Category Archives: Whisky column

My monthly whisky column in Prestige Magazine

Out and about with whisky

The James Sedgwick episode.   You don’t have to fly to the auld country to visit a top-notch distillery.  They’ve got the old and brown at Sedgwick’s in Wellington…and I’m not talking about sherry.

First published in Prestige Magazine (November 2012 edition).

As it appeared.

PS: The title in the printed version is not mine.  I wouldn’t refer to whisky made in SA as Scotch, even jokingly.

The dominant feature at South Africa’s premier whisky distillery, the sight that first attracts the eye on arrival, is an iconic-looking pagoda.  It may be vestigial, like most of its counterparts in Scotland, but it’s impressive and imposing nonetheless; like a steeple it proclaims the presence of holy ground, although of a different sort.  This particular pagoda is modelled (like the stills too) after the one at Bowmore.  In fact it soon becomes obvious that the Scottish influence is everywhere.  Most of the whisky produced here at Sedgwick’s is clearly Scotch in style and flavour.  Even the surroundings, the arresting, picture-perfect mountain vistas, suggest a fleeting resemblance to the Highlands.  It’s an observation that stirs mixed feelings for me.  I’m glad that I’ve made the trip, but somewhat embarrassed that it’s taken me so long.

In past years the products made here were criticised for being poor quality facsimiles of the genuine thing, inferior substitutes to be bought on a budget.  Today these outdated perceptions can be consigned to a rubbish tip where they belong.  The whisky is top-class.  Of course, as if often the case with South Africans, it often takes foreign validation before we believe this of one of our own.  Three Ships, the distillery’s flagship brand, was given one of the industry’s greatest accolades earlier this year when its 5 year-old was named the best blended whisky by the World Whisky Awards.   Let me clarify in no uncertain terms exactly what this means: that’s the award for the best blended whisky in the world, including those from all the big guns: Scotland, Ireland, and even Japan, one of the most prolific countries of recent times in the accumulation of whisky prizes.  Last year Suntory’s Hibiki, the Japanese whisky which Bill Murray so memorably turned into a household name (I use the term loosely – whisky households only), specifically the 21 year-old, took this selfsame award.  So the magnitude of this achievement for a young whisky from a young, isolated, whisky producing country is massive indeed.

Strolling around the distillery it’s easy to see how this came to pass.  The word that comes to mind, appropriately in more ways than one, is “shipshape”.  It’s modern and clean, so much so that I could have eaten my lunch off the floor.  The equipment is dazzling – I mentioned the pot stills but also worth noting is a gleaming automated column that looks like it could have flown me to the moon during its leisure time.  I couldn’t put this to the test because it was hard at work distilling grain whisky.  These buggers are very expensive, so clearly there’s been sufficient confidence in the product and its prospects to have laid down some serious investment.  Most importantly however there’s a sense that these guys, the brains behind the operation, have high-level insight into the making of great whisky – which they’re systematically putting into practice; our host explained to us how malt whisky, and separately grain whisky, was best distilled during particular seasons of the year for optimal results.  It’s an operation with an undeniable pedigree.

Notwithstanding the accents, the column stills (there are two in fact – the other’s an older, manual model) and the good weather, there isn’t much difference between Sedgwick’s and the better Scotch malt distilleries.  And it’s no accident.  The source of the Bowmore connection is Master Distiller Andy Watts, who trained at that eminent Islay facility, and subsequently implemented the fruits of his early experience locally, clearly to great effect.  This is all well and good – who better to learn from than the best – but I was also hoping, maybe for no other reason than to stay my own discomfort, for some local flavour.  It had taken the award for me to pay any significant attention to the distillery and its whiskies, to my discredit as a South Africa-based whisky lover, and now it seemed important to me that they should be something more than a Scottish (or other) clone, however good.

This is obviously not a novel idea.  Sedgwick’s however is owned by Distell, a brandy-focused behemoth, for whom whisky is still a bit-part player.  There are twelve year-old casks lying around in their maturation warehouse, ready, mature, delicious, waiting for the call.  That’s not to say that nothing has happened.  Things have definitely happened – Bain’s Cape Mountain whisky, whilst not intrinsically unique (I find it somewhat bourbon-ish), makes for an interesting proposition in that it is distilled entirely from local maize – and are set to continue happening – apparently there are experiments in progress to develop whiskies with a Pinotage cask finish.

Is this enough though?  I can’t help but think of a parallel.  During the darkest days of malt whisky, when blends had completely taken over, it was the independent bottlers who kept the tradition of the single malt alive.  Sedgwick’s juice is kept strictly in-house by company policy, but imagine the possibilities if this were to be relaxed.  Something radical perhaps, a bold new genre – a muscadel cask finish or maturation in indigenous wood.  Who knows what may happen yet.  May the dram be with you!

Whisky on the not-so-cutting edge

Building a better mousetrap in an industry where mice cannot be trapped

First published in Prestige Magazine (October 2012 edition)

As it appeared.

