Powers mature this whiskey in a combination of bourbon and oloroso sherry casks. Much like other Irish whiskey we’ve tried, the immediate first effect from the nose is that of vibrancy and freshness. There’s a copper, metallic quality to this too, but also something quite sweet and light about it, perhaps of maraschino cherries and parma violets. Undoubtedly, it seems connected to the bourbon casks – reminiscent of a well-made Old Fashioned cocktail. A hint of cereal sits at the back in amongst spice.

It is here on my tasting notes that a drop of water has chosen to land on the fountain pen ink, corrupting the first word of the tasting impressions. Whatever word that was has now been lost to the gods, but I can definitively report that it was swiftly followed by fresh fruits and spice. ‘Some nice complexity,’ I wrote. ‘But nothing special.’ That progresses to a spice-led finish, leading to a sweet almond-apple combination at the end, coupled with a return of the barley and cherry. This whisky is critically acclaimed: it’s certainly a very good whisky but for my money not deserving of similar praise to the big-hitters on our leader-board. That said, your views are just as valid as mine!

Nose 21 Taste 19 Finish 21 Balance 20

Overall 81

]]> http://casktales.com/2013/05/19/good-but-not-great-powers-johns-lane-release-12/feed/ 1 raphaelsheridan Powers http://casktales.com/2013/05/18/the-ascent-of-everest-thomas-h-handy-sazerac-rye/ http://casktales.com/2013/05/18/the-ascent-of-everest-thomas-h-handy-sazerac-rye/#comments Sat, 18 May 2013 14:00:03 +0000 Raph http://casktales.com/?p=1683 ]]> In our pursuit of excellence, we’ve encountered some quite awe-inspiring whiskies. The four you see at the top of our scoreboard, those we have rated as ‘Sublime’, are the whiskies that for one reason or another have changed our perceptions of the aqua vitae. Such is their excellence, their unique personality and their charm that to reward them with anything less than pure adulation would be an unjust and gross diminution. We are the lucky beneficiaries of years, nay decades, of the hard labour, unbridled skill and ambition of the distillers, the coopers and the blenders. And sometimes, when we’re exceptionally lucky, the whiskey produced somehow seems to go beyond these efforts, almost beyond the material world and into something else. The Thomas H Handy Sazerac Rye whiskey is such a spirit.

No whiskey could ever be described as perfection. To do so would be to give up on all future conquests, to give one whisky an objective value it neither asked for nor deserves, and would devalue the hard work of all that had gone before it. But, and I don’t say this lightly, the Thomas H Handy comes awfully close to such a noun. It is a giant that stands on the shoulders of giants; it reveals new depths to physical sensation and, in turn, new depths to the bottomless pleasure that can be derived from whiskey. It explodes, but with subtleties and nuances. It is the gift that keeps on giving, and the spirit that seems alive.

As the whiskey hits the glass, the first notes fly out. It is 66.2% ABV (132.4 proof), and the impression created is that of the spirit roaming freely out the glass; a living entity. Putting one’s nose to it receives a left-right-left from the whiskey – a huge series of alcoholic punches that have you quickly reeling back. Its ferocity is unmatched: Ardbeg might be a big beast, but even that hardened, industrial Islay spirit would struggle if matched against this American monster. The power of the aroma is quite stunning, in every sense. It requires a hardened nose of steel to break through the alcoholic defence before the treasure trove lurking behind it is revealed.

And what treasure. Rarely will a whiskey smell as divine as this one: rye predominates with sweet caramelised banana, coupled with the most tremendous hot pepper and spice. It’s a bourbon bouquet of the most divine variety: candied and alcohol-soaked fruits dance around, as apple and pear marry perfectly with cumin and aniseed before a heavy and exuberant liquorice note serves to coat everything wonderfully.

Each fresh nosing reveals something new, as distinct as that which has already been discovered. Just as you uncover the aniseed, that quickly marries with sweet honey, then with cloves and molasses. This is a whiskey above all others; such is the other-worldly nature of the nose, it seems almost rude and wasteful to drink any of it. A fear, as it were, that by drinking something so pleasing to the olfactory senses that its whole telos, its raison d’être, would be swiftly obliterated.

Where the magic happens. The Buffalo Trace Distillery

But drink it you do and the Handy’s telos shifts to that of the tongue, as the greatest taste sensation it is possible to have engulfs you for a minute that seems like an hour that seems like a second: if only Einstein could have sampled this! It enters the mouth, it sits for one second, two seconds, three seconds, before it explodes with such fizz and ferocity that even seasoned veterans of whiskey can’t help pulling a face of exquisite agony.

Never has a whiskey been so challenging but rewarding. It’s as dry as the Atacama desert, but as vibrant and full-of-life as the Amazonian rainforest. Lychee, honey, the strongest of spices party along with hot warm butter, fresh popcorn and honey. Upon the unprecedented crescendo of flavour it sweetens and becomes thick and lush, akin to chomping on something that isn’t liquid yet isn’t solid. Smoke fills your mouth at a rate of knots, the thickness intensifies, massive pepper, massive molasses, massive pineapple all crash through. It builds, it builds, it builds, it becomes virtually unbearable.

Then you swallow, and a fusillade of sensations flies up and down your throat, ricocheting everywhere. The tongue, having died a violent but perfect death, becomes the centre of the Handy’s finish. Earthy rye notes lay themselves upon it, wet and mossy. But then the pepper powers through it, with the spice and molasses following closely behind, soothed only by demerara sugar and candied fruits. The whiskey feels alive, even now.

Then it builds, and builds again, just like the taste into a crescendo of super-charged sensations. This, five seconds after the whiskey parted company with your mouth. Once it has calmed down, and once life seems to have returned to normality, toast and popcorn notes, alongside acidic pineapple and the caramel-coated banana. These all prevail before the final movement of wet and earthy soil. This is what whiskey drinking is all about: the pursuit of pleasure and the rich rewards that come with it. Without doubt, this is the Everest of whiskies – as intimidating as it is challenging. And we’ve just ascended it, breathless but overjoyed. What a whiskey.

Nose 24 Taste 25 Finish 24 Balance 23

Overall 96

Whisky from India is generally becoming quite fashionable and, here’s the thing, they have one particular advantage over the Scottish that gives them a competitive edge: their weather. Actually, that’s not entirely true – it’s more one particular aspect of their weather that gives a sizeable head-start: warmth. Scotland’s weather is largely stable (no monsoon season just yet) but the frigidity of the country means that the whisky doesn’t age very quickly at all. In India, it’s a vastly different story and ageing takes place at a rate of knots. A whisky that has been quietly maturing in Scotland for 10 years might be done and dusted in less than half the time in the warm South Asian climate.

The Amrut Fusion is 50% alcohol, but you simply cannot tell when nosing it, for the whisky is as light as a feather. It’s also one of the most bizarre noses I’ve come across. It’s certainly very pleasant, but at one stage I thought a team from Bletchley Park warranted calling: there’s a definite brassiness to the spirit, but there’s a strong presence of strawberry truffles too. Then along comes peated barley, which brings along a smokey quality, in effect making it like a very intense Ardmore. There’s straw and grain at the back of all this, and citrus sits alongside fruits of the forest. I know, it all sounds very strange – my notes are a hodge-podge of ingredients – and you’d be running to the nearest toilet if you had to consume these together, but it’s strangely pleasant.

The taste is sweet, light, peated but with stewed fruits of pear and apple coming to the fore, developing onto something not wholly unlike boiled sweets. The finish sees smoke and peat combine to zing through like the Laphroaig Quarter Cask. And, much like its Scottish cousin, citrus, iodine and wet earth all arrive. It’s done with a delicacy and it’s a very commendable achievement because the flavours themselves could easily overpower any subtle arrangements. It’s a very nice whisky – not, I dare say, world class – but one to enjoy all the same.

Nose 21 Taste 21 Finish 22 Balance 22

Overall 84

Much like first watching Ronaldo, it’s impossible not to remember the occasion when first nosing a whisky that has taken you several years to track down and sample. The Old Pulteney is no exception. The closest it’s possible to get to the 21 year old is its younger brethren, the twelve year old, which we’ve already reviewed (and, you might notice, we called ‘The Apprentice’). Sampling the twelve year old is like pressing one’s nose against a window: it’s so close, but so far. In fact, it’s really quite different in character to the 21 year old so the closeness is, even more agonisingly,  perhaps more geographical than anything else.

So what is it like to nose the whisky that was the best in the world in 2012? Quite simply, it was divine. Rarely, in anything, do you get to experience something quite as breathtakingly perfect as this. It is as smooth as the finest goose down, as complex as Picasso’s Guernica, as beautiful as a Turner painting. In whisky vernacular, I suppose it would be possible to articulate this by its immediate flavours: stewed essence of lemon, sea-salt, an oily salinity that is pungent, industrial and lightly peated. There exists too light smoke combining with stewed fruits alongside the freshest apple and the creamiest vanilla. Such words, however, almost appear to do the whisky a disservice, because the whole is greater than the sum of its constituent parts. Wave upon wave of heavenly aroma flow out of the glass, freshly cut orange, floral notes and sweet buttered toast are all present and accounted for too. There’s a maturity and a confidence to this nose that is quite remarkable.

The taste is merely a continuation of the nose, and a treat for the tongue in the truest sense. Sweet lemon, a touch of tang from the salt coupled with long, drawn-out oak smoke morphs into scented heather-honey. Here, new and altogether surprising elements emerge: intense peppery spice and the emergence of firm grain. The finish begins on a sweet note before diving back to the immaculate essence of stewed lemon. It’s not a tremendously long finish; in fact, it’s surprisingly short, but that doesn’t hurt this whisky too much – it is forgiven henceforth for the wonders it has hitherto uncovered. The lemon remains, before it silently combines with a gentle smoke. When that finally ghosts off elsewhere, the entire effect is of having eaten a quite delightful lemon meringue pie. To call this whisky ‘good’ would be to insult it; to describe it as ‘excellent’ would be an underestimation, because this is a sublime whisky. And, as far as I’m concerned, it’s just scored a hattrick.

Nose 24 Taste 22 Finish 22 Balance 23

Overall 91

For all those who ‘fight oral hygiene’ (is that common?), here’s the solution, from a 1961 edition of House and Garden magazine. Jigger whiskey toothpaste. It’s apparently flavoured with ‘the real thing’ – though seems curiously unsure about whether that might be ‘Scotch or Bourbon’ (as a regular Cask Tales reader and spirits savant, you will naturally be pondering how it could possibly be the former if it’s a whiskey toothpaste, but let’s not quibble).

