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Gargantuan Glenfiddich.

From whisky’s commercial beginnings, success has meant going large: more equipment equals more liquid which equals more profit which equals more equipment. As businessmens’ wallets expanded so, inevitably, did their distilleries.

Miniature Edradour.

Today, however, we find a subtly changed model. Like the tiny birds which munch their lunch from the hides of rhinos and elephants, there are those whose comparatively diminutive size ensures their survival and prosperity. Fluttering in the wake of the industry’s behemoths are flocks of boutique operations flourishing thanks to the robust health of their enormous counterparts. Liberated by their small-scale natures to offer something particular, distinctive, unusual – maybe even personal – these distilleries cultivate a following of devotees which, though often equally as minute, are enough to sustain a brand and a philosophy. Small, for increasing numbers of ambitious and passionate people, is the whole point. But is boutique best? In the following paragraphs my aim is not exactly to answer this question. I want instead to ponder how whiskies differ on a level beyond – or perhaps it would be more correct to say beneath – flavour. The means by which Springbank journeys to your drinks cabinet contrast with those of The Glenlivet; which dram, therefore, speaks most faithfully of the provenance, process and people behind it?

This train of thought chugged into motion with the Benromach press release published yesterday. However, I should say that the thrust of this article is not innovation. Rather, I want to interrogate the principal bottlings from the likes of Glenmorangie and Macallan and evaluate whether they are as honest as they could be. Has their extraordinary volume compromised their identities as discernible in the final product? Could distillery character be more vividly captured and engaging with less output? Does spirit from smaller sites taste somehow more authentically like itself?

Giant Jura.

My tentative belief is that with fewer litres produced, requiring fewer casks and therefore with perhaps a smaller spectrum of oak-derived (or oak-perverted) flavours available, the creation of a new core expression presents the master blender with fewer alibis – whisky special effects. When putting together a 12-year-old, for example, he or she hasn’t the diverting inventory of casks with particular qualities which might in other conglomerates be brought to bear on the vatting with ameliorating, distorting consequences. I know that, with the larger companies, whole floors in warehouses are exhumed to contribute towards the next bottling run, many hundreds – even thousands – of litres many years older than the age statement that will finally appear on the bottle lend colour, fragrance and structure which may have been lacking in the youngest stock. This practise is not misleading exactly, just obscuring. Also, when releasing a subsequent batch of ’12-year-old’, the boutique master blender may be unable to maintain consistency with the previous release at the volume demanded by head office. Theirs will rather be a whisky for and of the here and now. They cannot replicate the character of a single expression, they can only construct a whisky that reflects how the Edradour or Royal Lochnagar spirit has coped with and embraced those variables which are at the heart of whisky manufacture.

Titchy Arran.

I compared the scores given in the latest Malt Whisky Companion to the principal – or only – bottlings from the eleven smallest Scottish distilleries in output terms with those of the eleven largest. They were, once I had calculated an average, to all intents and purposes identical (80 plays 79 respectively). This, of course, tells me very little. Were the MWC published on an annual basis, however, and were the bottling habits of the likes of Kilchoman, Arran and Benromach to become de riguer for all boutiques, I would expect their scores to fluctuate, whilst those of the giants remained constant.

Not to conclude, therefore, but rather to adjourn for now, what about flavour exploration? Is fluctuating whisky better whisky? For me, I would bellow ‘Yes!’ I have enormous respect for how the big boys put out consistently tasty stuff year after year, but right now I yearn for variety, digression and different shades in my drams. I want to explore the products of those whose business models and above all artisanal attitudes empower them to shout about something really great when they find it, instead of having to surrender those drops of transient magnificence into the uniform ocean of brand continuity. To my mind, master blenders must too often sacrifice wonderful malts to function as a kind of whisky airbrushing tool; our omnipresent malts are merely beautified – they are not truly, idiosyncratically, beautiful.

