Well...
As a space has been discovered in the whisky cupboard. I had a dig around in the spare whisky cupboard and found a bottle of Bruichladdich.
It's a Bere Barley, something that a bit of searching discovered to be the progeny of what's apparently Britain's oldest commercially cultivated barley.
Bere is a six-row barley, as opposed to a 2 row barley, which is more normal for the UK. Six-row barleys do appear in the brewing of American beers, but their use in the UK is somewhat limited and it seems that the total area cultivated for them could be counted in the hundreds of hectares, all in the western isles of Scotland.
The Islay outpost of Bere barley is limited to the one farm, which grows its barley for Bruichladdich. Indeed, other than a 'micro-distillery' tucked away in the Western Isles, the Laddie is the only distillery using Bere barley.
The slightly analogous thing here is that Bere barley was a staple in Scotland in the Nineteenth Century, suited to the short growing season with its long hours. As yields improved through the Twentieth Century, so other grains gained the ascendance and Bere was banished to the margins, where it clings on supplying a handful of niche producers.
So: we have a barley that was commonplace 200 year ago but is all but extinct now. What's it like when it's turned into a whisky?
Cards on the table time: it's a difficult one to describe. It's curiously different to virtually everything I've had before. Yes, it's whisky, but there's something that give the impression that it comes from elsewhere, for whatever reason.
At this point, there's a temptation to amble off into some strange soliloquy about whisky as it was two hundred years ago, but I'm going to resist that one as I clearly wasn't around two hundred years ago and as I haven't got a clue what whisky tasted like back then.
Firstly, the nose: barley. Barley of a malty sort and distinctly a cereal. Plantey and slightly bouncy. Perhaps a hint of wine, but something strangely chemically yet not with the usual smokiness that accompanies Islay. Mrs. Van reckons on fresh sawdust and I wouldn't disagree.
The taste: Mrs. Van gets a dry start and then a chocolately aftertaste, but I get more of the barley and a strangely pleasant hint of something chemically. Bananas? Probably not, but there's something there that might have had a liaison with a banana recently. Distinctly barley, if I haven't already mentioned it, a slight sharpness and a strange flightly sensation that haunts the fringes of sensation and then vanishes as quickly as it appeared.
Finish? Difficult one, as the taste is still trying to figure out what's going on. Think of it like the swirling mists of a frosty morning, when the memory is more than actuality. There's not much more there than the taste produced, but it lacks the element of surprise and as the finish lingers, there's an appreciation of what was - and that's a valuable commodity.
Overall, this is a difficult dram to judge, simply because it's unlike anything else. Can a rare strain of barley really make so much difference? Oh yes. This is something from left field, a strange throwback; a journey down a slightly different trouser leg of time.
Is it one for someone who appreciates a whisky? Perhaps not, because it's so damned odd. Judge this by the standard measures and it fails at several hurdles: it's challenging, it's difficult to get on with and it's... well, it's worryingly different.
But. Put aside the prejudice and the conditioning. Put aside the beliefs of what a good whisky is all about. Put aside the things you've come to like about whisky and about a good Bruichladdich. This is none of them.
What this is is something different. Look at it like that and celebrate it for what it is.
With the changes at Brichladdich, we may never see its like again. Cherish it for what it is.
11 September 2013
10 November 2012
Port Charlotte PC10 & Laphroaig Cask Strength
A tale of two Islays
First things first: this is a Bruichladdich distilled in different stills. It's a 'coming of age' in that it's the first 10 year old that they've got out of these particular stills.
It's limited to 6,000 bottles, which now appear to be sold out. But I have one here...