Just be careful not to turn up to work in the morning with that ‘night-before feeling’…

Much like the standard expression, it doesn’t take long for the first notes to blow away your olfactory senses. It’s like sticking your face in a bucket of exploding peat, a willing and uncompromising act of nasal self-harm. You’re thrown straight into the heart of the industrial revolution: oil-covered, chalky, medicinal clumps of wet earth flying around, clinging to air that is at once heavy and damp. Make no mistake, this is a quite glorious experience: it’s what nosing whisky is all about, the pure unadulterated moments of bliss where a train billowing with smoke and full-on flavour comes powering straight out the glass.

But after feeling like your nose has just had three rounds in the ring with Mike Tyson, something quite extraordinary happens. Much like the 10 year old, the Uigeadail reveals a softer side – a product of the sherry casks it’s stored in. There’s citrus, but also sherry and sugar sweetness. My, there’s crème brûlée lurking too, and even delicate floral notes. It sounds strange, it is strange, but it’s also delightful. You can’t go searching for too long, though. A moment is all you get with the Uigeadail, and pushing too far gets you a solid right-hook coming from the returning peat.

The taste is similarly intense; a veritable Battle of Britain goes on inside your mouth: bullets of intense flavour pepper your tongue; oil spills everywhere; explosions of peat are frequent. But there’s also lemon and essence of orange along with strong, streaky, smokey bacon. And, as before, searching around can be rewarding, for the dependable sherry comes through at the end.

Yet no sooner has this sherry serenaded through the glorious wreckage than industrial Britain returns with a vengeance. It’s like breathing in 19th century Manchester fumes in their purest, most drunk-inducing beauty. Smoke, peat, wet earth, iodine all make a return, each balanced against the other quite superbly. But, you guessed it, the softer elements return, and the Uigeadail pretends fleetingly to be something it’s not. No one can tame this beast. Give this to someone as a first whisky and they’ll take off, returning to earth a wholly different being. Bravo, Ardbeg, bravo!

Nose 23 Taste 23 Finish 22 Balance 22

Overall 90

This was the first dram we tried on a night that quite honestly changed my perceptions of whisky. The nose is a sumptuous bouquet of extraordinary notes, zinging, colliding, living their brief existence in quite admirable fashion – extraordinary really, for a 17 year old whisky. There’s a hit of wonderfully sharp lemon but one that coexists with fresh sea air; there’s a hint of malt lurking underneath everything; there’s creamy vanilla at the back, sitting alongside the firm, dependable hand of oak; and there’s a divine, lively, quite delicious floral note that envelopes itself around everything. Concentrating further, and an acidic note creeps through, perhaps akin to sharp, tangy pear drops.

But my, put it into the mouth and the nose seems positively dead by comparison. This whisky explodes with a vibrancy and vitality that is quite extraordinary. Everything crashes, collides, reverberates and bounces with tremendous energy – huge floral notes, followed by huge lemon, by huge oak, and a great mouthful of sea-spray salt. There’s the subtlest suggestion of peat, it builds to a crescendo, then it collapses to a gentle, smooth oiliness.

Then it explodes again on the finish: terrific lemon, heather, salted caramel, sea-salt and sea-air fly all past before a terrific floral flourish. Unsurprisingly, this is a long, long finish – crisp as the original impressions of the nose presented themselves. The balance of this whisky, the ability to accommodate the Kerrangs!, the Crashes!, and even the Wallops!, is quite something. A fine whisky, and one that deserves your time.

Nose 21, Taste 21 Finish 22 Balance 22

Overall 86

This post therefore represents the opening ceremony of a series we’ll call ‘The best whiskies in the world’ – a title so presumptuous that it should have its own accompanying fanfare and armed guard. The six we’re reviewing are, in no particular order:

• Ballantine’s 17 year old (Blended Scotch)
• Powers John’s Lane Release 12 year old (Irish Pot Still)
• Old Pulteney 21 year old (Highland Single Malt)
• Thomas H Handy Sazerac Straight Rye (Bourbon)
• Amrut Fusion (Indian Single Malt)
• Ardbeg Uigeadail (Islay Single Malt)

Numbers three and four won ‘World Whisky of the Year’ in 2012 and 2013 respectively. Exciting, I know, and it’s a truly international lineup which firmly dispels the myth that the only good whisky is Scotch whisky, or that blends are somehow inferior. In a further twist to proceedings, we found ourselves largely agreeing with Mr Murray on the makeup of this list. Pigs might fly yet. (And, let me tell you, they certainly were after I’d finished off all six of them…)

If you don’t know your whiskies, you’re essentially looking at the FC Barcelona* of line-ups, and what’s more there’s a Lionel Messi hidden amongst them. Actually, the analogy is not quite true: not all of these whiskies are graceful, artful and whimsical beings – this list is FC Barcelona with some additional massive, ugly, yet blazingly-brilliant centre-backs. (Here’s a helpful visual aid.) Nonetheless it’s important to note that each of these whiskies is sublime in its own right, worthy to grace any collection. That naturally leads on to a consideration of price, and whilst they’re certainly not cheap only one of them creeps into three figures. If you’re looking to treat yourself then picking something off this list is a pretty good idea.

So throughout the course of this week we’ll be releasing our hotly mildly anticipated reviews. Brace yourselves, dear readers, and prepare for a week of Cask Tales espousing the virtues of the purest, the most delightful, the most sublime aqua vitae.

*or should that be Bayern Munich?

Happily, it was a cracker. The club’s own post about the Old & Rare tasting contains vastly more comprehensive tasting notes than I could recollect, having had no pen, paper, or inclination to use the same anyway. For what it’s worth, the Glen Keith and the Linkwood were pleasant, inoffensive Speyside types. The Littlemill was fresh, zingy and interesting enough to make the distillery’s 1994 demolition feel a cause for quiet regret.

The evening’s offering (image courtesy of the Club)

For me, the 28-year-old Tormore was the real highlight of the evening. Rich, sweet and luscious, it warmed without a kick and offered continuous development on the palate. The fascinating dichotomy presented by a powerfully sherried Talisker was well worth experiencing: the intertwining threads of intense fruit and piquant salinity made for an intriguing dram.

The whole exercise is an excellent argument for forming your own whisky club, if there isn’t one near you already. By joining together, you can meet like-minded people, share an appreciation for the delightful spirit, and get your hands on some excellent whisky that might otherwise have seemed out of your reach. Take the plunge!

Straight up, here’s a confession: we let the blog slip, we shut up shop, we did an Ardbeg. But we had good reasoning: Josh has been exceptionally busy in a new job, and I’ve had the small matter of dissertations, essays, exams and suchlike (all mercifully over, thankfully). For both of us Cask Tales could easily have morphed into a tiresome chore or a guilt-ridden burden, not a pursuit of pleasure.

But it hasn’t, and we’re back – much like Ardbeg. And we’ve got some cracking stuff on its way: we’ve reviews upcoming from the best six whiskies the world (including one that breaks almost all Cask Tales records…), I’ve delightful looking 34 year old and 40 year old whiskies to review, and we’re earnestly planning other amusing and informative articles. Hedonism is not dead yet.

So, after this prolonged and spontaneous detox, let the drinking commence. Slàinte!

He recalled a judge of the day, Lord Hermand, who ‘had a sincere respect for drinking – indeed a high moral approbation – and a serious compassion for the poor wretches who could not indulge in it, and due contempt for those who could but did not’ and who could down six bottles of claret at a sitting, then dictate 60 pages of an important legal documents without an error. One of Hermand’s colleagues and drinking companions, Lord Newton, known as ‘the Mighty’. had opined from the bench that: ‘no man could be called drunk, who had so much sense left as to draw in his leg from the wheel of a hackney coach.’

A judge of the next generation, Lord Cockburn, remembered accompanying Lord Hermand on circuit in Stirling as a junior counsel. An hour or so into dinner, he observed that several gaps had appeared at the table, although nobody had left the room: his colleagues had quietly slipped under the table, insensible with drink. He chose to pretend to do the same, so as to avoid further drinking, and lay there until morning, when ‘the judge and some of his staunch friends coolly walked upstairs, washed their hands and faces, came down to breakfast and went into court quite fresh and fit for work.’

Nor was literally falling down drunk uncommon: one popular novelist recalled dropping under the table, ‘as a measure of precaution’ against having to drink more, to find a young serving boy whose job it was to loosen the cravats of involuntarily recumbent guests to prevent them choking to death! O tempora, o mores…

Dr. Bill Lumsden, Glenmorangie’s Head of Distilling & Whisky Creation, has led the way within the whisky industry in emphasising the real importance of cask selection, and pioneering unusual wood finishes. The Nectar D’Òr is a fifteen-year-old whisky that was matured first in bourbon casks, then finally in Sauternes barriques that formerly held the aforementioned sweet Bordeaux. It turns out to have been an inspired marriage.

The nose is sweet and dry all at once: Scotch whisky, French wine and American bourbon combined judiciously so that each has an equal say. The toasted vanilla and coconut notes of bourbon vie with a piquant lemon curd speckled with cinnamon and nutmeg. Crème brûlée and a cautious dash of lime juice are interlaced with light, fragrant honey. There’s a gentle waft of freesia, and the sense that somewhere next-door a tarte Tatin has just finished baking. At the back, there is the suggestion of wispy, mildly intoxicating incense: close your eyes and you might be in the airily Gothic nave of Chartres Cathedral after a service, as the choir rustles away and the incense ascends to the heavens. At the risk of falling foul of some divine lèse-majesté, the whole impression is akin to a fine pâtisserie setting up shop in the precincts of a cathedral!

The spirit is as superlatively balanced on the tongue as the nose promised. A slightly thicker honey and more pod-like vanilla contribute the sweetness that is offset by the heather note familiar from Glenmorangie’s ten-year-old expression. The body of the whisky is more floral than the sweeter, fruitier nose, but certainly not to excess. There is a delicate white-grape sensation that is enticingly far from the heavy grape influence that can be found in some sherried whiskies. The influence of the Sauternes is manifest on the tongue, but worn as a light drape rather than a straitjacket.