A recent press release moved me to meditate on what G&M could stand for in addition to ‘Gordon & MacPhail’. With respect to their malt whisky distillery, Benromach, it could also signify ‘Growing & Multiplying’.

Mmm... Honey-nut cornflakes...

Data tells you only so much about Benromach. With an annual capacity of only 500,000 litres, it is the smallest on Speyside and if you are figuratively-minded, like me, then it is natural enough to suggest that its diminutive size is reflected in its marginal situation: the mega-giants of the region have banished the little runt to the extreme outer fringes of Speyside. However, since G&M’s take-over in 1993 the distillery has constructed a positive asset out of – and indeed exaggerated - its non-conformity. It is, geographically, a Speyside malt whisky but tastes like no make to be found in the glens feeding the river with spirit today.

We speak of expressions when dealing with whisky, and Benromach boasts so many it would have the Old Wives muttering darkly in reference to the perils of changing winds. With Organic whiskies, heavily-peated malts, drams distilled from Golden Promise barley and plentiful wood finishes, however, Benromach’s repertoire of guises has in fact contributed massively to ensuring that its personal wind is set fair.

There are now three more examples of this littlest of all little gems to savour the first of which, the Wood Finish Hermitage, continues in the same vein as the Pedro Ximenez and Sassicaia finishes of previous years. The finish, 22 months in French oak casks from the Rhone valley, brings out citrussy and berry flavours. (£31.25)

Just seven first-fill Bourbon barrels from 2001 have been vatted together to create the 2001 Cask Strength, a 9yo whisky with plenty of spice and Benromach’s signature light peatiness. (£40.50)

From the pre-G&M days comes the 30yo, matured for three decades in first and refill Sherry butts. I hear this boasts lots of ‘warming festive hints of sherry and spices’. (£149.99)

‘The Benromach portfolio now offers an expansive range – something for a variety of palettes,’ said Michael Urquhart, Joint Managing Director. ‘These latest expressions really demonstrate the skill of our master distillers in maturing and distilling the single malt. While different in taste, they all have that recognisable Benromach quality which comes from our unique whisky making process, which involves using the finest Scottish malted barley and pure spring water from the Romach Hills.’

I said it last year, after my fabulous tour of the distillery, that this was one to watch. I find that, at this precise moment in my whisky exploration, I crave those boutique, original and distinctive drams and Benromach’s titchy size brackets it with the likes of Kilchoman while its select offerings align it with Balblair and the independently-bottled single casks from all around Scotland. I am very keen to try the 2001, ticking all of my personal whisky boxes as it does: first-fill Bourbon, cask strength, non-chillfiltered and a punchy, old-style spirit.

As the photo shows, with Benromach you feel as if you could tuck the distillery into your pocket. With relatively scarce supplies of each of their whiskies, buying one has the same feeling: it is as if you are savouring a more significant chunk of a distilling enterprise - something you cannot say of those mega-giants.

Surprising, isn’t it, that I haven’t posted any notes of my most significant distillery, my more-than-whisky distillery, or what I suppose others call their favourite distillery? Expressions are hard to come by and I wasn’t blown away by their new 12yo. Whilst pleasantly sweet, citrussy and peppery, I always suspected this, the Founder’s Reserve and restorative-and-a-half at the distillery in April last year, was the more rewarding dram.

The new entry-level expression following the relaunch in late 2008, this has no age statement but is non-chillfiltered and bottled at 48% abv. It’s potent stuff and boasts its ex-Bourbon maturation. I filled a little sample flask from my 70cl bottle – purchased by my aunt for my 20th birthday – earlier in the year so that I might have some Glen Garioch in St Andrews when the anniversary of my Aberdeenshire purgatory and redemption struck, and it was what I sipped at the end of last month as we raced away from St Andrews and the end of my first year there for the Rush Time Machine concert which was taking place in Newcastle that night. In short, it has featured in a few singular moments over the last fourteen months or so.