Someone recently told me that Blackberry is on its way out, eaten up by Apple and Samsung, as good as gone, kaput.  I had no idea.  It doesn’t seem like too long ago that it was the next best thing.  Admittedly I’m not the best barometer when it comes to mobile technology.  I’m currently using my wife’s hand-me-down and I always seem to be one upgrade behind everyone else.  My finger is so far from its pulse that I wouldn’t know what was happening in this market until two years later.  Regardless it can’t be disputed that change is taking place at a breakneck pace – driven by rapid innovation.  Whisky, with which I’m decidedly more familiar, offers a stark contrast by comparison.  It’s an industry in which true innovation is rare – its product has been made in largely the same way for centuries.  Here it is heritage more than anything else which is the key to success: the common thread amongst the world’s big whiskies is that they’ve all been around for a while.

Unlike the cellular phone whisky is old and deeply traditional.  Change is resisted – in many cases it is institutionally resisted.  The running gun battles – hugely entertaining by the way – between the Scotch Whisky Association (SWA), the guardians of industry, and John Glaser, the most maverick whisky maker in living memory, have become almost legendary.  His company, Compass Box, named Innovator of the Year on four separate occasions by Whisky Magazine, has continually attempted to push the boundaries.  Most recently he and his team cocked a snook at the SWA with the release of their “Last Vatted Malt” – a dig at the latest regulations.   In reality though, as inventive as these guys might be within whisky’s narrow confines, a few oak staves here and few hazy blends there would hardly qualify as innovations amongst the Steve Jobs of this world (may he rest in peace).  Compass Box has prospered but I sometimes think that it’s the resultant publicity rather than the actual merits of its inventiveness that is more responsible – and this is said without casting any aspersions on the quality of the whisky, which is good, very good.

Whisky, during its long history, has of course seen a few genuinely transformative developments.    The column still paved the way for more affordable supply in greater volumes.  Blends, which today dominate the market, made whisky more acceptable and palatable to a broader spectrum of people.  More recently, the inception of “finishing”, also known as double maturation or even extra maturation, added a new diversity of flavour to the whisky repertoire by introducing exotic casks (port, rum, cognac and others) into the ageing process.  But these have been few and far between.  Today the industry is too tightly regulated to permit much more than a few Compass Box-type peculiarities.

I often wonder whether this status-quo is in our best interests as whisky lovers.  Are we not perhaps missing out?  Would it not serve the greater good to loosen the reins and see what happens?  I’m a renegade at heart so I’m always thrilled to see guys like Glaser tangling with the Establishment and giving the what-for.  The limits should to be tested, and the agendas of entrenched interests need to be kept in check.  But equally there must to be limits, otherwise this path may take us to places where we might not want to go.  Consider this eventuality: would the addition of external flavours (blasphemy!) not make for a better, or at least a worthwhile, whisky?  This is a realistic consequence of uncontrolled innovation.  The answer?  Perhaps – but would such a concoction still be whisky, the drink we’ve come to know and love?  Whisky’s identity, and indeed its value, comes from its connection to the past and from its mystery, rather than from any kind of mechanical functionality with which to be played and manipulated.   It is only whisky because five hundred years of documented history (and several hundred more lost in the mists of time) have told us that that’s how it should be made.

I attended a tasting not long ago which reinforced to me why I’m passionate about whisky rather than anything else, cellular phones included.  During the function I tasted two whiskies aged in similar Oloroso sherry casks (probably sourced from the same bodega):  the first younger (a 1992 vintage), the second significantly older (a mystery whisky).  Strangely, inexplicably, the 1992 was considerably darker and its sherry flavours more pronounced.  Furthermore the mystery whisky exhibited citrus notes – highly unusual in sherry casks.  This is the type of phenomenon – in this case the visceral, unpredictable organicity of the casks – that makes whisky so special and so enigmatic.  There may not be the potential to release a new app every few days, but whisky makers can and do build better mousetraps just by focusing on the fundamentals and leaving the rest to a time-honoured, intangible “magic”.  In its different casks, in the shape of an individual still, and in its varying terroir whisky has the power to surprise and to astound.  May the dram be with you!

What to do at 30 000 feet

Get yourself one of those dinky bottles, take a sip, sit back and read my article in the October edition of British Airways’ High Life magazine.

As it appeared – p1.

As it appeared – p2.

May the draaam be with you!

Stocking up for spring – part 1

The new serving standard

First published in Prestige Magazine (September 2012 Edition).

As it appeared – page 1

As it appeared – page 2

Premium.  It’s the watchword of our times.  The online Oxford defines it as: “relating to or denoting a commodity of superior quality and therefore a higher price”.  I’ve simplified it to: “relatively extra” – specifications, quality, prestige…any or all of that good stuff.  Everybody wants premium.  And why not?  Life is too short to settle for less.

Whisky is no exception; in fact it’s the epitome of this phenomenon.  In the whisky world expensive, lavishly-packaged variants are being introduced on a weekly basis.  Older, better, more!  It’s exciting but also a little bit intimidating, because the bar (yes, I like my puns) is being set progressively higher.  For instance, it no longer seems enough, in a well-to-do home, to serve visitors the regular fare – a 12YO blended Scotch, the first step to premium, is the new minimum standard.

