Tag Archives: Whiskey

Whisky is a complex beast.  It can’t be compared to most other consumer products.  There is a depth to it that sometimes seems unplumbable.  I guess that’s a big part of the appeal – no matter how much you learn, there’s always another mountain to climb and another river to cross…it’s a lifelong adventure, a continuing mystery, and I for one love it.

The most exciting but also intimidating part of the whisky journey is the exploring of flavour.  Flavour refers to aroma and taste, and fully engaging with it can initially be off-putting.  Certainly that was my experience.  Just one look at an anorak swilling a nosing glass, and spouting forth with the cumulative pomposity of a group of old boys at a Hilton reunion is enough to make you wince.   As fascinating as an underlying aroma of sandalwood incense, west coast heather, and figs (Anatolian mind you, not the common variety) may well be, at first sight it all seems a bit pretentious and intangible.

Yes, the language and technical minutiae often used to describe flavour can be an obstacle…but flavour is quite simply the single most important attribute of a whisky.  It is the raison d’être.  Once you’ve acquired a liking for whisky and become familiar with its basic defining elements, such as smoke in Scotch, the natural next step is to plunge in and explore further.  Why do you like one whisky more than another?  Why does this whisky pair with that meal, but not another?  Why does this whisky work as an aperitif but not as a digestif?  The answers lie in understanding flavour, and with some practice and a bit of imagination, it is something that is easily understood.

The trick in my opinion is perspective.  Your nose and palate interpret flavour in an individually specific manner.  Take a look at these tasting notes for the Glenfiddich 15yo Solera Reserve by two of the world’s leading whisky writers and tasting experts:

Michael Jackson

Nose:  Chocolate, toast and a hint of peat.

Palate: Smooth, silky, white chocolate. Pears-in-cream. Cardamom.

Finish: Cream. Hint of ginger.

Comment: Elegant. Well-balanced to the point of suavity.

Jim Murray

Nose:  Honey with hints of wood and vanilla, complex spice and fresh fruit.

Palate: Honey again, perfectly balanced by delicate spice and Glenfiddich maltiness.

Finish: Medium length, with sherry notes and spiciness.

Comment:  The sweetness is effortlessly balanced by drier oakiness.

They are clearly different.  The basic direction is similar, but there is no single right answer.  Whilst there is a theory and certain parameters to flavour (more on this some other time), at the end of the day you’re answerable only to one person.  It’s sometimes worth the reminder that the whole endeavour is undertaken only to further your own satisfaction.  It’s not a test – you drink whisky to enjoy it.  And once you’ve started to master the identification of flavours in whisky, something that can certainly be done on the hoof, there’s no limit to the variety to be explored, and the enjoyment to be savoured.  There’s always another high just round the corner.

It was in this spirit that I approached the tasting of a Glenrothes 1975 vintage over the weekend.  I also invited a mate, who happens to be the local head honcho of a French flavour company, thinking that his more educated palate would make an interesting foil to my instinctiveness.  Drop by tomorrow for our ponderings on this fine and almost extinct whisky.

James Bond’s trademark quote refers to vodka martinis not whisky, and whilst I’m aligning myself with Humphrey Bogart – whose famous last words were “I should never have switched from scotch to martinis” – I can nonetheless appreciate Bond’s particular discernment when it came to how his drink of choice should be prepared.

Hey, what I do in my own time is my business.

I’m often asked how whisky should be drunk.  It’s like a recurring dream.  Sometimes it seems like the same people keep asking me.  Maybe I’m not interesting enough to engage on other subjects, so they stick to this topic as a refuge.  Worrying…enough so that I thought I’d take it out of the equation by putting my response on the record.  Perhaps I’ll carry little slips of paper from now on inscribed with this post’s URL and hand them out to whoever asks me again.

When I was on the marketing side of the industry, the party line was that whisky should be drunk the way the consumer wanted to drink it.  If that was with cream soda, then so be it.  I always thought that this was self-serving, and short sightedly so – particularly with premium brands.  How many Chivas suitcases could and would someone actually drink?  Yes it might impress your mates at first but how long before that wears off and you realise that passion fruit cordial tastes much the same with the ubiquitous Bells or J&B?