Glen Garioch Founder’s Reserve 48% abv. £29

Colour – Rich full gold with peachy tones.

Nose – At first, sugary-sweet draff/worts notes and sticky but firm honeycomb. More cerealy draff appears with a stab of alcohol then medium grade dark chocolate. I always detect a strawberry note and it is joined here by a sweet nuttiness. Crumbly earthiness and hedgerow berries. Very clean and citrussy with good body to it.

      Water lightens the spectrum although the oakiness becomes richer with more toffee and creamy vanilla shortbread. Stewed red fruits appear with sweet malt and dryness. Stem ginger and lemon boiled sweets. Chunks of butterscotch. A bit more time reveals heather honey, toasted oak and strawberry jam. Overall very chunkily malty.

Palate – Rich malt and oak, then lighter cereal sweetness and a flash of clean citrus. Spicy. Red fruits and red apples emerge.

      Water makes for a richer and even fruitier experience. We begin with fruitcake although this morphs into slightly burnt oat biscuits. Lemony and syrupy notes come in later with more stewed fruit.

Finish – Chocolatey and biscuity. Soft malt with the dryish draff note from the nose reappearing. Honey on thick toast. Clean and firm.

      Water accentuates a smoothness and juiciness. Things become heathery with some delicate sweet spice from the oak. Vanilla and cinnamon, too. Stewed fruits and especially apple. Caramel and citrus.

I don’t go into the cupboard for this dram terribly often, but when I do it always surprises me. The barley malt profile is deep and complex, with a fruitiness, earthiness, caramel sweetness yet also dustiness. It is a shame Glen Garioch no longer malts its own barley but I can imagine the atmosphere of aromas that must have existed when it did, just by nosing this whisky. That dustiness is something I noted with the 1991 Vintage and I’m not sure how to account for it: it is at once a note which distinguishes it from other Highland malts but is also slightly alien at first.

Following my unforgettable experiences to get there last year, and the very different kind of tour I received once I arrived, my spiritual side wants to explore more of the whiskies from Glen Garioch. Matt and Karen at Whisky For Everyone have just tasted the new 1994 Vintage, and John Hansell at What Does John Know? has recently opened a 21yo from the 1970s as one of his very special drams. As is the case with these oft-overlooked single malts, there are many incarnations kicking around that are just astonishingly good. That they are oft-overlooked does mean, however, that those who do apprehend their potential and charm have a greater chance of being rewarded for their faith.

Hope, anticipation, expertise, confidence. How quickly these disintegrated into mystification, disappointment and despondency. In January, I had a career to kick-start and three months’ playing Pied Piper in a Scotch whisky distillery could do just that. Sadly – and mystifyingly – my numerous applications to the biggest companies generated only one response, which was to say that they had no vacancies at this time. The rest may as well have vanished into an administrative abyss. Couldn’t someone recognise the initiative and consequent potential of a young man who had planned and pedalled his way around the Scotch whisky industry? For many months I was sceptical, until Inver House Distillers made a second unexpected and charming approach.

The Balblair distillery, Ross-shire. It will look better in July.

The abiding impression of the whisky world for me is that it exists thanks to countless resilient, interconnecting and genuine personal relationships. When Inver House invited me along with other bloggers to tour their leading single malt brands, I recognised this commendable way of conducting business through time spent with Cathy James in addition to Malcolm, John and Gordon, the distillery managers. Inver House and their exemplary personnel recognised the profound, obsessive enthusiasm of we amateur journalists and I like to think that this is why, following an unsuccessful response to a vacancy at Balblair in March, they offered me a week’s work experience instead.

Having John MacDonald phone up and regale me with tales of his appearance on the latest series of MasterChef, of Hollywood having moved in to Edderton to shoot a whisky-related film, and would I like to come up and potter about the place for a few days, astonished and delighted me. I rarely jump about the house whooping and cackling, but it seems the prospect of five days in one of the cutest and most picturesque distilleries I have come across – and not to mention one which produces a very delicious dram, too – has that effect on me. I agreed straight away.