To properly appreciate this new game, and to make the most of it, one needs become familiar with the players.  This may be particularly relevant right now as we come out of winter hibernation, look to refill our liquor cabinets, and start entertaining afresh.  In the not-so-distant South African past, although there were others lurking about, the choice invariably came down to a straight contest between Johnnie Walker Black Label and Chivas Regal 12YO.  One either preferred the huskiness of the former or the honeyed flavour of the latter (or, in many cases I’m sure, one just bought premium for premium’s sake).  No longer.  Whilst these two stalwarts still dominate the market, the repertoire of easily accessible options has expanded quite delightfully.

I recently sought out a few of Cape Town’s whisky luminaries and prompted them to gather at the Bascule, the city’s whisky HQ, to review the local pool of 12YO blended Scotch.  In the midst of some typical whisky-fuelled R&R (repartee and revelry) we somehow managed to string together a few coherent observations, précised below for your reading pleasure.  Enjoy, and may the dram be with you!

Johnnie Walker Black Label

Johnnie Walker is the world’s best-selling whisky.  Diageo, its owner, is much maligned in the whisky world, but one thing is clear enough: it takes nothing less than high-quality, highly consistent whisky to attain and maintain such lofty heights.  I found the nose somewhat brash, but if subtlety’s not the result then it’s not the objective either.  Rather, this is a bold and tasty mainstream whisky that hits each and every place on the Scotch trifecta – malt, peat, and sherry – and hits it hard.  And if you’re a young turk with a big swinging dick looking to make your mark in the world then there’s still no better way to announce your intent than by walking into a bar and calling for a Johnnie Black, yeah baby!

Chivas Regal

If Johnnie Walker is Scotch then Chivas is Speyside…in all of its debonair elegance.  In very broad terms the region has become known for the fruit and honey flavours which happen to be prominent in Chivas Regal.  The whisky’s official tasting notes also claim a slight smokiness, but this was beyond my ability to identify.  Perhaps it comes from char as opposed to peat.  Regardless, it’s not important.  Chivas is not about smoke, or anything so robust.  It is understated refinement personified.  Interestingly one of our party noted that this is not a distinctively whiskied whisky – apparance of its cereal origins is restrained, and dominated by sherry notes.  Indeed to a novice it might be difficult to distinguish from a similarly aged cognac or rum.  I’d perhaps venture to suggest that this is a whisky for all seasons.

Grant’s 12YO

This new kid on the block comes from a pedigreed background.  It’s a blend in which we can assume the famous Glenfiddich and Balvenie malts, emanating from the same hallowed stable, to be at the forefront.   Sadly for this fine whisky my attention was diverted by a claim which seems rather forced: “Grant’s 12 Year Old is the only blended Scotch whisky to ‘marry’ the finest 12 Year Old grain and single malt whiskies for six months after blending in bourbon casks”.  Technically this may be true, but it’s not quite as impressive as it sounds.  Dewar’s (and W&M) has a long tradition of marrying whisky, albeit in sherry casks, and one of the variants of the local Three Ships, albeit not a Scotch, is married in bourbon casks.  The good news – for peat freaks in particular – is that Grant’s is the smokiest whisky in this category.  Phenol-menal!  Kudos too on the best packaging amongst the lot.

Ballantine’s 12YO

The regular Ballantine’s is my favourite blended Scotch in its price category.  It reminds me of my time in Rome when I spent many an evening pondering the spectacular sights, glass in hand.  And big brother does not disappoint.  A flavoursome and interesting all-rounder – my personal runner-up.

J&B Jet

Jet’s mild flavours won’t start a party in your mouth; rather this is a whisky that’s ideal for newer initiates, and for occasions when fuller flavours might be distracting.  Fresh but not vivid – perfect as an aperitif on a spring evening.

Dewar’s 12YO

I’ve kept the best for last – and that’s not just my opinion.  Each of the heavyweights at our gathering concurred, with no hesitation whatsoever.  This whisky is magnificently integrated – it displays superb balance not only amongst it complex flavours, but also between nose, palate and finish – and is completed by a smooth, silky mouth-feel.  Hugely underrated.

Big thanks to Hector McBeth, Marsh Middleton and Bernard Gutman.

Out and about with whisky

The Singapore episode

First published in Prestige Magazine (August 2012 edition).

As it appeared.

Singapore never fails to impress me.  Looking down as one approaches from the air it’s no stretch to believe that this is one of the top three busiest ports in the world.  The Straits of Singapore is a bustling bottleneck – densely peppered with naval traffic from one horizon to the other.  The island city also happens to be one of the wealthiest countries in the world.  Singaporeans are not struggling for drinking money and it shows in the whisky scene.

In an overall Asian whisky context, Singapore would be classed as a mid-mature culture.  It sits somewhere between the refined palates evident in Japan and Taiwan, where demand for vintage whisky is de rigueur, and the still raw uptake in crazy China, where whisky drinking is karaoke-inspired mixology.  The place regularly ranks amongst the leading markets for Scotch whisky exports, and whilst most of that stock is filtered into the wider region its presence alone must be infectious.   Things are happening here.  I visited no fewer than three top-quality whisky bars during my short eight hour layover and I was so enthralled by the experience that I came within a barley whisker of missing my flight home.  My whisky-addled, panic-stricken dash to the airport, involving no fewer than three modes of transportation (four if you include the trip on the airport skytrain needed to correct my arrival at the wrong terminal), must have been quite something to behold…more amusing to onlookers than it was to me.