I’m not knocking whisky with mixers or even whisky cocktails.  They have their place, and it’s clearly spacious.  I don’t have any statistics at hand but I’d guess that the bulk of blended whisky is drunk with some sort of a mixer.   Whisky is an acquired taste and for many people mixed whisky is the push start to a long and beautiful journey.  I myself enjoy Canadian whisky with a mixer, and I’m partial to a Sour or an Old Fashioned.  But I also subscribe to the belief that a mixer ruins a superior whisky.  007 may be tempted by a Romanov and coke (I said may), but guaranteed he’ll save his Grey Goose for a martini.  Good whiskies are all about flavour and mouth-feel, and the subtleties thereof.  These are lost when set against the backdrop of a mixer – why skim a diamond over the surface of a lake when a stone will do?

There is a better way – and it’s called water.  Water in its liquid and frozen forms is whisky’s time honoured collaborator.  Usually I’d initially nose and taste a whisky neat and thereafter add water – anything from a drop to an equal part (depending on the alcohol level and my mood at the time) – to help release the flavours of the whisky.    Water reduces the edge of alcohol as a primary sensation, allowing you to more easily detect the subtler elements of aroma and taste.  It’s best to avoid heavily chlorinated water, because like a mixer this would interfere with if not overpower the whisky.  I would furthermore tend to stay away from sparkling water and soda, although it’s interesting to note that Dave Broom, one of the world’s pre-eminent whisky writers, recommends the former as an accompaniment to a young peaty whisky.  Worth a try.

Ice is more controversial.  Whisky is optimal at room temperature, but this is hardly a precise measure.  A Cameroonian gentleman downing a dram in downtown Douala may have a different take on it compared to his Swedish counterpart.  Anoraks – the geeks of the whisky world – will tell you that whisky should be drunk at the temperature of a Scottish parlour (+/- 15°C), hence the motivation for ice in certain climates.   The reason for all of this concern about temperature is that whisky contains congeners (types of fats and oils) which are largely responsible for flavour, and which, in much the same way as other fats, congeal at lower temperatures, and thereby become inhibited.  This is why non-chill filtered whiskies tend to haze when cooled.  Ice also introduces uncontrolled dilution as it progressively melts.  Soapstone “ice” blocks, chilled in the freezer and then added to a drink, offer a nifty solution to this problem.  The Japanese have also popularized the ice ball, which due to its smaller surface area versus an ice-cube of similar volume, melts more slowly and therefore is less diluting.  More on these cool (npi) ice-balls in a future post.

Soapstone "ice" blocks

So it’s clear that the preferred ingredients should be water, yes, and ice, maybe.  But as to how to put it all together, well, there is no exacting answer…not even in Japan, as precise a culture as one could hope to find.  The most popular whisky drink over there is the mizuwari (the classic recipe calls for the golden nectar with an equal measure of water and 2 blocks of ice, stirred precisely 13 and half times!) but even this would invariably vary according to personal taste.   The exciting solution to this dilemma then is to drink lots of whisky and experiment.  And on that note – may the dram be with you!

A Mizuwari, with extra ice it seems.

A short one today.  About 10 years ago I had the privilege of viewing an absolutely astonishing whisky collection – the scale and composition of which was enough to make my eyes (and mouth) water.  It was hidden in the bowels of an insurance company, at the bottom end of Orange Grove in Johannesburg, and I was only able to find the place because I had lived in nearby Houghton during my Joburg days so was familiar with the area.   The incongruity was striking.  This was something that should have been exhibited like the crown jewels, not tucked away on the back streets of a yes charming, but also slightly dodgy suburb.  I would hazard the guess that at its zenith it would have laid claim to be the most valuable and judiciously assembled private whisky collection in the country…although I’d be happy for someone to dispute this and invite me round for verification.   I was recently sad to learn that its owner, the late Leslie Zulberg, had passed away.  My condolences go out to his family.  I did not know Leslie well, having only met him that one time, but I’ll remember him fondly for graciously allowing me that breath-taking visit, and for the gift of a MacKillop’s Caol Ila, an independent bottling that introduced me to Islay whiskies.  Less sad, but sad nonetheless, was the news that the collection had been dismantled and sold.    Rest in peace Leslie.