The nose has some interesting reviews, including ash, tarmac and mint. I'm not sure I agree with that: I get something that's definitely got the Islay feel to it but has hints of wet moorland in driving rain. Peat is there, but it's not dominating In the way that some Islay drams can be; and it's not medicinal in the phenolic way that a Laphroaig can be,
Once you've got over the mouth-sucking experience of the first couple of tastes, it seems to settle down to embers and a rather fruity sort of experience. The slight hint of beachy salty, islandy Islay honesty is there, but it's - well a bit moderated by fruit rather than battered by phenols. Then the whisky pixies arrive and stick their little pins into your tongue: strange really, although it's not actually unpleasant. As with most Laddies, this isn't a metropolitan whisky, whatever it may try and pretend to be: a couple of sips and the rural background comes out - and it's all the better for it.
The finish is Islay, again. Earthy, peaty but with the balance that a Laddie tends to have. Perhaps slightly oily, but only a hint. It's a finish that begs another sip,
Which, strangely, brings me to the Laphroaig Cask Strength.
Why? Well, because the review I've just ambled past suggests it as an alternative - and given that I happen to have the Laphroaig Cask Strength the cupboard, it seems churlish not to try it.
My initial reaction was that they're very dissimilar; and having tried them back-to-back, I reckon I was right.
The Laphroaig has a nose that's obviously a Laphroaig; that phenol is hard to disguise. Okay, it's also got a slightly interesting, almost floral thing going on somewhere under there, but the predominant feature is a visit to the medicine cupboard when the house is on fire.
The taste is something else altogether: crescendo doesn't quite do it justice, but there are initial warming notes which are shortly overwhelmed by a peaty inferno and then fade into a lovely spicy dryness that almost overwhelms the aromatic finish. Then the finish returns and smacks you round the head with pepper and you wonder why you were in the slightest bit concerned about the taste.
This is a whisky that you know you're going to struggle to come out on top of, but bloody hell it's fun wrestling with it.
Anyway, back to where we started, that PC10: it's not a bad wee dram at all. Perhaps 91% or so, nudged a little higher because of what it is.
The Laphroaig is a totally different beast, not so much of a dram for all seasons, but to those who appreciate a whisky that fights back... well, it's entertaining to say the least.
First things first: this is a Bruichladdich distilled in different stills. It's a 'coming of age' in that it's the first 10 year old that they've got out of these particular stills.
It's limited to 6,000 bottles, which now appear to be sold out. But I have one here...
The nose has some interesting reviews, including ash, tarmac and mint. I'm not sure I agree with that: I get something that's definitely got the Islay feel to it but has hints of wet moorland in driving rain. Peat is there, but it's not dominating In the way that some Islay drams can be; and it's not medicinal in the phenolic way that a Laphroaig can be,
Once you've got over the mouth-sucking experience of the first couple of tastes, it seems to settle down to embers and a rather fruity sort of experience. The slight hint of beachy salty, islandy Islay honesty is there, but it's - well a bit moderated by fruit rather than battered by phenols. Then the whisky pixies arrive and stick their little pins into your tongue: strange really, although it's not actually unpleasant. As with most Laddies, this isn't a metropolitan whisky, whatever it may try and pretend to be: a couple of sips and the rural background comes out - and it's all the better for it.
The finish is Islay, again. Earthy, peaty but with the balance that a Laddie tends to have. Perhaps slightly oily, but only a hint. It's a finish that begs another sip,
Which, strangely, brings me to the Laphroaig Cask Strength.
Why? Well, because the review I've just ambled past suggests it as an alternative - and given that I happen to have the Laphroaig Cask Strength the cupboard, it seems churlish not to try it.
My initial reaction was that they're very dissimilar; and having tried them back-to-back, I reckon I was right.
The Laphroaig has a nose that's obviously a Laphroaig; that phenol is hard to disguise. Okay, it's also got a slightly interesting, almost floral thing going on somewhere under there, but the predominant feature is a visit to the medicine cupboard when the house is on fire.
The taste is something else altogether: crescendo doesn't quite do it justice, but there are initial warming notes which are shortly overwhelmed by a peaty inferno and then fade into a lovely spicy dryness that almost overwhelms the aromatic finish. Then the finish returns and smacks you round the head with pepper and you wonder why you were in the slightest bit concerned about the taste.