La Maison du Whisky (LMDW)

This legendary French whisky business was founded in 1956 by Georges Bénitah, one of the true whisky pioneers of the modern era.  Its bar in Singapore – based at the vibey Roberson Quay on the banks of the eponymous river – is a little different, not only from its other outlets but from most other bars:  it is both a shop and a bar.

I didn’t quite know what to make of it.  It’s an appealing concept in theory, if a country’s regulations allow for it.  Imagine browsing whiskies and then being able to sit down and test drive one’s options before committing.  Generally I dislike shopping but this I think I could grow to enjoy.  I also like the idea of a total whisky zone, where I can ogle whisky, talk whisky, taste whisky, and then, to make the experience complete, take-away whisky.

But in reality can anything really be all things to all men?  LMDW Singapore, in keeping with its heritage, is more shop than bar.  I’ve been there once, early-ish on a weekday evening, so take my opinion from whence it comes, but with its face of plate-glass and severe lighting that it projects to the world, it wouldn’t be my first choice for an intimate evening of mellow dramming.

Ambience aside, it ticks all the boxes with a flourish.  LDDW boasts a selection of 400 distinct Scotches and 200 other whiskies, including some rare bottlings (to which the closest we would have come here in SA is a fleeting glimpse in one of the international versions of Whisky Magazine), and some dedicated bottlings.  GM Jeremy Moreau introduced me to a Strathisla 1965 Single Cask, specially bottled for the group by Gordon & MacPhail, whose rich, bite-into sherry flavours I savoured at length…yum.  Worth the visit?  It goes without saying.

 The Quaich

A short stroll down the river and a bite of supper later I found myself at a bar named after Scotland traditional drinking vessel.  The Quaich, according to owner Khoon Hui, was Singapore’s first genuine whisky bar.  It also appears to be the most genuinely Singaporean whisky bar.  Whereas the other two I visited seemed somewhat expatified, this was refreshingly local – Khoon pointed out a radio celebrity and some government heavyweights enjoying the undisputable pleasures of his establishment.

The Quaich’s menu numbers a highly respectable 300 fine whiskies, with a focus on the distilleries that it represents as a distributor in Singapore.  These include Bunnahabhain, Springbank, Glenglassaugh, and Bowmore, amongst others.  I noticed, and was duly impressed, by a 1964 Bowmore 46YO and three dedicated single casks bottled by Springbank (Longrow) and Glenglassaugh for The Quaich.

My most lasting impression however was of the great hospitality.  Khoon and I chatted whisky over a Kavalan (a name with which the chaps at Macallan are none too pleased by the way), and then he insisted on giving me a lift to my next appointment.  The man is a gentleman and a scholar and his bar is a gem.

Auld Alliance

The Long Bar at the Raffles Hotel created the Singapore Sling, and has since been regarded as the bar in Singapore, fads aside.  Well, now there’s a new king in town and its name is Auld Alliance (a reference to the close military relationship which existed between pre-Union Scotland and monarchic France).  Let me not mince words: in my opinion this may well be the king of all whisky bars worldwide.

To say that I was blown away is an understatement.  This whisky cathedral – to call it a bar seems inadequate – is utterly, utterly (repeated for good measure) magnificent.  Auld Alliance is the brainchild of Emmanuel Dron, a whisky expert of long standing, and, as I set about acquainting myself with his spot, his expertise became explicitly evident: it is quite simply a league apart from anything that I’ve ever experienced.

Located in Chijmes, a charming entertainment complex built within the grounds and amidst the architectural structure of an old convent, the venue offers a breath-taking bar area, an elegant lounge, and two private tasting rooms.  Its collection of whiskies currently numbers 1500; so many in fact that there’s just not enough space for all of them, thus requiring 500 odd to be rotated in and out of storage periodically.  The highlights include a mint-condition first-edition 1993 Black Bowmore (S$ 12 990 ≈ R84 955 per bottle), and a Yamazaki 50YO, of which there are only a handful of bottles accessible outside of Japan.  I was particularly captivated by a menu which offers flights of the “same” whisky bottled in different decades, allowing customers to explore the evolution of the style over time.  I could go on and on.  Quite simply Auld Alliance lacks for nothing…except for South African whiskies.  One has to leave room for improvement I guess.

The moral of this story, in case you haven’t arrived at the same conclusion already – a whisky pilgrimage to Singapore is well in order.  May the dram be with you!

Out and about with whisky

The Hong Kong episode

First published in Prestige Magazine (July 2012 edition)

As it appeared.

There is little that’s quite as interesting for a whisky lover as a whisky excursion, whether it’s in the immediate locale, or somewhere a bit more far-flung.  Out there is a whisky world teeming with possibilities: there are maltings, distilleries, maturation warehouses, cooperages, bottlers, heritage centres, speciality shops, and bars aplenty, all waiting to be visited and explored.  I’ve tasked myself to get out and about and report back on my findings in a series of intermittent episodes, of which this, a bar tour, is the first.   It’s a tough slog of a job I know, but someone has to do it and it may as well be me.

