Tastes

If you’re able to attend one of the launch events for Glenmorangie’s latest Private Edition, you’ll be given a random token to sample one of the nine previous releases. If your token has a number four on it (either by chance or persuasion), you’ll get a chance to try this rare bottling. This is a classic malty, creamy Highland whisky, well rounded, robust and long of flavor, just like the slightly less scarce 19-year-old travel retail exclusive that succeeded it. Either one will stand testimony to the peaks the Glenmorangie spirit can reach if it’s left to age in a cask that doesn’t stray too far from tradition.

This is a travel exclusive that I did not know existed until tonight, when Glenmorangie was pouring it at an event to mark the 10th anniversary of its Private Edition series. The 19 was there as a stand in for the Private Edition from 2013, the 19-year-old Elanta. This is a classic malty, creamy Highland whisky, well rounded, robust and long of flavor. Nothing flashy, just a very good Scotch that’s worth picking up if you ever stumble across a bottle.

This is a whisky of two punches. The first is a feint, an unexpected nose of creamy butterscotch that hints strongly at a similar palate. But it zigs instead of zags, catching your mouth unaware with a right hook’s worth of rich oaky spice that hits you square in the smacker. The finish is long and spicy, especially with a few drops of water. Floats like a butterfly, stings like a bee, but with just two moves to its name it fails to land a knockout punch. Still, worth going a round with.

This unpeated Bruichladdich was distilled in 1990 and left to mature for 17 years in casks from ex-Bourbon and Tennesee whiskies. When the mothballs were removed from the distillery, the new owners grimaced at all the poorly managed whisky they had stewing in their warehouses and took a chance on seeing whether a further 10 years in Bordeaux wine casks from Chateau Haute Brion would turn a frog into a prince or merely smear lipstick on a pig. Decanted into 12,000 handsome bottles, they packaged it up as a travel retail exclusive and shipped an allotment to Heathrow, where it landed on the shelves last September just as I was passing through, with a price tag equivalent to $175. I did a double take - a 27-year-old whisky for less than $200? Surely a mistake. No, the sales clerk insisted, checking his computer, it’s just arrived and that’s the correct price. I bought as much as the law permitted: one measly bottle. Once home, I discovered that my cost was half the official retail price, which immediately presented a dilemma: was this was an asset that required flipping to fund the upcoming bills from the university where I had just dropped off the first born? Or a rare chance to drink an old whisky at a price that didn’t require me to ransom the aforementioned child? And so the bottle sat in my collection for several months, until a compromise opportunity arose: I split the contents at cost with a group of acquaintances and poured myself a couple of drams. This Laddie is the color of old engine oil, quite the dirtiest looking whisky I can recall. Notes of plums on the nose segue into a burst of ripe stone fruit on the palate, along with fizzy cola bottles, a delicate black tea and a dash of tannins. The finish is long, drying and pleasantly bitter, with an unexpected aftertaste of mint. Bruichladdich uses wine casks better than any other distillery, in my view, whether it’s to add a subtle fruity undertone to the new PC10 or to dazzle your senses in the mysterious Black Art series or some of the peat-busting Octomore releases. The wine influence here is halfway between those extremes - significant enough to be the star of the show but not so powerful as to overwhelm the base spirit. With the wine flavors dialed back to six (versus nine or higher on the recent and also delicious Bunnahabhain Moine Bordeaux), it’s one of the best integrated whiskies of its kind that I’ve had. It’s a prince, not a pig, but priced for the commoner - at least for that one day at Terminal 2.

If you’ve ever been held up in Canada by an accident involving a truck load of pigs and a maple syrup transporter*, prepare for a sensorial flashback: bacon, dark sugar and petrol waft out of the glass of this sprightly Lagavulin. And if an ice-cream truck was also involved in the aforementioned accident, then you’ll recognize the creamy vanilla that coats your throat on the finish. An excellent whisky that, along with the 8-year-old, suggests I may have a preference for youthful Lagavulin. Never has a highway disaster tasted so good. *... and which of us hasn’t?

With flavors of warm sponge cake and golden syrup, this is treacle pudding in a glass. The nose is treacle pudding. The palate is treacle pudding. The finish is treacle pudding. In other words, it’s not a particularly complex whisky, just thick and delicious. Set aside the tasting notebook and enjoy.

The second of the two Local Barley releases that comprise the night’s refreshment is the 10-year-old, the third in the series after the 16 and the 11. It’s a higher ABV and also comprises some ex-sherry cask spirit, so the difference with the 11 that I tried alongside it is more than just the age statement. It’s creamier on the nose and more complex. The malty notes evoke warm bread, almonds and walnut cake. As with the 11, the palate is faithful to the nose, and it’s very smooth despite the high strength. Still, it plays nicely with water, blooming into flavors of dark chocolate. The finish is rich and treacly. This is a cracker of a whisky and I much preferred it to the 11. Now, who’s going to share some of that vaunted 16-year-old with me?

Yet more samples from Campbeltown have arrived at my door, among them two of the Springbank Local Barley releases. Let’s try them side by side. First up to bat is the 11-year-old and it’s super oily in the glass. The nose is creamy and malty, with hints of dark chocolate and mint. Water amplifies the aromas for the better. Taste wise, it’s more of the same - creamy, malty, minty. The finish is slightly sweet and tangy. This is a very refined and somewhat traditional tasting Scotch, enjoyable but not life changing.

Decent blend that has a sweetly peat nose courtesy of Laphroaig and a smooth and salty body from Jura and Scapa.

One of the reasons I frequently can’t be bothered with cask-strength whisky is the very reason many people like them: that you can experiment with dilution. More often than not I want a drink, not a chemistry experiment, and futzing with water just feels too much like homework. Sometimes, though, it’s worth the effort. This 14-year-old Benrinnes from Cadenhead was tight and stingy with its flavors at the bottled strength of 56.4%. But diluted to 46-50% it opened up like a moonflower, unfurling a perfume-like nose of lemon puff biscuits, cream, custard and malt. Those creamy notes continued in the mouth, with an oily texture and a sprinkle of spice. The finish is medium length and rich on the cream. A delicious introduction to this distillery and a cure for any lazy drinker’s aquaphobia.