The finish is clean and fresh, neatly encapsulating the major themes of the whisky. It begins with zip and zest, with orange present where lemon and lime earlier lurked. It zips lightly through zabaglione and the fine oak in which it aged before returning to Sauternes. It lingers there, occasionally slightly spiced, as it gradually ebbs. To call this a wine drinker’s whisky would be to do it a disservice, though oenophiles would certainly enjoy it – in fact, it will appeal to many of those for whom whisky is ordinarily off-putting, even at its meetly muscular 46% bottling. The Nectar D’Òr is really, in essence, a triumph of innovation in whisky-making: a bold and thoughtful cask pairing that has elicited remarkable results and brought out the best in the spirit. You owe it to yourself to try some.

Nose 23 Taste 22 Finish 21 Balance 24

Overall 90

From all the valid entries that we got (and the vast majority of you were very good indeed at tracking down the correct answer), we assigned individual numbers to each successful entrant based on the order in which they were submitted. Thereafter, a random number generator selected the number of the lucky winner…

Eóin Walshe! Congratulations, Eóin: as a UK-based reader, you can take your pick either the Glenfiddich gift set or the Master of Malt vouchers. Send us a message via the Facebook page to claim your prize.

For all who were wondering, the difference between our highest- and lowest-rated Islay whiskies was 14, from Bunnahabhain 12‘s disappointing 77 to Laphroaig Quarter Cask‘s superb 91. Thank you to each and every entrant, and reader, for helping to make Cask Tales what it is!

The flavour is structured around the intriguing contrast between young, sharp grain and slightly mellower malts. The crispness of the former is offset by the malts, which provide a backbone of caramel, stewing fruits and raisins. The enlivening pepper of the nose returns, complementing a new suggestion of vanilla and oak. At least some of the casks in which the many component whiskies have been aged are clearly as hale as the spirits within them.

As the fullest flavours recede, the sweetness evanesces through butterscotch into a period of white spirit sharpness. Thereafter, and for the (surprisingly long) duration of the finish, it settles down: brown sugar is occasionally joined by hints of kiwifruit, grapefruit or orange zest.

Ballantine’s Finest has a lot going on, and much of it is worth experiencing. The structure of the flavour in particular will hold the interest, and it is a comforting blend to have to hand. It seems, though, that the slightly off-putting elements in the nose diminish the overall package; it is hard to believe that this is really their finest effort. As long as it is not, it promises good things to come.

Nose 17 Taste 20 Finish 18 Balance 18

Overall 73

We hope that, if nothing else, reading Cask Tales has convinced you that we like whisky. With any luck, though, you’ll also have noticed that we appreciate good design. Just as a well-designed bottle of whisky can draw the eye (and, inevitably, the wallet), we hope that the clean lines, bold images and elegant typography of the site enhances the experience of reading it.

We had always been a little dissatisfied, though, at our lack of a proper logo. Followers on Twitter, Facebook or Google+ may have seen the image of the whisky in the cut-glass tumbler we had used. It instantly identified the topic, but firstly is not something we’d necessarily recommend, and secondly said ‘whisky’ more than it said ‘Cask Tales‘.

Raise a glass to our former logo, as it heads into retirement…

As the site approached its first birthday, we thought it was time to develop a proper logo: an eye-catching but appropriately tasteful emblem that can convey, at a glance, something of the site to someone discovering it for the first time. After several iterations and much dialogue with our very patient designers, we settled on the above.

With a logo in place, we thought it was about time that we took the plunge and redesigned the header too. From there, we thought it was time to make the brave leap from the safety of Hoefler’s serifs into the austerely stylish Liberation Sans. We hope that you’re as pleased with the new logo and the new look as we are.  Thank you for reading Cask Tales enough to make it worth our while to write it!

A foray into the glass confirms that this is a dram of pedigree. Interlacing coastal notes with sumptuous sweetness makes for a dram that is recognisably Ileach while enjoyably distinctive. The dominant note is of lemon fudge, around which toffee, vanilla and custard coalesce. A light peat note lingers at the table, making for an intriguingly dry contrast with its sweeter companions. Persist, and the expect seashore notes can be detected: fern and damp moss craggily cling to the lip of the copita. These newcomers to the party bring custard for dessert, plunging you back into the sweet heart of the malt.

The mouthfeel is meetly creamy, as lemon, vanilla and caramel wash gently over the tongue. Madeira cake comes next before barley reminds you of the spirit’s cereal origins. Towards the back, there is again the suggestion of peat and woodsmoke, perhaps with a cinnamon tinge. Go back to the nose at this point and you will likely find the sweetness enhanced with a generous layer of icing, though with the intriguing addition of a rich cognac.

The finish makes clear that you are dealing with an Islay whisky. Beginning with the firm peat and dry smoke that you might have expected to be present throughout, it is soon flecked with waves of salt spray and the slight hint of zest. The dryness of the peat throughout is reminiscent of Laphroaig’s Quarter Cask expression; in the finish it combines with Oban to a very pleasing effect. This dram is an excellent advert for retailer-branded whiskies and a fine one for whisky itself.

Nose 22 Taste 20 Finish 21 Balance 21

Overall 84

If you think we write passionately about whisky, then you’ve never encountered Jim Murray. He’s the enormously influential critic who publishes an annual ‘Whisky Bible‘, which rates over 4,500 different single malts, blends, bourbons, vatted malts and a host of other whisky-related drinks. Yes, we’re aware Cask Tales has some way to go before we join that particular league of critics. Interestingly, CT and Jim Murray share virtually no opinion about whiskies. Anyway, he has a very interesting way of writing, and we’ve found six of his Whisky Bible innuendos to share with you.

Whyte and Mackay Special Blend: ‘You cannot but like it, in the same way as you may occasionally like rough sex. But if you are looking for a delicate dram to gently kiss you and caress your fevered brown, then leave this well alone’

Laphroaig Quarter Cask: ‘A great distillery back to its awesome, if a little sweet, self. Layer upon layer of sexed-up peatiness’

Dalwhinnie 15 years old: ‘A malt it is hard to decide whether to drink or bath in: I suggest you do both’

Glenfiddich Rich Oak Over 14 Years Old: ‘Delicious, thoughtful whisky… Though a pity we don’t see it at 46% and in full voluptuous nudity’

Glenfiddich 40 Years Old: ‘Believe me: this guy didn’t let me down. Full frontal fruit and spice. Perfectly toned and all the curves in the right places. Rrrrr!!!’

Glenfiddich 50 Years Old: ‘It was an ejaculation of genuine surprise, as any fly on the wall of my Tasting Room at 1:17am on Tuesday 4th August would testify’

If you’ve found any of your own, please leave us a comment at the bottom of the article!

For now, though, we are concerned with Slieve Foy, an eight-year-old Cooley whiskey manufactured exclusively for Marks & Spencer. If experience or prejudice lead you to dismiss it on that basis, they are doing you quite a disservice. The nose immediately makes clear that we have hear a vibrant malt that will repay close attention. Fresh pear and celery predominate in the clean and fruity cocktail. It’s a light bouquet, with notes of straw, carrot, cooking apple, caramel and vanilla also present.

It feels light and tender on the tongue, with tastes that elaborate on the freshness of the nose without overwhelming. Delicate but juicy barley is joined by rhubarb, boiled mints and fresh grass. The more reclusive notes hint at a vegetal character lurking beneath the surface. Those twin themes, lightly fruity and mutely savoury, are echoed in the finish. It begins with young oak, maturing through brief prickle into a potpourri of herbs and spices – coriander, cumin and parsley are prevalent – marinated in lemon juice. A young, crisp and interesting malt that seems perfect for a spring evening.

Nose 21 Taste 19 Finish 19 Balance 21

Overall 80

There’s no finer prize that can be won in any competition. You think we’re joking. As part of our first birthday celebrations, we’re giving you the opportunity to win either three miniatures of glorious Glenfiddich whisky, as seen above (if you live in the UK) or a £15 Master of Malt voucher (if you live overseas).

The three samples have collectively spent 45 years in casks, patiently maturing, and they’ll give you a fantastic insight into how whisky ages. If you’re the recipient of the Master of Malt voucher, it’d be an excellent opportunity to buy some samples for yourself – though whether you do or not is entirely up to you!

So without further ado, here’s how to enter:

1. Find Cask Tales on Facebook and ‘Like’ the page
2. Correctly answer the question that we’ve asked, by sending us a Facebook message
3. Keep your fingers crossed…

The competition closes at 23.59 GMT on 31 January 2013. We’ll announce the winner shortly after.

And that’s that! Simple, really. Your journey begins by clicking here…

I’m not sure that when we started writing it we thought it would last a month, so we’re delighted still to be here 366 days later, and, we hope, continually improving. We’ve some exciting things in the pipeline for the near future, but for now we thought we’d present you with a brief review of our first year.

Most read articles
Excluding our home page and archives, these were the most-read articles on Cask Tales; together, I think they provide a pretty good encapsulation of the kind of things we like to write.

1. Throwing whisky – why ‘doing a Richard’ is a good idea
2. Are blended whiskies misunderstood?
3. The sherry bomb – Aberlour a’Bunadh (Batch 39)
4. Book review: Jim Murray’s Whisky Bible 2012
5. The pursuit of Happiness – Jefferson’s 18 Year Old Presidential Select

Most visitors by country
We have a pretty diverse readership, with viewers from more than 100 different countries, but these are where most of our readers have come from.

1. United States
2. United Kingdom
3. Canada
4. Netherlands
5. Germany

We’d love to hear from you if you’re reading from somewhere that isn’t normally classed as one of the big whisky-loving nations (hello to our Surinamese reader!), so do leave a comment and let us know what the whisky situation is like overseas.

Most referrals
These were the most significant drivers of traffic: one or two may be surprises.

1. Google
2. Google Image Search
3. Facebook
4. Reddit
5. The Scotch Noob

Most popular clicks
This was an interesting one. Which links grabbed people’s eyes the most (enough that they could drag themselves away from Cask Tales to look at another site…)?

1.   How to taste whisky
2.   @jdhowens
3.   Crystal Nosing Copita – Glencairn Crystal
4.   Review of Loch Dhu | The Scotch Noob
=5.  @Raphael_1
=5.  The Whisky Advent Calendar – Master of Malt

That’ll do for now, but thank you very much, once again, from both us, for reading this. It’s wonderful to be able to share our common interest with so many around the world, and to learn from many other excellent exponents of this splendid spirit. Keep your eyes open for an anniversary competition we intend to run later today; for now, our thanks again, and sláinte mhath!