I shall be shadowing the folk on the production side of things and getting my hand in with regards to the tourism operation. Balblair offer two tours daily, led by either Julie Ross or John himself. I hope to play my part in conveying the romance of the place – and shifting a few more units – during the week. As John assured me, ‘there’s always plenty to do.’

So, my encounters with whisky continue to evolve and move forward but what of last year? How am I making use of my experiences and memories? An on-going project of mine is the writing-up of my 2010 Odyssey into a continuous, comprehensive form. Progress is steady, but the process is highly rewarding. The twelve months of maturation my memories have undergone have done them a power of good – I could not have known how profoundly each of my journey’s moments had afixed themselves to the fabric of my mind. It is very special to sit down to write and to find myself gasping instead at what, with a little effort, I recollect. I shall let you know how all of this is getting along over the next few months.

Much to keep me busy and engaged, therefore, and plenty more to make its way onto the Scotch Odyssey Blog.

… Or Why I Love Dave Broom

The World Atlas of Whisky stands aloof from its peers. Released amid a deluge of other whisky titles, Broom has deconstructed, cogitated upon and reconstituted the subject of cereal-based distillates in a manner and to a degree I have come across nowhere else.

‘At first glance,’ Broom suggests, ‘the creation of a whisky style may seem like the triumph of technology’. But he has looked again: dusting off, picking apart, shaking about and inspecting from all angles facets of the whisky debate to discover that ‘in truth it lies at the interface between science, economics, creativity… and landscape.’ In other words, everything is infinitely more complex. Production processes? History? Regional continuity of styles? Don’t make him laugh. ‘What is whisky?’ he asks. ‘Anything you want it to be’.

So, having stripped away all of our landmarks and comfort blankets, what does he offer the novice and initiate in exchange? Broom, quite ingeniously, directs us straight back to the crux of the matter: flavour. When contemplating a whisky, Broom urges us to ‘concentrate’ – not on extraneous details of geography and other easily digestible but specious ‘rules of thumb’ – but on the spirit as it converses with you. Dave can help with supplying the minutiae of how your malt, bourbon, Irish pot still whiskey or whatever it happens to be was crafted (and he does, in anorak-pleasing comprehensiveness) but such processes only begin to make a tangible bit of sense once we get round to ‘sticking our noses in the glass and inhaling.’ We all, Broom promises, have the ability to understand the flavours in front of us. ‘A whisky’s character is expressed through the pictures in the taster’s mind’, he asserts; whatever we imagine when provoked by our dialogue with whisky is our truth, and it can and ought to sustain us in our private sensory explorations. Broom’s employment of technical vocabulary is descriptive, there only to inform the larger, richer image that is flavour in front of which the reader is left to make their own qualitative judgements.

This is not to say that Broom is forever impartial and objective, however. When he is not performing an explicatory role he indulges an artful evangelism for those spirits whose technical genesis belies, intensifies or even contradicts the personality of the final product. His entry for Linkwood distillery is one example amongst countless others that are so beautifully composed and strikingly phrased that they compel a reciprocal ardour and curiosity in the reader. Crucially, though, Broom always marries enthusiasm for a particular quality with descriptions of how that quality came about. For example, Broom may marvel at how ‘Linkwood’s new make smells of the skin of peaches, of light apple blossom falling in an orchard; in the mouth it sticks and seems to spin in a ball in the middle of the tongue’, but he can attribute this fruitiness which he loves so much to the clear wort and long ferment and the complex mouthfeel to the intensive copper contact in the ‘Rubenesque’ stills. It is never the case of extrapolating some arcane aroma and basing a grandiose proclamation upon its equivocal existence but deducting effect from regimented cause. You can go away, try a Linkwood and in consequence appreciate where these notable characteristics have derived from. Whether they are to your liking is not for Broom to prescribe.