This is a whisky that you know you're going to struggle to come out on top of, but bloody hell it's fun wrestling with it.
Anyway, back to where we started, that PC10: it's not a bad wee dram at all. Perhaps 91% or so, nudged a little higher because of what it is.
The Laphroaig is a totally different beast, not so much of a dram for all seasons, but to those who appreciate a whisky that fights back... well, it's entertaining to say the least.
26 June 2012
A quick recap
A few random thoughts on the contents of the cupboard
Ah yes... I'd forgotten to update anything for a great many months. So I've done that now, adding several mutterings that I'd discussed elsewhere over the last 18 months or so.
Hopefully the next update won't be so far in the future - and in the meantime, here's a short buying guide I posted on a forum thread a couple of weeks back:
Ignoring stuff at silly prices:
Best production whisky: Highland Park 18
Best limited release: Bruichladdich Infinity 3
Best 'we had to bottle the good stuff because the new stuff wasn't ready yet': Ardbeg 10 (difficult to find these days in the original version
Best all-rounder: Lagavulin 16
Best "bloody hell, that really means it": Ardbeg alligator
Best mainland: Balvenie Peated Cask
Best mainland "how did they do that": one particular Balvenie Single Cask (others have never come close)
Best overall from the above: Bruichladdich Infinity 3
Ah yes... I'd forgotten to update anything for a great many months. So I've done that now, adding several mutterings that I'd discussed elsewhere over the last 18 months or so.
Hopefully the next update won't be so far in the future - and in the meantime, here's a short buying guide I posted on a forum thread a couple of weeks back:
Ignoring stuff at silly prices:
Best production whisky: Highland Park 18
Best limited release: Bruichladdich Infinity 3
Best 'we had to bottle the good stuff because the new stuff wasn't ready yet': Ardbeg 10 (difficult to find these days in the original version
Best all-rounder: Lagavulin 16
Best "bloody hell, that really means it": Ardbeg alligator
Best mainland: Balvenie Peated Cask
Best mainland "how did they do that": one particular Balvenie Single Cask (others have never come close)
Best overall from the above: Bruichladdich Infinity 3
The Laddie Ten
The newboy comes of age
First opinions on the Laddie Ten.
It's lacking in something, but I'm not sure what. Perhaps it's sophistication, perhaps it's maturity, perhaps something else.
It's certainly an Islay malt, but not necessarily a Bruichladdich as we've become accustomed to.
Yet, the most recent bottlings we've been accustomed to are now in the seventeenth year, so they have every reason to be damned good.
Youth, you see, is not always an advantage; the rough edges are smoothed off with a bit of time spent in an interesting cask.
Indeed, Jim McEwen might need a bit longer with this to weave his magic.
Not to say it's a poor effort, or even that it's disappointing. Which is isn't. Well, not really, if you judge it as a ten rather than a fine Laddie.
Confused? I sure am.
Chocolatey, peppery, but a little blunt. So far, so good. But not outstandingly brilliant.
First opinions on the Laddie Ten.
It's lacking in something, but I'm not sure what. Perhaps it's sophistication, perhaps it's maturity, perhaps something else.
It's certainly an Islay malt, but not necessarily a Bruichladdich as we've become accustomed to.
Yet, the most recent bottlings we've been accustomed to are now in the seventeenth year, so they have every reason to be damned good.
Youth, you see, is not always an advantage; the rough edges are smoothed off with a bit of time spent in an interesting cask.
Indeed, Jim McEwen might need a bit longer with this to weave his magic.
Not to say it's a poor effort, or even that it's disappointing. Which is isn't. Well, not really, if you judge it as a ten rather than a fine Laddie.
Confused? I sure am.
Chocolatey, peppery, but a little blunt. So far, so good. But not outstandingly brilliant.
Balvenie, Lindsay Lohan and Blake Lively
The Balvenie 21 Port Wood
Well, perhaps I've drunk this one a bit quickly, but it's so deliciously smooth that it's just so, well, hard to resist.