There are a few features of note about the whisky’s production. While it’s labelled a ‘blended Canadian whisky’, it is in fact the product of a single distillery, the Walkerville distillery. There, spirits made from corn, rye, malted rye and malted barley are blended together to create Canadian Club. Intriguingly, the spirits are blended as new make, straight from the stills, ageing together in first-fill bourbon casks, rather than the more usual practice of blending separately-matured whiskies.

Its producers say that this creates a whisky that is ‘lighter than scotch but smoother than bourbon’ (go on the website and try to avoid that phrase, I dare you), and there’s truth in that. The nose has a mellow and sweet character. Its dominant notes are light toffee and sweet pineapple, but the rye backbone of the whisky is easily detected. There are a range of sweeter notes: white rum; raspberry; white chocolate; and even toasting marshmallow, just at the point of charring. The syrupy sweetness is counterpoint to more complex accents that lurk, with a frisson of ginger and a hint of fern discernible amidst a floral perfume. These, though are very much the backdrop to the fruity toffee and grain performance.

Mad Men‘s Don Draper, Canadian Club ever close at hand

Its body is similarly smooth and supple on the tongue, with refreshing sweetness again apparent. Caramel and citrus take centre stage, but with light, vanilla oak in support. Fresh apple is present, along with the suggestion of darker treacle. It may just be wishful thinking, but it feels like maple syrup flits across the palate from time to time. It shows consistency from the nose, balancing well the light and sweet florals, even if its youth shows in a relatively harsh bite.

The finish, I’m sad to say, disappoints slightly. It peaks with a thrust of citric zest and light ginger, before a long tail where banana mingles with an astringent bitterness akin to tonic water. The quinine piquancy wins out and lingers, misrepresenting a whisky that is otherwise relatively harmonious.

Canadian Club is worth a try for any whisky fan, as it offers something quite different from its Scottish or southern counterparts. It also mixes very well, if you are so inclined. Without ascending to greatness it is a refreshing, palatable whisky that suits a variety of moods and occasions.

Nose 18 Taste 18 Finish 16 Balance 20

Overall 72

Alas. The nose begins with a curiously nostalgic note of boiled sweets – the custard component of rhubarb and custard sweets to be exact. It battles against a liquorice/aniseed note that desperately tries to break through, morphing into marzipan before giving up and accepting its place in the background. There’s a hint of spice and a waft of cereal not strong enough to speak on its own with clear authority. If you’re thinking it all sounds timid then you’re quite right. It lacks a glue, a catalyst, a je ne sais quoi that would magnify it to greatness – as our Scottish friend David Hume might impart, we’re left not with the impression, but the idea.

A first taste reveals apple and a good bourbon kick of sweet cereal. And then comes through in an orderly queue: polite vanilla, polite honey, polite caramel, all introduced by the apple that predominates. This whiskey still hasn’t woken up, or, rather, that no two components wish to grasp the mantle and explode into life. Each and every one akin to a sexually frustrated Englishman; not the expected confident, bold American. Can the black label be instead excused as smooth? Yes, but only at the expense of complexity – they’re not mutually exclusive.

And just as expectation starts to dip, the finish comes through and saves the day. Or, rather, it papers over the cracks. There’s a hearty kick of aniseed, riding upon a wave of rye – not one that crashes on the tongue, but it arrives with sufficient force to leave the taste buds a’tingling. It’s ends as smooth as the barrels this spirit was poured into and, indeed, the oak waves you goodbye. Undoubtedly a pleasant and enjoyable experience: a solid player, and a dependable ally. Just not something that’s going to change your life.

Nose 17 Taste 18 Finish 19 Balance 18

Overall 72

I’ve hopped over the Atlantic again (only figuratively, annoyingly) and now find myself in Kentucky. Elijah Craig, for those wondering, was a nineteenth century Baptist preacher from Virginia who ended up settling in the state. Some say that he was the creator of bourbon, although that is a contested statement. Regardless, he’s worth saluting because he set up the appropriately named Heaven Hill distillery. Alas the distillery, for all Craig’s virtues, wasn’t assured divine protection - in 1996 a huge fire ripped through it destroying tens of thousands of litres of bourbon. A shuddering thought if e’er there was one.

So we know who Elijah Craig was. But what of his whiskey? And why is it a ‘small batch’? Well in this case, small batch bourbon is, quite simply, not more than 70 barrels mixed together, bottled and released. So that means we’re getting some variety between different batches, but we’re not playing the game of chance that can often come with a single barrel release.

I do love a good bourbon, and this nose reminds me why: it exudes a wonderful sweetness of vanilla and syrupy honey that intermingles perfectly with a charming, gentle oak note that brings with it a barely perceptible wisp of light smoke. Married with the honey comes corn, which serves to keep everything grounded. It comes as a shock when you realise 47% of this is nothing but pure alcohol: the nose is primed for a sure-fire bombardment but instead it finds itself being, well, caressed. At no point is this ever overpowering, and such is its complexity that it’s tempting to keep nosing for hours. (N.B. I didn’t…)

The taste is really rather different: being churlish, it doesn’t quite bring the complexity of the nose through to the palate, but it’s no major criticism. It starts with a sweet honey before a surprising dash of peppery spice crashes to the fore, dancing off the tongue and off into the wilderness. Then comes the corn – as expected – before almonds and slightly under-sugared marzipan waltz into the picture. I use ‘waltz’ quite deliberately: once the initial surge of pepper has fizzed its way through, it becomes gloriously (nay, heavenly) smooth. What of the alcohol one expects? Barely there, in truth, and that’s no bad thing.

It leads to a long, spice-led finish where the oak proceeds to combine superbly with the corn. The whiskey has lost almost all the sweetness of the nose, yet without losing its core characteristics. Indeed, there’s a pleasant, if brief, encore, for the honeyed traces of the nose return and intermingle with the almond before a new and earthy note is delivered wrapped up in oak. It’s a dram where, on the whole, there are clear, definable elements at play here. In the UK, you can get a bottle of this, delivered, for around £30. If you want to try something different to Scotch, starting here isn’t a bad move.

Nose: 21 Taste: 19  Finish 20 Balance 22

Overall 82

No matter how unpopular the tax may be, you’re unlikely to see either one of us doing to whisky what was done to tea…

There is, some believe, a problem with the Scotch whisky industry in the 21st century. Ironically, it’s a byproduct of the industry’s success. ‘The industry’s in good health? What’s wrong with that? Good news for Scotland, surely!’ I hear thee cry. And in many respects you’d be quite right: the country exports around 40 bottles per second (with Cask Tales contributing to those figures more than we probably realise…); there’s £5 billion of whisky leaving distilleries every year; and there’s a booming middle-class market in many developing countries who are becoming increasingly interested in Scotch whisky.

But – and this is a big but – an awful lot of the money generated by noble distillers doesn’t actually feed back into Scotland. It goes straight into the coffers of the corporations which own many distilleries, and the money subsequently disappears. One such corporation, Diageo, (a name that wouldn’t exactly roll off a Gaelic tongue) owns a hefty number of distilleries in Scotland, making around £1 billion annual profit from them.

It’s angered an economics professor, John Kay, who told BBC News, ‘Their profits go mostly to people who are not resident in Scotland. They don’t pay much tax in Scotland, and we don’t think they pay much tax in the UK.’ Interesting stuff: if such an investigation ever concluded what Kay suspects, one wonders whether Diageo would join the list of the humbled giants: Google, Amazon and Starbucks…

It just so happens that John Kay also sits on the Scottish government’s Council of Economic Advisors and he, along with fellow advisor Sir George Mathewson, believe that they have a solution to the problem. It involves placing a £1 levy on each bottle of whisky produced which, if they’ve got their sums right, will generate over £1 billion over the course of a year, all heading straight to Scotland. If you’re being technical, they’re actually putting a levy on the water used in the distillation process, as only Westminster can tax alcohol. It’s hoped that the distilleries will pay any levy from their profit margins, which means they’ll also conveniently be paying less in corporation tax to the Westminster government.

The Spey could become a valuable resource of income for the Scottish government

It’s received mixed support, and there’s a large debate centred over whether the companies will absorb the levy from their profits as hoped (which means less corporation tax to Westminster) or simply raise the price of a bottle of whisky (which means more corporation tax in theory, but also risks demand dropping from consumers). In that instance, a compromise appears quite likely: a smaller levy means that everyone benefits whilst not hitting us hardened whisky drinkers too much. Still, taxes aren’t exactly popular and it’s tough not to side with Gavin Hewitt, chief executive of the Scotch Whisky Association who points out that a levy would hit competition: ‘I cannot see why any government would apply a production tax which would make Scotch whisky less competitive overseas against other drinks which are cheaper to produce and cheaper to sell.’

He has a point. And what of the corporations who own the distilleries? It’s not exactly difficult to guess what they think. Said Peter Lederer of Diageo, ‘If the argument in an economy is to take a successful business and keep taxing it because it’s successful, then I think that gives the wrong impression.’

It’s a difficult matter: on one hand, something as successful as Scotch whisky ought to be a major source of income for the Holyrood government. In an attempt to rectify this, they’ve gone after the corporations. The risk is that such corporations will raise their prices to keep their profit margins healthy, hurting the pockets of whisky lovers everywhere. In turn, the government might be doing more harm than good. It’s a shame that such debates have to exist – we’ll be keeping an eye on any decision made, and keeping our fingers crossed.

But the one thing that shouldn’t happen in this multi-billion pound game is a hit on those who drink, and love, whisky. Times are hard enough!

Having tried them both, I’m pretty comfortable with our decision, though: if Glendronach feels like a sweet Speyside treat, then Ardmore is very much a rugged Highland ranger, packed with character. This is all the more impressive, perhaps, when you remember that it’s one of Scotland’s largest distilleries, producing more than 3,000,000 litres of pure alcohol per year (cheers! *hic*). The sheer scale is partly attributable to its provenance: Ardmore was built in 1898 to keep Teacher’s Highland Cream in a steady supply of malt whisky.

