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A treat for the Quaich Society: two bottles of Highland Park Earl Magnus.

The art of pillaging has moved on somewhat since the last time an insatiable horde sought the treasures of Orkney. Quaich Society guests were in fact deeply well-mannered as they queued for a welcoming and welcome dram of the Highland Park 12yo to begin the first tasting of the new year. They sensed that riches would come their way without the need for axes or blood-curdling yells, and they were right.

Patsy Christie and David Howe of Maxxium Brands ventured north to St Andrews to introduce the most northerly of Scotland’s single malts. Aided by some multimedia projection, we could appreciate what implications this might have for the whiskies in our Glencairns. Predominating images were of movement: sea and air principally. It is some challenge not to get blown away on Orkney, but Highland Park’s stature has swelled over the years and today it poses dismissively against the gale.

In my tenure at the Society, we have not welcomed a brand which malts a proportion of its own barley. With Highland Park, this affected the style of our tasting profoundly. ‘Orkney is a big part of Highland park,’ David had said, and Patsy produced a bit of the islands themselves forthwith to demonstrate what he meant. With some good-natured flouting of the health and safety laws, this slab of Hobbister Moor peat was ignited and passed around the congregation, a cloud of wraith-like smoke circulating. As it came in my direction, I detected a spent birthday cake candle smell, and a deeper aroma of incence. Placed beneath Highland Park barley for a few hours and this will generate the delicate heathery quality which I found enlivened all of the whiskies on show.

First up was the new make, and one I was desperate to try. I have said elsewhere how much I love this bolshy, raw product and I’m pleased to report that as new makes go, this is up there with Glencadam’s and Glen Garioch’s. It is stunning. On the nose there is orange and lemon, then fabulous buxom barley which blends a creaminess with a lovely, earthy crispness. This leads into a light prickle of sweet smoke.

Full-bodied on the palate, it displays clean and crisp qualities again. Barley sweetness and some honeydew melon. Shortbread and coconut - gently earthy. It really is magically complex.

A revelatory peat moment. My favourite kind of revelatory moments, if I'm honest.

‘When David and I were planning this tasting,’ said Patsy, ‘he asked me whether I wanted to talk about maturation. Of course! I love wood!’ Her impish grin set the Quaich Society a-sniggering but there was more to Patsy’s cask policy lecture than innuendo. With such premium, classically sherried brands as The Macallan and our guest for the evening, Highland Park, owners the Edrington Group had to source the best oak they could. I heard the following detail on Orkney and it was reiterated: the Edrington Group spends more on wood than the rest of the Scotch whisky industry combined. From the Missouri forests, American oak is shipped to Spain, converted into casks, filled with sherry, emptied and returned – whole – to Scotland. They care about what will contain these fine spirits for years to come and have done for sometime, as the recent launch of the 50yo attests.

We could see the results of that excellent new make after a few Orkney summers in these casks with the 18yo. F. Paul Pacult’s opinions may mean nothing to you – and they certainly mean nothing to me – but to his esteemed palate the 18yo is ‘the best spirit in the world’. Fair enough, but I don’t think it is a sufficient basis on which to anchor sales patter. Or maybe I would say that, having always preferred the 12yo. I’m sorry, but it has far more variety and balance than this specimen, which in the past has poured toffee into my nostrils and not much else. It performed admirably on the night, though, and is undoubtedly an impressive dram.

Patsy Christie and a tiny tot of the new Thor. Great things, small packages and whatnot.

A genuine privilege came in the form of the Earl Magnus of which, we were told, none now exist for sale. The character of this 15yo, cask strength individual was nuttier than the 18yo with more vanilla, apple and pear. A dab of water released far more orange and lemon, which, though a fraction peatier, mirrored the profile of the new make closely. The palate delivered with smoke and spice in addition to caramel, red apple and other red fruits.

The final venerable malt was the 21yo which launched itself out of the glass with robust, warm sherry tones. I detected embers in tbe grate, too, continuing the lovely delicacy of peat that the range had supplied hitherto. Red fruits appeared on the palate with a bit of phenolic smoke.