Almost everyone it seems is travelling east these days.  China became South Africa’s leading trade partner in 2009, and its importance to our economy will almost certainly continue to grow in the future.  Despite this situation, it’s near impossible to fly there direct.  There are infrequent flights from Joburg to Beijing, but failing this somewhat impractical option one would likely be flying via the former British enclaves of Hong Kong or Singapore (subject of the next episode); and, finding oneself in either of these vibrant, cosmopolitan cities, one might be tempted to hang around for a bit.  So peripatetic whisky lovers – take note.  Here’s what one needs to know about Hong Kong.

Prince Charles was quoted as saying that Hong Kong has created one of the most successful societies on Earth.  If his opinion is valid then it would stand to reason, by my standards anyhow, that a whisky culture should be prominent.  And true it proved to be.  After a spot of preliminary research on the city’s whisky scene, and a predictably overpriced dinner in the mildly loutish Lan Kwai Fong, the famous party district, I set out to visit the two places at the top of my list: Angel’s Share and The Chinnery.

The most striking feature of Angel’s Share, dominating the entrance to the bar, is a large cask…sufficient to set the heart of any whisky lover aflutter.  My immediate impression was that this might be a “live” cask, an exciting thought.  Imagine drinking a theoretically different whisky every time one ordered from the cask!   Most distilleries however do not sell casks lock, stock, and…uh…barrel to the retail trade, and legislation now prevents single malts or single casks from being bottled outside of Scotland and effectively from being dispensed out of anything other than a bottle, so this was unlikely.  And indeed Eric Wan, my genial host, confirmed that the cask was a replica, and that its inner surface was lined with a metal membrane.  The illusion persisted nonetheless and I thoroughly enjoyed the undisputedly authentic ritual of being served from the cask – a heavy dram of Highland Park 1997 vintage having been drawn for me with a valinch*.

I would be doing the venue a disservice though if I were to fixate exclusively on the cask.  This is the ideal place to enjoy a superb evening of whisky appreciation and casual conversation – it is all dim-lit, intimate-nooked, and leather sofa’d elegance.  Whilst the brash whisky-drinking classes emerging in the Mainland might be quaffing the golden nectar with green tea (shudder), the clientele here is rather more refined and sophisticated.  Hong Kong after all has always been, and remains, the leading edge of the wedge.  The menu is somewhat modest by upper-tier whisky bar standards, but with a selection of 150 odd distinct whiskies, it is ample regardless.  I spotted a Macallan 1936 at HK$ 1240 (about the same in Rands) for a 30ml serving.  Perhaps when my ship comes in….

Eric twisted my rubber arm and had me linger longer over a glass of the excellent Laddie 17YO, his favourite of the moment.  This was my first rum-casked whisky, and its big exotic fruit flavours were well worth the wait.  Eventually however I reluctantly dragged myself away and hurried over to The Chinnery.  They hadn’t responded (in time) to my request for an appointment but I thought I’d just pitch up anyhow.  I arrived just before midnight only to encounter a massive disappointment – the place had closed for the evening.   The Chinnery has a laudable reputation, and I’m sure that it’s spectacular, but I have to ask: what kind of whisky bar closes at 11pm on a Saturday evening?  Especially in Hong Kong.  I’ll have to wait for my next visit to get an answer.

As my train headed over the horizon and my leaving became palpable I felt my spirits buoyed by this visit to a very special bar in this very special town.  If in the vicinity be sure to follow suit.  May the dram be with you!

*Valinch – A tube-like instrument used for drawing liquor from a cask via its bunghole.

Down the hatch

Guidelines for drinking whisky

First published in Prestige Magazine (June 2012 edition)

As it appeared.

Whisky is not self-evident.  It has a certain seductive mystique that is central to its allure.  The pursuit of whisky – like that of all worthwhile endeavours – requires measures of application, perseverance and patience, efforts that are amply rewarding (and rewarded).  As one embarks on this path perhaps the most pressing query is that of how to drink whisky.  This question has been repeatedly put to me (as a whisky lover), and it should be answered very seriously.  It is undoubtedly the single most critical whisky matter to be encountered by the casual drinker, since it has a direct and immediate impact on enjoyment…and what’s more important than that.  I’ve heard people in the industry answer it in blasé and somewhat self-serving terms:  “Anyway you like it” or “there’s no right way or wrong way”.  Really?  Think of a word that starts with B and ends with T.  Here are five basic guidelines for the optimal appreciation of whisky.

Rule #1:

Enjoy it.  Drinking whisky should be fun.  I’ve seen people get so caught up trying to identify flavours that the act of drinking whisky begins to seem like a task or a chore.  Learn in order to enjoy, don’t learn just for the sake of learning.  To me there’s nothing better than a lose-myself-to-the-moment drink when I don’t have to concentrate on anything other than my own pleasure and some good conversation.

Rule #2:

Don’t mix aged or premium whisky.  There’s nothing wrong with drinking whisky and Coke, if that’s a personal preference, but make a cheap whisky.  Anything else is a waste of money (and whisky).  Once a whisky has been doused with a typically sugary mixer it would be exceedingly challenging, even for an expert taster, to appreciate the complexity of flavour that sets it apart from its younger, more regular brethren.