A good heart malt is a prerequisite for a good blend, and that’s just what we have here. Ardmore’s Traditional Cask is wholly peated, non-chill-filtered and bottled at 46% ABV. It has been finished in quarter casks, like the superb offering from Laphroaig (another Beam-owned distillery), facilitating speedy maturation.

The nose begins with a hearty waft of a sweet, full peat. It’s immediately apparent that this is an intriguing beast: the peat isn’t harsh or dry, but rich and round. Instead of the maritime influences that characterise peated Islay whiskies, it sits alongside light, fragrant fruit. It’s sweet American oak, rich peat and youthful exuberance wrapped up in a delicate and delightful whole. Push on, and you’ll unpick the full complexity of the lighter layer beneath the peat: apple, lemon, heather, vanilla, bananas in custard. Towards the end, the peat dries, and the nose takes on the heady, sacral character of incense.

It begins very sweetly indeed on the tongue, like candied peel, but segues swiftly into nutmeg spice. This is superseded with an equal speed by a relatively dry smoke. The family resemblance to the Laphroaig Quarter Cask is clear. The smoke swirls around your palate in the slightly oily body of the whisky, drawing back for a moment to let the delicate fruit emerge, before closing in again. At first, you fear the smokey finish will be overly peppery, but it ebbs rapidly from its peak. As the pepper recedes, you find liquorice and hints of zest; the long tail is reminiscent of plain drinking cocoa, and at times even suggests champagne.

After a really splendid nose, the taste lacks the full complexity that you might have expected. It remains, though, a thoroughly enjoyable whisky, and I this Paso Doble of tactfully restrained peat and mutely sweet fruits will rightly hold great appeal for many.

Nose 21 Taste 19 Finish 20 Balance 22

Overall 82

It’s suspiciously dark for a five-year-old whisky, but the caramel dye likely used to achieve this effect does not appear to have impinged on the quality of the nose. You’re greeted with distinctive, bold notes of juicy raisin, dry ginger and sweet pear. It called to mind a combination of a young Glenlivet and the Balvenie Signature – by no means a bad brace for any blended whisky to attempt to imitate. The nose has an appealing sweetness to it, with suggestions of rum, honey and even treacle toffee. It is very pleasant, and though it may lack depth it is refreshing to encounter a markedly sweet nose that is not overwhelmingly sherried.

The taste is, in a sense, the nose in microcosm. It takes the characteristic sweetness and pares it down to its bare bones: sultana, fig and sugary sweetness dominate to the exclusion of all else. The nose was promising, but body refuses to develop the themes of the overture any further, preferring to restate them pianissimo.

Alas, the finish disappoints further. What started out as an inviting nose indeed has developed in completely the wrong direction, when the opposite trajectory could have lifted it to greatness. As soon as the flavours peak, a harsh sensation prevails, perhaps shrouded in dry smoke. It ends with the suggestion of bitter lemon and charred wood, but at least does so mercifully quickly.

If you like your whiskies sweet (or relatively cheap) then this may be up your street. Be prepared to put up with some less polished facets to enjoy those syrupy fruits, though!

Nose 21 Taste 17 Finish 13 Balance 15

Overall 66

…Then you nose it, and it reveals a hint of the disappointment that follows. It’s an uncompromising nose that offers a whirlwind tour of the Scottish regions. There’s a faint nuttiness (walnut, I think) that is apparently obvious sat alongside crumbled biscuit (trust me on this). It’s veiled by smoke and a slight salinity, all pleasant until it’s unfortunately overtaken by twin thumps of toffee and grain which suppresses any of the Glenkinchie-esque elements that are trying their hardest to break through.

Admittedly, it does become more gentle on the palate, but the pay-off is much more grain coming to the fore, along with the caramel. It combines with something resembling heavy spices (all unidentifiable, alas) which, as with the nose, does its best to mask any of the more subtle notes that I’m sure are lurking underneath the surface layer, forgotten amidst the grain-caramel dual premiership. The result is, annoyingly, a fairly average finish: there’s a touch of smoke at the end, but the whisky struggles to get rid of the now-predominant grain. It softens only after some time (and patience…) where finally, finally the gentle nuances of the lowlands arrive. All too late, I’m afraid.

As you’ve no doubt guessed, this isn’t a favourite. A shame really, because I’m all for supporting blended whiskies: the very best really do stand head-and-shoulders above a lot of single malts. But this dram is pretty one-sided at times, and you have to work with it if you wish to appreciate any of its subtlety. In a word: forgettable.

Nose 19 Taste 17 Finish 16 Balance 16

Overall 68

The distilled liquid at Glendronach is poured into casks from Spain, which means only one thing: sherry, and lots of it. If you’re a sherried whisky fan, like me, then you’ll love this. The nose starts with a surprising nutty quality, but soon vanishes for good having been swallowed by wave upon wave of glorious, voluptuous sherry. Dive below this, and Battenburg cake announces itself quite clearly, before autumnal fruits join the party (cut apple predominates, if you must know). The twin pleasures of caramel and vanilla are about to close off the show before piquant ginger spices its way to the foreground of the nose.

If you’re thinking it sounds excessive, I’d normally agree with you; however, each constituent part here harmonises together wonderfully in a coherent orchestral arrangement of olfactory delights. Quite splendid, and well worth coming back to, for it’s a sensationally soft and complex nose.

Surprisingly, this sweetness disappears almost completely on the tongue: it’s dry, spice-led, with the ginger playing a far more predominant role, sitting alongside freshly grated orange zest. Therein comes a splendid full-bodied thump of fantastically uncompromising, almost brutal, thick-cut marmalade (one of my favourite notes in whisky). It twins with the spice, locking in an embrace that crescendoes in an explosion of spice, leaving behind a trace of currants bubbling away in dark caramelised sugar.

A firm bite of cereal finally announces itself at the finish (it’s been well-hidden thus far) before the heavy marmalade trudges in and – what a relief – refuses to budge. When it does, a veritable smorgasbord crashes its way through: if you can disentangle the various strands you’ll find oak, apple, and spice. Such is the gustatory delight of this dram, it’s tempting to keep drinking and ignore the final aspects of this whisky – something that reflects the strength of the taste, not the weakness of the finish. A superb experience: it’s times like this where 70cl just isn’t enough.

Nose 22 Taste 23 Finish 20 Balance 22

Overall 87

Welcome to the inaugural Cask Tales Awards! We’ve had quite a busy year, reviewing 61 whiskies from 50 distilleries this year, sampling some of the best (and, perhaps, worst) that are on offer. Now it’s time to reward those that have particularly impressed us this year.

In each category, the winner and runner-up have been determined (where appropriate) by our scores. Where there was a tie, we have broken it using our intuition and impressions of the different whiskies. One other whisky in each category receives an honourable mention. That is a whisky we think deserving of special recognition despite its numerical score leaving it below the top two, whether thanks to its value for money, intriguing characteristics or another intangible quality that the numbers just couldn’t reflect. So without further ado, let the awards commence!

Whisky of the Year

Winner: William Larue Weller
Runner-up: The Thirty Year Old
Honourable mention: Laphroaig Quarter Cask - Three whiskies have scored over 90 points this year. The first two cost around £110 and £150 respectively. The Laphroaig Quarter Cask, a stunning peated whisky with a knock-your-socks-off finish, costs around £30.

Blended Whisky of the Year

Winner: The Thirty Year Old
Runner-up: Great King Street – Artist’s Blend
Honourable mention: The Thirteen - We thought long and hard about this as there are several excellent candidates. Ultimately, a whisky as good as The Thirteen for the same price as Jack Daniel’s seems impossible to beat.

Single Malt of the Year

Winner: Laphroaig Quarter Cask
Runner-up: Talisker 18
Honourable mention: Ardbeg 10 - A score of 88 almost does this a disservice. This whisky has depth that its reputation as a peated powerhouse belies. 

Scottish Whisky of the Year

Winner: The Thirty Year Old
Runner-up: Laphroaig Quarter Cask
Honourable mention: Bladnoch 18 - No other whisky has provoked such paroxysms of gustatory delight.

Bourbon of the Year

Winner: William Larue Weller
Runner-up: Evan Williams 23
Honourable mention: WL Weller - Another whiskey whose relative rank fails to do justice to its inherent qualities; the first whiskey we reviewed that of which we bought another bottle for sheer pleasure.

Peated Whisky of the Year

Winner: Laphroaig Quarter Cask
Runner-up: Big Peat
Honourable mention: BenRiach Curiositas - A whisky so marvellously unusual that we can only direct you to our review for further information. Thoroughly deserving of a Cask Tales award.

Best Value Whisky (£25 and under)

Winner: The Thirteen
Runner-up: Johnnie Walker Black Label
Honourable mention: Bailie Nicol Jarvie – Often said to be the malt drinker’s blend, widely available and frequently under £15, we strongly recommend that you get your hands on a bottle.

Best Value Whisky (under £200)

Winner: Laphroaig Quarter Cask
Runner-up: The Thirteen
Honourable mention: Glenfarclas 105 - It would be unjust to exclude such an explosively excellent cask-strength sherry dynamo from the awards: at around £40, there’s plenty of bang for your buck in every sense.

Best…

Nose (24): The Thirty Year Old; The Balvenie Signature
Taste (23): Whyte & Mackay Supreme; Big Peat; Laphroaig Quarter Cask; William Larue Weller
Finish (25): Laphroaig Quarter Cask; William Larue Weller
Balance (24): Great King Street – Artist’s Blend; Talisker 18

You might think, being whisky drinkers, that we’re stuck in the 1950s. And in so many respects you’d actually be right, but we have given social media and all its hit-sourcing power a very warm embrace.

• You can follow Cask Tales on Twitter by clicking here:
• You can also like our Cask Tales Facebook page by clicking here:

And if you click here, you’ll be taken to a new page. Click ‘Follow’ on the right hand side and you’ll receive a bog-standard, mundane email wonderful updates every time we publish a post. 472 people have made that leap of faith…

Finally, if you click on Josh or Raph, you can follow us individually on Twitter!

It’s quite a pale whisky, but don’t be alarmed because the distillery doesn’t add any caramel colouring and insists on it being presented naked before its audience, so to speak. On the nose, everything I liked about the Macallan last time is here in force: it sits with an astute confidence, bringing forth a wonderful intermingling between a crisp barley and a polite dollop of sherry. A faint toffee lurks in the background, as does clean oak and soft apple. It’s complex but delicate – not as sherried as the 10 year old, but no less impressive. There’s a Macallan-esque vibe to it which is most pleasant.