We almost forgot about the 21yo, however, because the normally docile and genial Quaich Society got a bee in its bonnet. The way issues such as ‘chillfiltration’ and ‘artificial colouring’ were hurled back and forth put me in mind of the Houses of Parliament during the Blair years and the words ‘weapons of mass destruction’. They would not give an inch. HP is chillfiltered, but only a little bit, it would appear. They don’t colour at all. Patsy, a whisky nerd up there with the most obsessive, cited research conducted by the Scotch Whisky Research Institute which said that chillfiltration had no effect – zero, nada – on the flavour profile of a whisky. I don’t know what to believe anymore, as I struggle to credit that the residue left on the edges of the glass after a single cask Glenfarclas has no impact on mouthfeel or the behaviour of the malt in your mouth. Never having had the opportunity of tasting the same malt chillfiltered and not, I cannot compare. If regulations are so strict about what you put into whisky, however, I think we need a little more guidance on what is taken out.

Patsy and David evaded the jabs and thrusts of the Quaich Soc’ers with composed, honest answers. Even a loaded comment about the calibre of cask selection and what might make its way into Famous Grouse would not provoke them. They received a raucous round of applause for their efforts, and I would like to thank both of them for bringing their expertise and excellent whiskies along to us. Maybe a few more minis of Thor for next time, though?

The eclectic line up for the Quaich Society Luvians tasting.

Tastings at the St Andrews Quaich Society have been coming around faster than I can give any account of them, it would seem. David Fletcher pulled off an excellent evening of Diageo malts a couple of nights ago and still Jamie’s dynamic, diverse and above all different tasting of Luvians’ finest from a couple of weeks ago has had no mention. Allow me to right a wrong.

The epicurean student societies of St Andrews love Luvians and Luvians reciprocate that love with discounts for entitled members on their wines, beers, sherries, vodkas, rums, Bourbons and, for the purposes of this post, whiskies. The independent wine and spirits merchant takes more of an interest in the student body beyond those who frequent their Market Street shop, however, and that is where Jamie comes in. When not coordinating the store’s beer and sherry lists – no mean feat if the plethora of little brown bottles by the door are anything to go by – Jamie takes Luvians to the students which, recently, meant that Quaich Society.

‘Yeah, new make!’ I cooed, when he had unpacked some Glenglassaugh Spirit Drink bottles ahead of the tasting. ‘Not just that,’ he said, opening a polythene bag and shaking its contents beneath my nose. Peaty porridge oats wafted oat again. ‘Ardbeg grist. I want to give you a start to finish tasting tonight.’

Centred around (some of) the Bruichladdich range, in addition to the Ardbeg grist (‘I made some bread with this. It was f****** awesome’) Jamie had also come armed with a block of peat, some chunks of cask and a couple of bottles of Pedro Ximenez. Unbelieveably sample bottles appeared filled with Benromach foreshots and feints. Earth, breakfast cereal, wood, whisky in all its earliest permutations and wine. ‘Start to finish’ was right.

You wouldn't dry a lot of malt with this approach, but it helped to convey the distinctive aroma of Scottish peat.

No sooner had all of the tasters arrived than Jamie shepherded us back out into the November evening again. The plan was to ignite the peat and provide the impression of the kiln. A stiff breeze and an inert clod meant that few gained the complete Laphroaig/Bowmore maltings peet reek, and Jamie burnt his thumb more than the fuel, but performing a process creates a more vivid impression than simply describing it.

Though neither the Glenglassaugh new spirit (pear and pineapple, while incredibly sweet and soft), the trio of Laddies or the Sherry (can you imagine?) boasted a strong peaty character, the find-the-peat-smoke exercise had awakened our senses. The first official whisky of the night was the Classic, a 7-8yo whisky matured in ex-Bourbon barrels. ‘No, really?’ I thought, as dramatic sweet and rich biscuit notes, combined with thick mascarpone, pine and hard sugar leapt out at me. This was like wandering around the Speyside cooperage, so intensely Bourbon woody was it. I don’t mean it was overly oaky, simply that the flavours of the American cask left no space for anything else. On the palate it was a similar story: a strong phenolic note could simply have been the charred cask, but the Laddie firmness of body gained the ascendancy together with a fizz of sweetness. Some water revealed tropical fruits, dried papaya especially, lemon syllabub and cedarwood incense on the nose, with a barley husk character on the palate.

The red carpet had been laid down for the latest significant Islay 10yo of recent years: the first age statemented Bruichladdich distilled under the present owners and master distiller Jim McEwan. Jamie raved about it. I was eager to find out which camp I was in: devotee or dissenter. For 100% Bourbon maturation, I was surprised by the initial nutty note on the nose. It was exceedingly nutty and rounded, in fact. I wasn’t surprised by what came next, though. See Tiger’s review on Edinburgh Whisky Blog here for a further discussion as to what this aroma might be, but while a neighbour of mine muttered ‘parmesan’, I recognised it as overly buttery, slightly damp shortbread. I have found this on all Bruichladdichs I’ve tasted and I’m not especially offended by it. However, it isn’t the best this dram has to offer as the Santa leftovers fade out to be replaced by pleasant oak notes together with papaya again and lychee. Lemon pith, too. The palate was full, with a slight peat note and brie on wholemeal bread. Vanilla came in later while some spirity notes asserted a degree of youthful vibrancy.