Rules #3:

Don’t forget to nose (i.e. smell) the whisky.  Flavour is made up of both aroma and taste, and yet we seem fixated on taste, maybe because it’s the pre-culminating moment in the consumption process, and because it’s the act of consumption itself that gives the most satisfaction.  Ironically though, on a sensory level, taste is relatively limited and less interesting when compared to smell; there are only four primary tastes but 32 primary aromas.   So, savour the nose – it’s the gateway to a “hidden” dimension of enjoyment that’s waiting to be discovered.  I’d also advise using tumblers with a narrow, inward-tapering rim that concentrates the aroma-carrying vapours and thereby facilitates and accentuates the nosing.

Rule #4A:

Add water.  This is contentious.  Some whisky folk prefer to drink their drams neat as a matter of course.  All power to them – I fully endorse their right of individual choice.  Some people also choose to believe that the earth is flat.  In both cases however there’s good reason to believe that there’s a better alternative.  Adding a splash of water to your dram is known as “releasing the serpent”- the water reacts with and breaks down flavour-bearing congeners and in doing so unlocks their flavour, and opens up the whisky.  It’s difficult to prescribe how much water should be added.  The arbitrary rule of thumb is equal parts water to whisky, but this can and should vary according to individual taste, and to the nature of the whisky and its alcohol content.  I find that very little is usually required.  Water also softens the alcoholic edge of the whisky, which can otherwise be lightly anaesthetising, although die-hards will claim that saliva does the same job.  I think not.

Rule #4B:

A corollary to the last rule – use still mineral water, filtered water, or something similarly pure.  Water purifying chemicals such as chlorine do not belong in one’s expensive whisky.

Rule #5

Use ice with circumspection.  There’s an old expression suggesting that whisky is best enjoyed at the temperature of a traditional Scottish parlour.  It sounds a bit vague but the broad principle is sound.  Like alcohol, cold is numbing and inhibits flavour.  Furthermore, ice melts and introduces uncontrolled dilution into a drink.  Having said all this – we’re not in Scotland.  I’ve found that adding cold water is ideal for drinking whisky under the hot African sun.

As straightforward as these rules may seem good intentions will be put to the test – count on it.  I’ve been asked to serve Royal Salute mixed with Coke.  Most bars will pour whisky into tumblers filled with ice.  The mineral water bottle always seems to be empty come whisky time.  Despite it all though I’ve never gone back.  The whisky tastes so damned much better!  Keep the faith and may the dram be with you!

Waiter, there’s a speck in my whisky

The good and bad of chillfiltration

As it appeared.

First published in Prestige Magazine (May 2012 edition).

My parents taught me that a discussion of religion and politics should best be avoided in polite society.  I decided instead to avoid polite society.  A note to posterity:  if I ever warrant quotation then please make this my defining quote.  There’s a lot to be said (literally) for a bit of impropriety and irreverence.  In whisky society – where things can get quite impolite after a few drams – the parts of politics and religion are often played by a red-rag-to-a-bull known as chillfiltration.   Prompted by Bunnahabhain’s recent launch of their unchillfiltered range I decided to wade into murky, or should I say hazy, waters to confront this messy beast of a topic and poke it with a stick.

What is chillfiltration?  Let’s start with the converse situation, in which whiskies are alternatingly termed unchillfiltered or non-chill filtered.  The industry seems to have shown standardisation the finger and chosen divergent grammatical paths, but whatever one’s predilection for prefixes, hyphens and contractions, the meaning is the same.  I’m going to opt for concision and use the former henceforth.   A whisky, when it comes out of its cask after maturation, is loaded with fatty acids and oily compounds (known in more scientific terms as congeners), from which it derives much of its flavour.  These congeners however also tend to bond together and precipitate (i.e. form a haze) when the whisky’s temperature and/or its level of alcohol are lowered.  This is an unchillfiltered whisky and it poses certain problems…at least for some.

To the uninformed a hazy whisky is aesthetically displeasing; and it gives the (misleading) impression that it might be decomposing.  The motivating reason for chillfiltration is to eliminate the occurrence of this hazing in whisky.  The process works like this:  the whisky is cooled to a temperature of around 0°C (give or take – some whiskies are more aggressively chillfiltered than others) and then passed through a mesh filter, thereby trapping and removing certain congeners.  The result is a clear, cosmetically attractive liquid.

To the informed whisky lover however chillfiltration is a double-edged sword: remove the congeners, remove the flavour.  It’s a somewhat ruthless solution.  There are other gentler ways to mitigate hazing; for instance an alcohol level of 46% ABV would guarantee solubility at room temperature, without any flavour removal required.  Unfortunately, if the temperature drops, and if ice or cold water is introduced, the hazing would reappear, so it’s at best an incomplete alternative.  Also, at 46% a whisky is circa 15% and 7% more expensive than at the statutory minimums of 40% and 43% respectively, hence affecting its commercial proposition.  Some brands have nonetheless followed this course in the quest to offer unchillfiltered whiskies, but they’re in the minority – primarily single malts for whom the flavour stakes are higher, and whose consumer base is likely to be more aware of such peculiarities.