It’s light on the palate: oak, apple, barley, all exceptionally smooth. It matures in the mouth if you leave it a few seconds, allowing honey, heather and toffee to emerge. The former trio of sensations then return in the finish; leave it long enough, and the apple returns with a terrific, refreshing tang before exiting and creating a wonderfully dry, oak-soaked sensation. It’s another fine show, a more delicate dram than the 10 year old, but there’s nothing lost on flavour or complexity. It’s clever, solid and compact. The Macallan is fast becoming a favourite distillery, and not without good reason.

Nose 22 Taste 21 Finish 21 Balance 22

Overall 86

Normally I scout around for an interesting fact about the distillery or the village before commencing the review. Such information about Aberlour is nonexistent, which is in itself interesting, I suppose. That aside, the 10 year old has a lot to live up to: we reviewed Batch 39 of the a’Bunadh earlier in the year and found it very appealing. The Aberlour 10 is matured in a combination of ex-bourbon casks and sherry casks, and for those dubious about the effects casks have on a whisky there’s an explanatory article here.

The sherry is immediately obvious on the nose, as is a pleasant, sweet vanilla (so already there’s the effect of both casks!). Search further, you’ll find oak, stewed apples and a hint of grape so faint it’s barely perceptible. It’s nice, but all rather underwhelming; it took a good deal of digging to find anything more subtle. I doubt anyone would actually dislike this nose, but I don’t think many would rave about it like they do with other whiskies. Much like a caricature of an English gentleman, it’s overly refrained and, in turn, afraid to offend. 

The taste livens up slightly: it’s smooth, well-rounded and comes together to something pleasant and drinkable. Sweet honey presents itself before the grape comes through. Thereafter arrives a hint of spice (and nothing more than a hint) before apples and pears join the fray. The firm hand of oak stops this becoming saccharine, and it marries just enough with the spice to keep everything well grounded. The spice brightens at the finish, culminating in something quite dry and toffee-led. It’s long enough to persist for several minutes – a whisper of dark chocolate leaves itself lingering.

Bah! This is an infuriating whisky: it’s so close, yet so far. It’s a nice whisky, but in the sense that ‘nice’ also implicitly means slightly boring. It’s a whisky to enjoy when you don’t want to think about whisky (as odd as that sounds). It’s a very well balanced dram, amongst the clearest examples of sherry and bourbon casks I’ve come across. But the result leaves the whisky lacking any edginess that makes a good whisky great. If it sounds cruel, that’s because the 10 year old has shown all the promise of what it could be, but it’s fallen frustratingly short.

 Nose 19 Taste 20 Finish 19 Balance 21

Overall 79

]]> http://casktales.com/2012/12/27/aberlour-10/feed/ 2 raphaelsheridan Aberlour 10 http://casktales.com/2012/12/21/when-talisker-met-bells/ http://casktales.com/2012/12/21/when-talisker-met-bells/#comments Fri, 21 Dec 2012 17:00:18 +0000 Raph http://casktales.com/?p=1275 ]]>

When placing two giants next to each other, one inevitably ends up worse off…

Last week I was round at Josh’s, moving through various whiskies at quite a pace (the train back home was fast approaching…). Our usual policy is to have a dram of whisky, clean the glass out, drink a few glasses of water, and proceed to the next one. A sure-fire way to enjoy the aqua vitae you say? We thought so too. Well, think again.

We had just finished giving the Talisker 18 a thorough examination – one that it passed with flying colours, incidentally. Talisker is a whisky that is Oban-esque in character but with distinct Islay flourishes. (For the non-whisky drinker, that means it’s fruity, smokey, full of sea air, but distinctly peated with medicinal undertones.) After finishing it, we moved on to Bell’s, one of the most ubiquitous whiskies in the country; a veritable giant of the industry. With Bell’s, you’re on whisky’s safest ground.

Josh poured a dram, leant his nose in and recoiled in horror.

‘Smell it, Raph, something’s not quite right,’ he said. And boy, was he on the money. In fact, it was a gross understatement. It was foul, disgusting, vile – I mean, really vile. It had an awful, deleterious effect on the nose; even the most Panglossian of folk could not have mustered anything complimentary. It was muted, plastic, overbearing, an offence to all things olfactory. It was definitely not Bell’s. The taste was even worse. ‘I think we’ve another Bunnahabhain on our hands,’ said Josh. It went straight down the sink, consigned to its rightful place.

Yet twenty minutes later, we gave the bottle another nosing, and the whisky seemed much better. Our initial thought was that we’d got our hands on a dodgy bottling (more common in distilleries than you’d think), but we were now sound in our conviction that it was the simple juxtaposition of Talisker and Bell’s, two whiskies of contradictory character, that had created such a jarring effect. Indeed, it’s obvious: if you spend half an hour with one whisky, getting to know every part of it, jumping straight to a different whisky can be a risky business. (So how Jim Murray does several thousand a year is beyond us.)

For the record, we’re looking forward to reviewing Bell’s. It’s occasionally Josh’s drink of choice when travelling long-distance on the train (I ought to add he buys it, rather than sneaking it on), and I’m confident, as someone who likes blended whiskies, that it’ll be rather nice. I just won’t be drinking any Talisker before it. In this clash of the Titans, one whisky definitely ended up worse off. And so did two whisky buffs.

“Not another one!” Does that chuckle conceal a cry of despair?

If you’re looking to treat him to something a little bit different that’s nonetheless sweet and fruity, then you need to get your hands on a sherried whisky. Thanks to the huge influence that wood has on whisky, these drams have more than a fleeting acquaintance with the bodegas of Jerez, and offer some body to back up the subtleties of the spirit. We’ve reviewed a fair few, so see what takes your fancy: the classic sherried whisky is surely the Macallan, but if you think F.C. will be in need of something with a kick, we’d recommend the Glenfarclas 105. As a wildcard, Kilchoman’s Sherry Cask release offers something novel and interesting.

In many ways, blended whiskies seem the best match for Chris Cringle: they’re real workhorses, well-rounded and have something for everyone. You can treat him to something incredibly enjoyable without emptying your wallet, here: try Teacher’s Highland Cream for a real value purchase. We’re confident the man in red will enjoy anything from the talented team at Compass Box – if you think he’s been a good boy this year, treat him to the Spice Tree. For a whisky as grand as the man in the sleigh, though, it has to be Whyte & Mackay’s The Thirty Year Old.

A festive favourite?

Whiskies from across the pond can be real winter warmers too. Santa will really appreciate the smoothness of the WL Weller, or the tingling spice of the single-barrel offering from Elmer T. Lee. He’s been around a while, so the 23 years it’s taken to produce this divine dram from Evan Williams will seem a snip, and he might slip you a little something extra in your stocking for your good taste!

There’s more than just whisky to be had, though (honestly). Why not treat Father Christmas to something that’s livened up with some of Master of Malt’s delightfully festive Frankincense bitters – or go one better and mix a cocktail with their Christmas bitters, which contain gold, frankincense and myrrh! A couple of dashes of these in a warming hot toddy of bourbon, lemon, hot water and sugar syrup will have Santa nipping back down your chimney after he’s finished his round for a second helping. On the other hand, he might appreciate something sweeter midway through his midnight dash, and whisky liqueurs like Drambuie or Glayva could be just the ticket.

Think creatively, and we’re sure that you can come up with something equally apposite that will be a welcome change from Harvey’s Bristol Cream. And do the big man a favour: if you see the police out on their rounds, point them the other way. The last thing he needs is breathalysing on his big night, since Father Christmas may be yet to fully adjust to the era of the designated driver.

From us at Cask Tales, to whisky lovers and those yet to discover its delights alike, have a very merry Christmas!

The Top Scot Award sounds like a nice idea; an opportunity, as the website suggests, to recognise ‘individuals who have furthered Scotland’s reputation for excellence at home or abroad in the last year.’ It’s a completely open vote and previous winners have been entirely uncontroversial. Amusingly, the announcement of this year’s winner has provoked an almighty reaction from the American golf-loving, birther-believing, sexagenarian Donald Trump. His tweet on 4 December was merely the beginning:

Michael Forbes was the plucky Aberdeenshire farmer who five years ago singlehandedly took on Donald Trump’s empire and refused to sell his house to the billionaire, who wanted to build a golf course in the area. Ultimately, despite an initial victory for Forbes, the Scottish government approved Trump’s plans even though the area was a Site of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI). The bitter war that took place between Trump and Forbes is well known, and there’s no love lost between the two.

So what’s this got to do with whisky? Well, the award is sponsored by Glenfiddich, who are in turn owned by William Grant & Sons (they of Grant’s fame, unsurprisingly), and the American’s fury has extended to the sponsors: ‘To think that a product like Glenfiddich would recognise a man like Michael Forbes, who lives in a property which I have accurately described in the past as a total pigsty, a man who loves the attention he has gotten because of his so-called fight with Donald Trump, would receive an award over someone like Andy Murray,’ he said in reaction to the award.

Michael Forbes on his farm

So he’s decided that the most reasonable course of action would be to simply boycott all William Grant-owned whisky: ‘I make a pledge that no Trump property will ever do business with Glenfiddich or William Grant & Sons,’ he said. ‘I hereby call for a boycott on drinking Glenfiddich products because there is no way a result such as this could have been made by the Scottish people.’

He’s also claimed, somewhat bizarrely, that the decision to award Forbes the prize stems from the distillery’s jealousy of Trump’s own in-house whisky. ‘Glenfiddich is upset that we created our own single malt whisky using another distillery, which offers far greater products,’ he continued. ‘People at our clubs do not ask for Glenfiddich.’

Hell hath no fury like Donald Trump scorned, it seems. But William Grant & Sons have reacted rather cooly to all this, pointing out, correctly, that they simply sponsor the award, and have no involvement in the decision-making. Said a spokesperson: ‘From the outset it was made clear that winners would be chosen by public vote.

‘Top Scot is a totally open category in which the people of Scotland can vote for whomsoever they choose and Glenfiddich has no influence on this decision… These awards were set up to give the people of Scotland a vote and we must respect their decision.’

