibling, which is divine. This is a blend, and qualifies as a "Japanese Whisky." 3.5 on the Distiller scale. Would I buy it again? That's something of a moot point, as this particular release has been discontinued--although there is a 2020 (and continuing) bottling with a different label and a "refined formula" according to the company. 43% ABV. N.B.: All spirits tasted neat in a Glencairn glass.