The nose? Perhaps caramel, perhaps marzipan.
The taste is fruity, without malice or anything too exciting. yet smooth: leaning against the bar, glass in hand and just looking smooth. Perhaps slightly rugged, almost Benedict Cummerbach in Sherlock's coat. Almost sophisticated, but perhaps lacking that edge, that underlying hint that that there might be something more to it. And fruity. Did I mention fruity?
The finish is strangely dry for something so smooth, but it's perhaps a defining moment as it add what might best be considered a balance. Not necessarily a hint of smoke, but perhaps just the slightest curl of fog around the long coat as it's sucked into the darkness. Long and lasting, a memory that's made by the final kiss.
Overall? 'Smooth' is the word that springs to mind first, perhaps followed by 'balanced'. Really nicely put together, in a Blake Lively sort of way: yet, wouldn't you prefer a night with Lindsay Lohan? That's the question and perhaps the answer is that this Balvenie is quite lovely, but it doesn't quite hit the heights of adventurousness.
Well, perhaps I've drunk this one a bit quickly, but it's so deliciously smooth that it's just so, well, hard to resist.
The nose? Perhaps caramel, perhaps marzipan.
The taste is fruity, without malice or anything too exciting. yet smooth: leaning against the bar, glass in hand and just looking smooth. Perhaps slightly rugged, almost Benedict Cummerbach in Sherlock's coat. Almost sophisticated, but perhaps lacking that edge, that underlying hint that that there might be something more to it. And fruity. Did I mention fruity?
The finish is strangely dry for something so smooth, but it's perhaps a defining moment as it add what might best be considered a balance. Not necessarily a hint of smoke, but perhaps just the slightest curl of fog around the long coat as it's sucked into the darkness. Long and lasting, a memory that's made by the final kiss.
Overall? 'Smooth' is the word that springs to mind first, perhaps followed by 'balanced'. Really nicely put together, in a Blake Lively sort of way: yet, wouldn't you prefer a night with Lindsay Lohan? That's the question and perhaps the answer is that this Balvenie is quite lovely, but it doesn't quite hit the heights of adventurousness.
The strange tale of the Macallan 1841 replica
Not what it seems at first
Well... I finally got my paws on the Macallan 1841 Replica...
The Macallan Replicas were an attempt to recreate long-lost whiskies - although I'd worry a bit about the effects of time. As such, a lot of work went into them, not least the packaging, and they've commanded a pretty premium price.
Curiously, despite the limited-ness, the 1841 Replica is worth today pretty much what it was worth a few years back when it was released, unless you buy on eBay, in which case this is a £230 bottle of whisky. Originally, you were looking at £90 a bottle - which is a bit steep, but given the costs of acquiring the original bottles and finding the barrels to achieve the blend (not to mention the rather nice bottle), not to mention the cost of acquiring the original 1841 bottle and... er...
There's a problem here.
You see, some of the original nineteenth century bottles weren't what they seemed to be: they weren't actually hundred-plus-year-old Macallans. They were something created to be sold at auction for a great sum - which indeed they were.
So this, quite possibly, is a replica of a fake.
It's a thoroughly bizarre thing in that it certainly is pretending to be something, but the something that it's pretending to be might also be pretending to be something it's certainly not. Confused yet?
Moving onwards, I feel obliged at this point to expose my general thoughts about the modern Macallan: I find it clinical - very refined, yet entirely lacking in character. While an Islay appears in a kilt and smacks you round the head, the Macallan is at best an anonymous Edinburgh banker and in reality is a note lost on the wind.
Technically, it's excellent, but it's entirely lacking in soul; and with no soul, it's not memorable.
The 1841 replica is a bit different - and proves at least that there are some casks with a sort-of character lurking in the depths of the distillery.
The nose has promise, although it ultimately doesn't deliver a huge amount. It doesn't have any vices, but all the same there's a slight lack of final delivery beyond the fudgy beginnings.