Until recently I’d been part of the faction that poured scorn on chillfiltration.  It was, in my opinion, a creation of laziness and greed.  To be fair though it’s a bit of a prisoner’s dilemma – it doesn’t make sense to invest in education on the matter individually, so invariably the bulk of the industry has taken the path of least resistance, but, regardless, depriving us of optimal product in doing so.  Some producers claim that chillfiltration doesn’t affect the flavour in their whiskies, but the force of contrary logic and the self-interest inherent in these justifications would suggest otherwise.  Others yet claim that they chillfilter less aggressively, which still results in flavour still being extracted, just less of it than would otherwise be the case.  So it seems clear-cut then that chillfiltration does a disservice to the flavour-seeking, pukka whisky lover.  Maybe, maybe-not.

Conventional wisdom is all well and good, but evidence is the only way to discover what’s really true about anything.   There’s little publicly available data on chillfiltration but I recently came across some research by Matthew Ferguson-Stewart (a whisky aficionado) that poured fuel on the chillfiltration fire.   His experiment involved a blind tasting of unchillfiltered and chillfiltered versions of four whiskies by a small panel of experienced tasters.  The shocking conclusion: the tasters identified the difference but preferred the chillfiltered versions.

What should one make of this?  Perhaps the experiment was too limited.  Certainly it should be verified on a wider and larger scale.  Perhaps some congeners, in this case the balance of those removed, are somehow offensive.    For the moment though it has made a contentious subject even more inflammatory.  Given that the bulk of whiskies available to us are chillfiltered, I find his results encouraging.  We can’t draw any definitive conclusions yet, but there’s hope now that the typical whisky that we’re drinking isn’t in fact a diminished version of itself, as we had previously believed…and that can only be good news.  May the dram be with you!

No age statements

The dark side of whisky

First published in Prestige Magazine (April 2012 edition).

An aside: The opinion I express is this column is somewhat contentious.  In a recent twitter exchange on the subject  I was informed by an esteemed whisky writer that I was “just plain wrong”.  The why was, and still is, not as clear.  In the interim thus this presumably snot-nosed, impudent upstart of a whisky blogger stands by his opinion.

As it appeared.

I’m often guilty of looking at the whisky world through rose-tinted glasses.  I am after all a self-professed whiskyphile, so a certain extolling of the virtues is part of the job description.  My natural inclination is to be mostly positive.  The reality however is that whisky is a human endeavour, and, like any other, is prone to human failings.  A cast which includes moonshiners, bootleggers, smugglers, gangsters, and all manner of dodgy bastards, have featured prominently in its story, a story whose aspect has been transformed – by the passage of time, and by subsequent regulation and legitimisation – from criminal to colourful.  Today a few huge conglomerates dominate production.  The industry is seen as venerable, and its members as responsible corporate citizens.  But are things really as proper as they appear?  I wouldn’t be self-respecting if I didn’t blend my admiration with a dash of scrutiny.

Marketing – if one was to adopt a cynical stance – is akin to commercial propaganda.  The discipline, in somewhat Goebbels-esque fashion, is no stranger to large-scale institutionalized deception.  In the marketing of whisky one of the more insidious examples, in my opinion, is the so-called No Age Statement (NAS) whisky.   The age, or to be more accurate (and lyrical) the duration of maturation, of whisky is a subject of lengthy debate.  To avoid labouring the point, let’s just conclude for our purposes that age is of distinct importance to the whisky drinking public.  Research published by Chivas Brothers last year revealed the following actualities: “94% of consumers believe the age statement serves as an indicator of quality” and “93% believe that older whiskies are better quality”.

It follows then that people expect expensive whiskies to be old – since one expects to pay for quality.  As the whisky market has boomed beyond forecast over the last three decades, suppliers have struggled to keep up with the demand for older stock.   This crisis has been to some extent remedied by the proliferation of the multi-vintage whisky – a blending of old and young whiskies.  In itself this was a tidy “innovation” (these had existed before but as an exception) presenting whisky lovers with an extensive new diversity of flavour and style, and stretching the dwindling quantities of older liquid.  There was however an accompanying dilemma – Scotch Whisky regulations require that any age claim must refer to the youngest component in a whisky.  This nagging inconvenience – upon which the integrity of Scotch whisky is largely built – would potentially motivate a cap on pricing and/or the expensive need to re-educate the market…or maybe not.

The low road was and is an option to withhold disclosing the age, creating a situation where the average whisky buyer automatically assumes these whiskies to be older than they are in reality.  There is no doubt in my mind that multi-vintage NAS whiskies have been designed to foster this misconception.  Witness Johnnie Walker Double Black in particular (in the context of Black Label): a derivative and misleading name, similar packaging, higher pricing, and no age statement.  Is this whisky 12 years old – or even older – as one might reasonably be led to assume?  I think not.

This example and others like it I believe are lies of omission, occurring when an important fact (and we know that age is undisputedly important) is deliberately withheld, or not made explicit, in order to perpetuate deception.   Despite the obvious moral dubiousness these lies have become common practice.  There’s a glimmer of hope though that this may soon change.