It’s a glorious monday morning in the Mother City (if you don’t mind chasing hats), the Mountain watches protectively over me as I write this post, and all is well in this part of the world.  Somewhat responsible for my buoyant mood is my discovery, or rather re-discovery, of a bottle of Chivas Brothers 30yo whisky that I had sort-of forgotten I had.  I’m not a collector; whilst I can certainly admire and appreciate a lovingly assembled stash of whisky, I personally prefer to drink rather than hoard.  So open it I will, and soon.  More about it then.

Over the weekend I was glued to my sofa whilst watching the World Cup games taking place in India, and since I’m always thinking about whisky my thoughts quite naturally turned to Indian whisky.  Whisky in India is big business: of the 5 best-selling whisky brands in the world in 2009, 4 were Indian, including Bagpiper, the world’s top seller for that year.  You’d be forgiven for thinking that this is a healthy situation – a developing market asserting itself in the arena, increased global competition, a wake-up call for the big boys – but the picture is less than rosy.   In actual fact the Indian whisky industry has a whiff about it which compares unfavourably to a French cheese ripening in the Mumbai heat.

At the heart of the matter is the question of whether Indian whisky is really whisky at all.  Vijay Mallya, the owner of United Spirits, India’s largest whisky producer, was quoted as saying:  “I’ve had this constant battle with the SWA (Scotch Whisky Association) on the definition of whisky. They won’t let me export my Indian whisky out of India and into the European Union. My last offer to them was that I said I was quite happy to label it ‘Indian whisky’ the same way that Suntory makes Japanese whisky. Why should there be any sort of discrimination? But for reasons best known to them, which is why we have our little disagreements every so often, they just won’t allow it”.   I just love this guy.  I have the feeling that he’s going to be fertilizing my blog for years to come.  Indian whisky can in fact be imported into the EU (and duty-free at that) but it cannot be labelled as “whisky”, Indian or otherwise.  Whisky by historical tradition, by overwhelming convention, and by law in most countries, must be made from cereals (grains).  In India the bulk of local whisky is made from molasses, which is subsequently blended with various proportions of malt whisky, depending on the particular brand and its level of quality and premium-ness.  “You will get the alcohol but none of the flavours,” said Bill Lumsden, an industry pioneer and the master distiller at Glenmorangie, of the molasses spirit in Indian whisky.  Mallya’s reasoning is beyond farcical.  Japanese whisky – as I’m sure he well knows – is in fact made from malt and other grains, and is undisputedly acknowledged to be whisky.

I'm also the owner of the Flat Earth Society

The reality is that Indian whisky is protected in its local market by exorbitant tariffs which violate WTO rules and without which the industry would collapse.  This is costing the Indian government and people a fortune in lost revenue, promoting counterfeiting, damaging trade, and, worst of all, deceiving Indian palates.  It reminds me of an experience I had in China recently when I bought some American whiskey.  Close comparison of the bottle with the real thing – which only happened after buying and tasting – revealed that it was a 99.5% perfect replica.  So in much the same way most Chinese people believe that Jack Daniels tastes like toner fluid, so most Indian people believe that whisky tastes like a Black Label with a few shots of Mainstay.

Some progress is being made: I read that this month Scotch whisky gained GI (Geographical Indication) status in India, but I personally wonder about how this will be enforced.   When there are vast sums of money at stake (India is far and away the world’s largest whisky market), and powerful interests with entrenched agendas in the equation, things are rarely simple.   Of the two biggest Indian whisky brands, the first, the aforementioned Bagpiper, features a corresponding visual on the label, and the second is called McDowell’s…and these are just two examples – Scottish sounding names and Scottish imagery abound, which in any other market would be a clear violation of GI regulations.

It’ll be interesting to see how things develop, but in my opinion the future lies with brands such as Amrut, a highly acclaimed, genuine, Indian born-and-bred malt whisky.  I reckon that only if India cultivates quality brands that can stand up to international competition will barriers be lowered and the situation resolved.  Even if I’m wrong at least I’ve figured out why Cane Spirits sell so well in Natal.

Real whisky