On the palate, it's not bad at all: the Macallan always has a hint of stand-offishness and it's not missing this time around. Yet it's more remarkable for what it's not than for what it is: it isn't cloying, it isn't smokey and it isn't challenging. It's almost sweet and almost slightly oily, even slightly dieseley - but it's not. What it is is light, with almost the slightest hint of orange blossom or something like that that. Yet - and this is the clincher - it's almost memorable, but it isn't.
The finish? It's a Macallan, so it's not going to shin its way up your throat and strange your epiglottis. Yes, it's slightly dry, slightly acid and slightly floral - but that's about it.
Overall, this isn't a bad whisky. It almost certainly contains a lot of young spirit, to match the relatively young version of Macallan than existed in 1841, only 17 years after the distillery opened. Perhaps it's a little rougher round the edges than a current Macallan but, depending on your point of view, that might not be a bad thing.
Is it worth going out and seeking a bottle? Unfortunately not.
But is it worth ensuring you try it if you happen across it? Certainly yes: it's a curiosity which is nevertheless an interesting dram, even if it's not the best you'll ever taste.
Well... I finally got my paws on the Macallan 1841 Replica...
The Macallan Replicas were an attempt to recreate long-lost whiskies - although I'd worry a bit about the effects of time. As such, a lot of work went into them, not least the packaging, and they've commanded a pretty premium price.
Curiously, despite the limited-ness, the 1841 Replica is worth today pretty much what it was worth a few years back when it was released, unless you buy on eBay, in which case this is a £230 bottle of whisky. Originally, you were looking at £90 a bottle - which is a bit steep, but given the costs of acquiring the original bottles and finding the barrels to achieve the blend (not to mention the rather nice bottle), not to mention the cost of acquiring the original 1841 bottle and... er...
There's a problem here.
You see, some of the original nineteenth century bottles weren't what they seemed to be: they weren't actually hundred-plus-year-old Macallans. They were something created to be sold at auction for a great sum - which indeed they were.
So this, quite possibly, is a replica of a fake.
It's a thoroughly bizarre thing in that it certainly is pretending to be something, but the something that it's pretending to be might also be pretending to be something it's certainly not. Confused yet?
Moving onwards, I feel obliged at this point to expose my general thoughts about the modern Macallan: I find it clinical - very refined, yet entirely lacking in character. While an Islay appears in a kilt and smacks you round the head, the Macallan is at best an anonymous Edinburgh banker and in reality is a note lost on the wind.
Technically, it's excellent, but it's entirely lacking in soul; and with no soul, it's not memorable.
The 1841 replica is a bit different - and proves at least that there are some casks with a sort-of character lurking in the depths of the distillery.
The nose has promise, although it ultimately doesn't deliver a huge amount. It doesn't have any vices, but all the same there's a slight lack of final delivery beyond the fudgy beginnings.
On the palate, it's not bad at all: the Macallan always has a hint of stand-offishness and it's not missing this time around. Yet it's more remarkable for what it's not than for what it is: it isn't cloying, it isn't smokey and it isn't challenging. It's almost sweet and almost slightly oily, even slightly dieseley - but it's not. What it is is light, with almost the slightest hint of orange blossom or something like that that. Yet - and this is the clincher - it's almost memorable, but it isn't.
The finish? It's a Macallan, so it's not going to shin its way up your throat and strange your epiglottis. Yes, it's slightly dry, slightly acid and slightly floral - but that's about it.
Overall, this isn't a bad whisky. It almost certainly contains a lot of young spirit, to match the relatively young version of Macallan than existed in 1841, only 17 years after the distillery opened. Perhaps it's a little rougher round the edges than a current Macallan but, depending on your point of view, that might not be a bad thing.
Is it worth going out and seeking a bottle? Unfortunately not.
But is it worth ensuring you try it if you happen across it? Certainly yes: it's a curiosity which is nevertheless an interesting dram, even if it's not the best you'll ever taste.
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