Perhaps the element of the book I value most – even above its written style, its abundant information and its passion – is the unprecedented endeavour to analyse the new make spirit of each site. He calls it the distillery’s ‘DNA’, the result of the distiller’s specification and skill of execution unadulterated by oak. Perhaps it is here that Broom’s willingness to factor out, subvert and democratise facile terminology as I mentioned at the beginning is most demonstrably seen. Legally, it isn’t ‘whisky’ and some of his tasting notes don’t appear to reflect any substance we might recognise as such (‘Chinese cough medicine’; ‘wet chamois’; ‘meaty’, and ‘feral’) but it is boldly, squarely, obsessively concerned with flavour.

I would recommend Broom’s tome to all those who possess even the vaguest interest in beverage appreciation, and not just that of whisky but wine, beer – any other liquid you can think of. By comparing spirits according to flavour and not process or location, Broom has rendered the subject far more accessible; he has struck upon the correct terminological approach, the most enlightening blend of tones that illuminate how it should be that nearly 100 different Scotch whisky distilleries – and the many many more across the globe – contrive to produce subtly different but ultimately distinctive styles of spirit from the same raw materials.

At last there is a work that can both inform, empower and liberate the whisky neophyte, exploding the nonsense some in tasting clubs, magazines and the industry itself expound, airily typecasting some distilleries and even whole areas as ‘this’ or ‘that’. It is, I repeat, a much more complex world but one which only makes sense when we reject misleading received reason and promote our senses as the primary tools of navigation.

Dave Broom, The World Atlas of Whisky, Mitchell Beazley. £30.

Way back in icy January I mentioned I raft of lesser-spotted Speysiders I had come across courtesy of Gordon & MacPhail’s Connoisseurs Choice range, the foundation line of whiskies demonstrating the extraordinary variety Scotland, and especially her pre-eminent independent bottlers, have at their disposal.

Of the five malts I purchased, the Glen Keith was really startlingly good, and tasting notes are below. Glen Keith, although mothballed since 2000, is still a significant site for Chivas Brothers. Located in the town of Keith, it is just down and across the river Isla from Strathisla, whose spirit is filled there. When I passed from tun room to still house during my tour of Strathisla last year, I remember seeing pipes arrowing away down stream to another pagoda. The two distilleries are intrinsically connected. Glen Keith also malted its own barley until 1976, providing itself and Strathisla with malt. Chivas Bros. still use Glen Keith for important experimentation into the whisky-making process. 

Purchase this little star in 70cl form here.

Glen Keith 1993 46% (Gordon & MacPhail Connoisseurs Choice). £40.

Colour – Candy yellow. Light honey gold.

Nose – At first it seems quite bold with very clean characteristics and sweet citrussy oak. Lemon butter icing and butterscotch maltiness. Closer to it is oaky and grassy with apple, chunks of tablet and a just-ripe banana note. Lemon curd. Shortbread dough – raw pastry. Soft and creamy. After a sip, deeper vanilla toffee emerges, along with poached pears and cinnamon. Toasted ex-Bourbon oak and thick whipped cream.

      Water renders the whisky softer and sweeter still. The shortbread has been cooked and topped with praline. Lemon accented vanilla cream. Clean, ‘golden’ American oak. Intense heathery aromas appear and a darker rich spice. Apple turnover. Not complex: there are simply acres of delight to be accommodated. Aberfeldy-ish.

Palate – Round, quite rich and toffeed with a sweet spiciness. Citrus appears (lemon and orange) together with drying spices.

      Water makes for a softer experience again, with gristy malt and then oak. Lemon pastries, an intense dried grassiness then clean fruitiness. Slight charring.

Finish – Butterscotch sauce. Clean and soft malt in perfect harmony with a light juicy oakiness. More lemon. Medium length. Sponge cake mixture.