Water improved the nose, lending orange peel and biscuit. Eventually, a sniff depicted the hot summer sun on a ripening barley field. The palate, too, was something of a grower. It filled the mouth and offered very clean, sweet barley with a slight smoky edge. I came to really like this dram for its dazzling purity mixed with idiosyncracies.

The final whisky of the evening proudly sported its PX ballgown. This spirit from 1992 offered roast pepper on the nose with lots of sugar-laden barley and red fruits. Much of the sherry’s sugariness appeared later, with European oak’s lovely deep sappy quality. The palate was smooth and rounded, with a tannic note and then an easy progression into sweet orange notes. This whisky from the old regime was my pick of the night, although I hope to come across the Laddie Ten at some point again in the future.

I massive thank you has to go to Jamie for the thought and imagination he put in to giving us such a rewardingly holistic encounter with whisky. Maybe Luvians might want to invest in a portable kiln and pagoda for the next tasting, though.

The Scotch Malt Whisky Society has, when it comes to tastings, adopted the American military’s infamous strategy of shock and awe. Not only are their drams the equivalent of B52s in impact and firepower, their ambassadors together form some sort of Single Malt Navy Seal special forces unit. Essay deadlines had leached my preceding week of colour, life and pleasure. An airstrike from the SMWS squadron explosively repatriated them.

St Doug Clement worked a little miracle for the Quaich Society; by contributing 300 Glencairn glasses we could ensure that the five single cask, cask strength, unchillfiltered, uncoloured (my, oh my) drams Craig Johnstone had retrieved from The Vaults to wreak mass destruction would not be thwarted in their mission by inadequate glassware. ‘To leave no nose upturned’ is the Society’s motto, and when I had a mind to scan the room, every one of the 60 guests appeared to have theirs buried in Glencairns.

Some many-hued delights. 'Horizontal' tastings offer endless possibilities for exploration.

Craig introduced himself to the room, and the room to itself. He enquired of everyone’s places of origin and their taste in drinks. This was no phatic stunt to break the ice, however; it turns out that Craig has been just about everyone, tasted just about everything, and has a ravenous desire to understand how so many of our favourite beverages come to be. We learnt of eccentric Canadian treatments for back pain (Crown Royal if your sciatica is playing up); how India claim to be drinking more Johnnie Walker than Scotland produces, and the extraordinary diversity of flavours being created throughout the world and which Craig has witnessed for himself.

A considerable proportion of this flavour diversity – and maybe all of the 32 primary aromas he talked about – leapt out at us from the glasses in front of us. The first dram of the evening hailed from distillery 121 and it was cask #48. 121.48, then, or ’Let’s get this party started’ as the tasting note excerpt read. I found this light and rounded at first, with crisper, biscuity dry undertones developing. A little bit of braised cabbage and candied lemon, also. The palate was clean and smooth, with a hit of alcohol mid-palate and unripe pear. Water sharpened the nose, bringing out freshly washed cotton on the clothes line. A more strident biscuit note developed in the mouth, with charred oak, thick caramel and dark chocolate. A very fresh and frisky dram from Arran.

Dram No. 2 - or to be more correct, G5.3 – was a revelation. Gasps gusted around the Garden Suite and it was not simply on account of the 65.6% abv. Matured for eighteen years in a toasted virgin oak cask, this was one single grain that, for many, outstripped the single malts that night. I must confess that ‘Extraordinary’ is right. The grain spirit had plucked everything that was superlative from the cask, while keeping its light, clean softness. ’Who thought grain whisky could taste like this?’ Craig enquired. Had most of these Quaich Soc’ers not already been blessed with John Glaser’s proselytising with the help of his Hedonism bottling, more hands would have gone up. This was another weighty case to put to the grain dissenters.

The evening then repaired to an Old Jazz Bar next, a 26yo specimen from #35. I was impressed by the breadth of flavours, although it seemed a tad too discreet and polite at first although perhaps this was due to the strength. At 40.6% another couple of months in this particular ex-Bourbon cask would have robbed it of its whisky identity. Crisp, flaky malt, plain chocolate, ginger sponge and ground coffee comprised the expansive nose while the palate was exceptionally soft, with apple, well-integrated oak and vanilla biscuit. As Glen Morays go, this was a deliciously delicate individual.