Last year the new Consumer Protection Act came into effect.  Here’s a little snippet:

False, misleading or deceptive representations

41. (1) In relation to the marketing of any goods or services, the supplier must not, by words or conduct—

(a) directly or indirectly express or imply a false, misleading or deceptive representation concerning a material fact to a consumer;

 (b) use exaggeration, innuendo or ambiguity as to a material fact, or fail to disclose a material fact if that failure amounts to a deception; or

(c) fail to correct an apparent misapprehension on the part of a consumer, amounting to a false, misleading or deceptive representation,

I don’t lay claim to any striking legal insight, but it seems clear to me that were a challenge to be made this piece of legislation could terminate the existence of the NAS whisky in South Africa.  The veil would be lifted and we would be able to appreciate the real Double Black, ostensibly at a reduced price.  Law aside, isn’t it just basic ethics that all material elements to a transaction be disclosed?

Perhaps I’m being optimistic.  This is an entrenched agenda which will take some shifting.  Nonetheless it’s encouraging to hear industry voices seemingly supporting this position, whether out of self-interest or not.  Christian Porta, head of Chivas Brothers, was quoted as follows: “In an age when consumers of luxury goods increasingly demand transparency and authenticity from brands, it is vital that we empower consumers with knowledge so that they fully understand the value of what they are buying.”  Mr Porta, I salute you; you renew my faith.  May the dram be with you!

In humble worship of the holy trinity

Expect an epiphany when delving into the mysteries of the “Big Three”

First published in Prestige Magazine (March 2012 edition)

As it appeared

In my lapsed Catholic psyche the drinking of whisky can at times best be regarded as a religious experience.  I reckon you’d have to delve back some two millennia, when Jesus turned water into wine, to find a more apparent divine hand in the creation of a beverage.  There’s good reason why it’s known as the ‘golden nectar of the gods’.    Whisky too, like the religion of its progenitors, has a trinity:  Scotch, Irish and American – the big three of the whisky world, prominent in all places of worship.  As a novice drinker I was as mystified by this spirituous threesome as I had been by their spiritual counterparts.  Beyond the obvious, what was the difference?  Familiarity might breed contempt, but in this particular case I had anticipated delight instead, and I wasn’t to be disappointed.  Let’s take a short-cut through the catechism.

“In the beginning was the malt, and the malt was with barley, and the malt was barley” Anon.  Whisky by convention, and in many cases by law, is defined as a spirit distilled from cereal grains, the most reputed and famous of which is malted barley.  Whilst there are of course many other points of difference, it is this, the grain from which it is made, that on a basic level most clearly distinguishes one denomination of whisky from another.

Single malt, the high priest of Scotch, is made from malted barley which is often peated i.e. dried over a peat fire rather than a coal fire as would be the case with an unpeated malt.  The influence of the peat is evident in a smoky flavour, of which Islay whiskies are striking examples.  Whilst Scotch is not exclusively smoky (by any means), and whilst smoke is not exclusively Scotch, it is a broadly identifying feature, its bindi if you will.  There is a cult of Scotch whisky fans so devoted to this peated style that they have become known as ‘Peat Freaks’.  Sound appealing?  You’d do well then to try the most heavily peated whiskies on the market, said to be Bruichladdich (pronounced Brook-laddie) Octomore and Ardbeg’s aptly named Supernova.

The Irish too have a tradition of single malt, although theirs are most commonly unpeated.  However, their most emphatic prophet, whose rich, sweet and spicy flavours are converting untold numbers to the faith, is the single pot still, made from a recipe of predominantly unmalted barley.  This is the master component in the Jameson blend, Ireland’s most prolific whiskey by some distance.  The Midleton Distillery, producer of Jameson and currently the only exponent of this style, has just released the Midleton Barry Crocket Legacy, which at some €170 (≈R1770) a pop is the most premium single pot still available today.  I was lucky enough to taste this splendid whiskey late last year, and whilst I’m tempted to tell you more, it would be akin to speaking in tongues such is my gushing, uncontrollable admiration.

American whiskeys (and Canadian whiskies), of which Bourbon is probably the best known, generally have softer, sweeter, buttery flavours, a product of the largely corn based recipes (with rye in the minority adding a spicy kick).  Notably American whiskies are also somewhat fundamentalist.  They’re distinct from each other and from other whiskies not only by grain but also by age and by maturation.  An American whiskey must have been aged for a minimum of two years to be called a straight whiskey, and maturation of straight and other legislatively “named” whiskies must take place in virgin oak.  Iconic examples include Jack Daniels, a specialized Bourbon-style known as Tennessee whiskey, and Jim Beam, but those who’ve concluded their rites may prefer more complex and sophisticated options such as the highly-acclaimed George T. Stagg, or Parker’s Heritage Collection Bourbons.

Each region has endured its reformation and travelled its own path, but it’s worth giving some consideration to the similarities as well as the differences.  That only grain, yeast and water, as rudimentary a recipe of ingredients as can be imagined, could yield such an astounding array of flavours, is inarguably cause for unifying wonderment no matter what your sectarian persuasions.  In the worship of whisky, each mass, wherever it may be held, is an enriching prospect.  May the dram be with you!