      Water perhaps fractionally improves matters: clean malt and soft sweet oak combine nicely. Fruity with white grape and green apple. Rich biscuit.

So…?      The advice when collecting is to go for the closed distilleries and those bottlings which taste nice. While I haven’t heard anything from anyone else about this particular vintage, it would be no skin off my nose to purchase a couple of these and, if nothing happens price-wise, I at least have the insurance of a lovely dram. This is not complex, but shows what pleasant, sweet and fresh heights some lighter Speyside malts can reach when paired with a damn good cask. The American oak does make this malt, but it does not predominate and allows some delicious biscuit and fruit notes through.

The other week my kind of press release landed in the Scotch Odyssey inbox. Rather than the latest ‘world’s first’, small-batch, or otherwise whimperingly expensive release, Isle of Jura dropped me a line to say that the finishing touches to their brand new £100,000 visitor centre have been made, just in time for Feis Ile 2011.

The new VC from the inside. There looks to be a bit more room to mill about, debating what to buy.

Not much more than a year ago I was in the previous incarnation and couldn’t see anything wrong with it. The visitor felt cosseted beneath the low ceilings, with lots of wood and unusual expressions of Jura single malt crowded onto shelves, between books and perched over doors and windows to catch the eye and confirm that you were nowhere else but in a distillery. There was not a great deal of room to work with but I felt Whyte & Mackay, the owners, had fitted it out well. Nothing in the whisky tourism sector stands still for very long, however, and further imagination, time and money has been dispensed on the precious few square metres that shall accommodate you, should you venture across. (And I would highly recommend it).

I’m especially interested in how the brand people have endeavoured to bind the distillery all the more closely with its local community and the history of its location. Allegedly, the refit sought to incorporate ‘the island’s legends and symbols, reflecting its literary, cultural, and mythical heritage in West of Scotland folklore’ and the ideal aesthetic to do this was believed to be a ‘traditional Hebridean bothy’. 

Whether earnest of playful, the critical point is that those trying to convey the Jura ethos to the numerous brave souls who visit from all over the world have seen the value in provenance and what it means for an industry to have hung around for some 200 years lending not only economic opportunity but also identity to those living close by. The Jura distillery was created to prevent the last of the Diurachs from upping sticks and moving out and that there is a stable population on the island today who may wield such an appellation is in part attributable to its foundation which I find to be an extremely powerful circumstance. The marketing has caught up with this reality: those who work in the distillery, either on the production or tourism side, by geographical necessity live on the island, too. The resulting whisky and how it is celebrated is thereby an expression of these local people who face and overcome local challenges to constitute a significant facet of this global product.

The new tasting table and display cabinet.

I would argue that such an intimate and time-sensitive quality will make itself evident following any time spent around Scottish distilleries but Jura’s new visitor centre attempts to spell this out with the pictures of honoured Diurachs on the wall and a tasting table granting access to some of the rarer vintages. People and spirit are combined in what the press release hopes will be an ‘authentic’ manner, making for an ‘authentic’ and worthwhile encounter for those who have overcome many miles and perhaps a choppy Sound of Islay to get there. Not having seen the finished article with my own eyes, I cannot suggest how tastefully this time capsule has been realised. Just remember, though, that it is not a Hebridean heritage centre but rather a vehicle for brand consciousness and I see no reason why the distillery should not have a bit of fun with those landscapes, artefacts and personal histories which contribute to it.

Willie Cochrane, Distillery Manager, sums it up nicely: “Many of those who make the effort to visit Jura do so because of our fine whisky and the rich culture of our remote island. Having a visitor centre that reflects the history and culture of our island, whilst matching the quality of our single malt, will provide our guests with a truer experience of what Jura is all about. More importantly, they will hopefully be more inclined to buy some of our fine whisky and share the magic of Jura with their friends and family!” Mythology, malt, and marketing.