Quite right. We’ll duly raise a congratulatory dram to Michael Forbes. And, as for how Donald’s own whisky compares to Glenfiddich, I hope he lets Cask Tales do the talking…

My first impression is of a really quite unusual chilli aroma. By the time I’ve realised that this is a legacy of the Chinese meal recently cooked nearby and moved to another room, a more familiar panoply of bourbon notes has begun to erupt from the copita. At first, the sweetness of cherry mingles with prickly black pepper; a gentler caramel then reveals itself, before the crisp note of toasted wood. Close your eyes at this point and you can almost imagine that your head is thrust into the newly crafted barrel, ready for the virgin spirit’s arrival. The toasted wood eventually yields to a lighter, more mellow caramel, which is sweetened with swirls of honey and blackberry. The nose seems a little thin, though: sweet, enjoyable, but veering towards the bland.

It arrives on the tongue with the same mute gentility, honeyed and in danger of cloying, that the nose closed. It’s dissipated, though, with a staccato burst of pepper and spice as it warms on the palate, which provides a welcome relief. More polished almond and vanilla flavours round out the body of the whiskey surprisingly swiftly, before you move into the finish. It begins with the same spiciness as earlier, briefly threatening to stray too far towards bitterness, before segueing into a much more pleasant and welcome duet of black cherry and cloves. The Beam then burns out in a surprisingly fiery finale, leaving toffee and coconut embers that linger for some time.

Jim Beam is pleasant and drinkable, and has enough interesting points to be worth trying. It is in danger, though, at times, of becoming a little too bland and inoffensive – you can see why the folks at Beam Inc. decided to try sweetening it with cherry and selling it as a liqueur – or of being a little harsh in its bursts of spicy counterpoint. Still, it is a bourbon staple and readily available: you never know, it may just be your thing. There would be worse things to have to hand on a wintry night than a large glass of Jim Beam.

Nose 18 Taste 18 Finish 19 Balance 20

Overall 75

The advantage of blended whisky? It’s created by someone: akin almost to a cocktail, where each constituent part is paired with another to conclude with something (hopefully) balanced and enjoyable. If we take a second to look at the 45% malt content of Teacher’s, there’s one particular whisky that acts as the essential component: Ardmore, a whisky described by influential blogger Ralfy as a ‘Speyside whisky with a Highland character and an Islay disposition’. An idiosyncratic whisky, then, but one that should create an intriguing complexity.

OK, enough waffling. On the nose, there’s a big hit of cereal and sweet malt, almost sugared and caramelised, before a full-bodied thump of creamy fudge places itself at the heart of the whisky. There’s some smoke and the tiniest tang of wet peat (that’d be the ‘Islay disposition’ then). It’s revealing something about itself lurking under the surface; a darker character that isn’t entirely evident in other blends. But then it becomes much softer: the fudge becomes more flavoursome, the smoke disappears and the peat is relegated to the background. It’s replaced by sweet honey, and a hint of lemon that crescendos into a real zing the more one noses it (not unlike the nuances a good Laphroaig reveals).

On the palate, like the nose suggests, a big, malt-driven flavour crashes its way through, but peat and citrus are also predominant with the sweet fudge playing a key supporting role. It packs a decent sized punch yet one, perhaps oxymoronically, that’s also silkily smooth. The caramelised cereal that comes through is more than pleasant, and leads to an expected finish of the above components. The smoke lingers at the back, making its first return since the nose (perhaps a churlish point, but it would be nice to see more of it) – the citrus returns with a bang, before the peat takes over this whirlwind tour of Scotland, leaving just enough room for the oak cask to come into play.

It’s understandable why this is held in high esteem, although there’s a word of caution to be sounded with Teacher’s: a couple of blogs have highlighted its unpredictability in 2012, yet on the evidence presented here it represents superb value for money. What stops this being an exceptional whisky? Nothing much, in truth: if the four or five elements in play had intermingled further, it’d have created a magical spectacle. But perhaps I ask for too much.

Nose 20 Taste 20 Finish 19 Balance 21

Overall 80

That, though, exactly what happened to Denis Duthie, an unlucky (or lucky, depending on which way you look at it) resident of Taranaki, in New Zealand’s North Island. When some vodka he had been drinking reacted unfavourably with his diabetes medication, the resultant methanol began to break down into formic acid. Even in small volumes, formic acid can destroy the optic nerve and even cause death. When Mr. Duthie arrived at hospital with a case of sudden blindness, medical staff instantly recognised the problem.

If caught swiftly, it can be treated by the administration of ethanol, which prevents the methanol metabolising into formic acid. The hospital had run out of medical ethanol, though, so a quick-thinking medic was sent to a nearby shop where he picked up a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label. Administered directly to his stomach, the whisky saved Mr. Duthie’s sight and, ultimately, his life.

So there you have it: keep a good supply of whisky handy. You never know when your life might depend on it.

Again, we’re dealing with a blended whisky here, so a mixture of grain and malt whiskies. And there’s a total of 25 different whiskies going into this one, all carefully measured and expertly composed by the master blender of the distillery. Nothing here is done rashly, even if it is on a mass-produced scale. (There is a difference, remember.) As an interesting aside, Grant’s oversee a fair few whiskies: amongst their big hitters are Glenfiddich, Balvenie and Monkey Shoulder. We’re dealing here with people who know their stuff.

Which makes the nose all the more surprising: amongst the toughest I’ve ever had to work out. I checked out some reviews after I’d scored this, and most castigate this whisky as completely underwhelming, usually accompanied by potshots taken at raving enthusiast Jim Murray. I think I sit on the fence: it’s soft, light, with malt immediately apparent and freshly chopped fruit (put a gun to my head and I’ll tell you I think it’s fig). I can sympathise with those who feel underwhelmed, but there’s a coherence and compactness to this that I also quite admire. Yes, it certainly sacrifices the enjoyment that comes with a bouncing single malt, but nothing’s overly bold or brash, and that in itself is commendable.

I’ll freely confess I found the taste no easier to work out. It’s soft, but complex: there’s some predominant malt that gives way to caramel and a hint of sweeter things behind it. There’s some younger whiskies thrashing around in the background that liven things up, and the tiniest hint of smoke. The fig has disappeared, replaced instead by apple and pear. It’s a patient game though – keep coming back to it and eventually you’ll appreciate the Family Reserve’s cohesive nature. You’ll get a pleasant malt on a very long finish and a surprising hint of spice too which makes it rather nice and warming. 

The whisky’s primary strength is, unsurprisingly for a blend, the balance. It might not have the strongest armoury, but it makes good use of the tools it does have. There’s not one element that stands out amongst the others, so in this sense it can be accused of being rather unremarkable. But as is often said, some of the best sports teams are those that work as a unit and, in this regard, the Family Reserve fares well. As such, it’s an example of a whisky, like the anCnoc, where the score doesn’t really do it justice.

Nose 18 Taste 19 Finish 18 Balance 21

Overall 76

One of my favourite whiskies is the Macallan 10 – a gloriously sherried drink, full of toffee, dried apricot and gentle spice. If almost to prove our point about blends not being inferior, The Famous Grouse opens with a nose so close to the Macallan’s that it’s at first virtually indistinguishable. OK, on closer inspection it’s not quite as subtle and nuanced, but it’s a damn good effort that’d stand up to any whisky. Add in some oak (in which the whisky has matured for six months) and the firm hand of the grain whisky, and you’ve an impressive opening show for something quite often derided by whisky snobs.

On the taste, it’s all there too: toffee, sherry, dried fruit, grain, apple, another big hit of oak. It’s more than agreeable, though a harsher sensation than the nose would suggest. Head back to it though; it’ll become more receptive and you’ll be justly rewarded. After the briefest second of eye-watering, alcohol-induced breathlessness, you hit upon a finish that is to be expected with a blend as consistent as this. It’s by no means the best finish in the world and doesn’t provide the subtle nuances or the smooth sensations that the top malts do, but it’s not to be sniffed at. You’re left with an echo of oak, light floral notes and glorious toffee. All in all, a very good value for money whisky; there are far worse drams that are sold for far more than this one.

Nose 20 Taste 19 Finish 18 Balance 20

Overall 77

]]> http://casktales.com/2012/12/01/the-famous-grouse/feed/ 1 raphaelsheridan Famous Grouse http://casktales.com/2012/11/11/talisker-18/ http://casktales.com/2012/11/11/talisker-18/#comments Sun, 11 Nov 2012 13:58:53 +0000 Raph http://casktales.com/?p=1178 ]]> It’s a small bottle, only 20cl, but how I wish it was bigger. It came to me wrapped up – a surprise present. How well my dad knows me. I hadn’t given much attention to Talisker and although I’d had the ten year old a few times and enjoyed it, a shameful lack of curiosity stopped me from going further. What a mistake that was.

If you want something that’ll really test your nose, then plump for the 18 year old. A sumptuous yet subtle mixture of fresh, hearty peat and salted dark caramel lurks over a heavy dry oak. It takes some time to work out, and my post-review Googling left much to be desired: there’s very little consensus as to what this whisky’s nose is apart from ‘damn good’. Wait a little longer, and toffee and butterscotch waltz fashionably late to the party. With sea salt comes fresh sea air coupled with charcoal and peated embers before being washed away by a wave of surf and seaweed. I nosed this for about 15 minutes, trying desperately (with only limited success) to untangle the myriad scents and nuances of this.

But then you taste it, and things really get going: the Laphroaig Quarter Cask makes the briefest of appearances before smoke gradually rolls in from the horizon, teamed with a most delightful caramel and a toffee so gorgeously intense that it takes your breath away. Literally. Then the whole thing sweetens, wrapped up in the lightest smoke, before the firm hand of oak takes over and closes this fine gustatory show.

It’s a surprising finish, and one that caught me off guard: liquorice, coated in smoke with a hint of apple and pear. All delightful, all agreeable and balanced to perfection. It’s only once you’ve experienced these new sensations that the oak comes through. Head back to the taste again, and more fruits now make themselves known: stewed apples and plums which, once you’ve noticed them, make their appearance at the finish. The Talisker’s great strength is to somehow, inexplicably, get all this in whilst remaining perfectly balanced. A must-try.

Nose 21 Taste 23 Finish 22 Balance 24

Overall 90

There’s a burnt caramel and treacle sweetness, married together with rich fruits and spices. The citric notes, orange in particular, together with juicy sultana and a dusting of nutmeg, lend the Supreme a seductive and comforting air – you’d like to curl up with it in an old leather armchair by a warm fireplace, good conversation or a good book close at hand. The sweetness and spices give it a real Christmas pudding profile, and it would make a perfect festive gift. The nose wraps up, invitingly, with marmalade and honey.

The arrival is malty, as with its younger siblings. On the tongue the body is full, fleshy and sensuous: its maturity, and all its attendant qualities, is evident. It is an exceptionally smooth whisky, with no distracting bite or bitterness. What you will find is the suggestion of sherry maturation in a gentle raisin note, and a toffeed, crème brûlée chewiness. It really is very pleasant indeed, and that impression is only enhanced by the finish. As the body of the whisky recedes, the shadow of the toffee lingers until replaced by dark chocolate, then rich coffee. This is an evening dram for enhancing relaxation or sharing with special friends. As with much of Whyte & Mackay’s range, it represents excellent value for money, too. If you want to sample an older blend that can show you what careful maturation and the blender’s art can do for good spirits, this is well worth a look.

Nose 21 Taste 23 Finish 21 Balance 22

Overall 87

Apparently based on a blended whisky recipe from the time, the New York Blend is  a robust, smoky blend that’s four-fifths malt whisky; indeed with a quarter of the whisky being peated, it’s likely pretty strong stuff. Regular readers will remember that we were big fans of the Artist’s Blend, so we look forward to getting our hands on some of this, too…

As whisky lovers, we are particularly concerned with the advent of Advent, as the splendid folks at Master of Malt have concocted a delightful festive treat for those whose wallets are well-padded. They have reinvented that childhood favourite, the advent calendar, for those of legal drinking age, in the form of the Whisky Advent Calendar (which I note claims to be 72cl but an improbably 0% alcohol).

Imprisoned behind each door is a measure of a different whisky. They’re not telling which, but they likely contain a wide range of styles and values: one, apparently is a 50-year-old single malt. It certainly put the ‘Where’s Wally’ advent calendar I have lined up for this year to shame…

It’s an audaciously pale whisky, so much so that I’ve included a photograph of my sample below to demonstrate just how anaemic it looks. The first scent is that of a gentle, sweet peat – one less likely to leave a rugged fishermen looking like he’d been slapped in the face than to occasion a look of delight and wonder. It’s a mix of typically Islay scents with intricate accents that offset them beautifully: peat and smoke, but also light caramel and rosewater. Surprisingly delicate vanilla and lemon rind frame the sea salt, which is almost palpably that of the harsh spray under a bleakly cloudy sky. There too are intriguing notes of wet canvas and newly-lain plaster – and don’t tell me that you don’t look for industrial smells in your drinks, because I know you do.

Close up, you can see just how pale it is

The taste again completely subverted my expectation. It arrives on the tongue with a beguiling sweetness, strongly reminiscent of soft liquorice or aniseed. The traditional tastes of Islay than coalesce around this delightfully iconoclastic core. The dryness, the smoke and the embers are all there, but held in a delicate balance with the chewy, fizzing spice. The oily, saline mouthfeel adds a welcome layer of complexity to the already unique mélange.

The finish extends the softness that pervades the dram – it’s hard to believe that this is bottled at 46% ABV. Opening with chewy wood chippings and a hint of almond, it moves through the suggestion of burnt toast back to the fragrant citrus notes of the nose, with fresh melon for good measure. The vanilla of the bourbon-cask maturation returns, and there’s a backbone of muscovado sugar that you realise has been present throughout.

Some whiskies are oil paintings, rich panoplies of vibrant colour that compete and clash and fight for your attention. Some are Rothkos, beautiful in their stark clarity. Big Peat may be the ultimate watercolour whisky, evoking an astonishing range of depth and subtlety with the lightest of touch.

Nose 22 Taste 23 Finish 22 Balance 23

Overall 90

It arrives in the glass a wonderfully rich mahogany – you can tell from the hue that this is to be approached with respect. (See for yourself – it’s the cover star, albeit anonymously, of the Whisky Bible this year.) Mind you, at 66.75% ABV (133.5 proof), there was little chance that you’d do otherwise. Approach it carefully, so as not to overload your olfactory receptors, and a barrage of bourbon’s best aromas will fight back. The first assault is a pincer movement, as deceptively dark mocha combines with cheekily piquant cherry.

The nose is dense, but subtly textured. Thick treacle, leaf tobacco and fresh sawdust are occasionally interrupted by a sweetness that veers towards the vim of bell peppers. That first, coconut-cherry sweetness is always there, despite the heft. Particularly after tasting, you may notice the intensity of vanilla pods together with a milder, caramel tinge. If you look for them, there are more savoury notes, too – almond, and perhaps even salted peanuts.

Let’s not jump ahead, though, since the taste is very special indeed. It rushes onto the tongue with a robust spiciness – cumin, cardamom, allspice, cloves – that can feel more like the ignition of a gunpowder charge. No sooner has it gone off than it is replaces by a wave of amaretto sweetness, unfurling across a palate that welcomes the relief. Next, the Buffalo Trace coopers excel themselves, as the elegant oak of the barrels shines through for a brief moment. Coffee grounds and bitter chocolate carry the palate over the peak and down towards the finish.

Quite a finish it is, too. Just as the memory of the awesome power of the ease begins to fade, an intense burst of rich coffee and midnight-dark chocolate explodes across the palate. Aftershocks of powdered cocoa, demerara sugar and orange zest reverberate long, long after the liquid has gone. It reminds me in its ferocity of the Laphroaig Quarter Cask (which might give regular readers an idea of where I’m going with the score). That’s certainly the only other spirit we’ve reviewed where you had the feeling with the finish that you were simply strapped in and along for the ride. Two or three measures of the William Larue Weller will floor you much more effectively than any roller coaster.

As the lingering piquancy ebbs and flows, gently diminishing over time (it’s telling that the only thing about this whiskey that’s gentle comes several minutes after you’ve drunk it), you’ll likely be left in no doubt as to why others have such a high opinion of the William Larue Weller. Approach it with the respect it deserves and you will be richly repaid.

Nose 23 Taste 23 Finish 25 Balance 23

Overall 94

Without further ado, the winners in the main categories are…

World Whisky of the Year
Winner Thomas H. Handy Sazerac 2011
Runner up William Larue Weller 2011
Third place Ballantine’s 17 year old

Scotland
Single Malt (Single cask) Balblair 1965
Single Malt (Multiple casks) Ardbeg Day
Vatted Malt The Last Vatted Malt

Ireland
Whiskey of the Year Redbreast 12yo Cask Strength
Single Malt of the Year Bushmills 21yo
Blend of the Year Jameson

Japanese Whisky of the Year
Hanyu Final Vintage

European Whisky of the Year
Penderyn Portwood Swansea City Special

For more winners, buy the book! If you want to try one of this year’s winners, consult this excellent page from The Whisky Exchange: you may be surprised just how affordable some of them are!

If you want to know what we think of some of this year’s winners (and you may remember that we don’t always agree with Mr. Murray), we’ve thus far reviewed Jameson (Irish Blend of the Year), Johnnie Walker Black Label (Best Blended Scotch, 5 to 12 years old) and the Evan Williams 23 (Best Bourbon, 18 Years and Over – Multiple Barrels). Keep your eyes open for more to come…

This Singleton, though, is that of Dufftown, the third-largest distillery in Diageo’s Scotch portfolio. The liquid, a product of sherry and bourbon maturation, is a pure amber. At first, the nose is musty, vegetal and a little acerbic. Persist, and it does hint at the ‘rich and smooth character’ that the marketing materials claim for it. There’s a definite nuttiness – the clean, characterful tang of Brazil nuts or pecans. Behind the musty oak is the suggestion of a more perfumed note, perhaps sandalwood; maybe even the lingering residue of incense, many hours later. You may even detect newly ground, very bitter coffee beans flitting around the fringe of perceptibility.

Sadly, the dominant taste is that muffled mustiness that never really left the nose, either. One might charitably describe it as an old, dry oak; it’s hard to escape the conclusion that the distinct furriness is the product of poor-quality casks that couldn’t be masked during vatting. On the plus side, at least that problem may resolve in time, as bad casks fall out of circulation. Again, other sensory strands are present, if you search: a similar nuttiness, the crema from a good espresso. Somewhere in the mix, a full-bodied, fruity character is fighting to get out. Its clearest expression is akin to cloves or stewed plums, and hints at the possibility of a very enjoyable whisky. The finish, though, reminds you that if you are to enjoy what the Singleton of Dufftown has to offer – here, it’s more black coffee and a surprisingly mellow caramel – you have to be prepared to overlook the astringent edge.

Single malt whisky accounts for only 3% of the distillery’s output, with much of the rest contributing to the popular Bell’s blend. If the current crop of the twelve-year-old is anything to go by, that’s probably for the best…

Nose 16 Taste 16 Finish 17 Balance 17

Overall 66

Hungarian model Alexa Varga playing her part in the ‘production’ of G-Spirits whisky

Posted entirely without comment…

(Which is a shame, because I bet I could write some text here that would really attract search traffic.)

Tullibardine distillery… and refinery?

The whisky-making process is an inefficient one. Not only do you have to leave your product gathering dust in warehouses for years before you can sell it, but the actual business of creating the spirit in the first place leaves an awful lot of waste. We’ve written about how to make whisky before, but what we didn’t make clear is that around nine-tenths of what comes out of distilleries is not whisky, but waste by-products.

The liquid waste left behind at each stage is not particularly pleasant stuff – often very sweet, but not especially appealing. Currently, much of it ends up being used in agriculture, but it costs distilleries a pretty penny to get rid of it. Tullibardine, though, is teaming up with Napier University to pilot an innovative method of waste disposal:

Napier University’s Biofuel Research Centre (BfRC) has already shown that the right bacteria can feed on those by-products to produce butanol – a direct replacement for vehicle fuel.

Now the spin-out company, Celtic Renewables, and independent malt whisky producer Tullibardine have signed a memorandum of understanding. Together they will apply the process to thousands of tonnes of the distillery’s leftovers.

Partly funded by the Scottish Government, the Tullibardine and Napier are having a go at turning not-quite-spirit into environmentally friendly motor fuel. Perhaps one day Glenfiddich, Macallan et al will be fuelling not only our evenings, but also our vehicles, and saving the planet to boot. If it makes them some money and makes distilling more profitable, it may even lead to more distilleries – and that can only be a good thing for the discerning whisky drinker.