Mr Craig Johnstone, giving one hell of a lecture.

I would never in a million years have supposed that 76.85, ‘The Antagonist’, might have indicated output from dear old Mortlach. Apple, pear and melon (eh?!) on the nose with some gently buttery barley and crisp oak have never appeared in my tasting notes for this Chthonic distillery. On the palate I did find rich vegetables and a ‘fixing’ quality, but I did not think to equate this with worm tub collusion, still less Dufftown. Water made it more voluble and oaky, with some orange rind tucked underneath to please the nostrils. And they were pleased, just fairly rubbish at the identity parade.

There could be no confusing the next incumbent. 29.90, as all Society peatheads will tell you, is the quite unique Laphroaig and I doubt this particular bottling would disappoint them. Heavy peat, glorious peat. Cigarette ash and bonfire night, spent matches. There were some in the room, however, who were somewhat hostile to this style of spirit but Craig, ever resourceful, had a solution. ‘I promise you this will get rid of the smoke, and you will finish that dram.’ Eyebrows were raised, but Craig persevered. ‘I want you to take a mouthful of water and just keep it there.’ We all obeyed, trying not to drown ourselves or gargle. ‘Now drink the whisky through the water.’ I stared in bemusement and wonder. The equivalent of Sawing the Woman in Half had just happened, in my mouth. The smoke fleetingly appeared as a rich, dry tickle and then disappeared altogether leaving only a caramel-like, barley sugar sweetness that rolled over the tastebuds with every possible flirtation. ‘The phenols dissolve in water first, you see,’ Craig said through a huge grin.

The tasting over, and a queue of people around the front table for the purposes of either thanking our host or putting their name and credit card details in his membership ledger, I could reflect on the marvel we had all witnessed. Craig Johnstone is the Kilchoman of the whisky ambassador world. For one so young it astonishes me that he should have acquired so much knowledge, science, anecdote and authority in so short a space of time. In fact, many a wily and more senior ambassador has laid light fingers on his show-stopper tricks without attribution, a tactic that does wrankle him a little. Of course, he is a couple of decades ahead of them already, and who knows what heights will be attained with a few more years around casks regarding the Craig Johnstone package?

‘Had any of you heard about the Scotch Malt Whisky Society before tonight?’ Craig had asked at the top of the evening. ’Did any of you think we were a cult?’ Perhaps expansion into the religious sect business would not be a disastrous idea: I know that many in St Andrews were converted.

Between the six of us committee members, my ironing board and some Benromach whisky fudge, we must have succeeded in getting the message across. You cannot go far wrong with the Quaich Society, St Andrews’ whisky tasting club, for a Thursday night of top drawer dramming. When discussing the academic year’s first tasting last week, I’m delighted to say the expression ‘auspicious start’ doesn’t do it justice.

Two vertical tastings, of Old Pulteney and Balblair, proved a popular format.

Lucas, acting Brand Ambassador for Inver House Distillers, provocative co-author of Edinburgh Whisky Blog and new father, arrived with the whiskies a matter of moments before the inundation of whisky anoraks who watched, beady of eye, as the Quaich committee poured out the evening’s chief talking points. That two decidedly premium expressions, in addition to the present entry-level bottlings, from both the Old Pulteney and Balblair stables had materialised successfully got tongues wagging.

Having squeezed as many souls around the tables as was decent, Lucas launched into the serious business of our congregation: the whiskies. He began with the Old Pulteney 12yo, one of my very favourite drams in the age category by merit of its punchy salt and fruit palate and ludicrous drinkability. Next came the 17yo, which Lucas, I must interpret, rather liked. He praised it’s citrusy character, extra smoothness and poise. ‘Going back to the 12yo from this,’ he said, ‘it comes across as a dirty dram.’ However, a few patrons were concerned that their measure of the 17yo might not have been a dirty dram, too. Indeed, the disparity in colour between samples poured from the newly re-packaged batch of 17yo and those hailing from the older bottling was striking. What we had here was batch variation in practice, and a perfect example of why major brands adjust the complexions of their whiskies with the help of spirit caramel to preclude any confusion or suspicion. Lucas assured us that nothing sinister was afoot. Perhaps the brand sparkly new packaging has given the whisky a sun tan.

I won’t speak to much of the 21yo, as I intend to publish tasting notes of my 21st birthday present to myself soon. It’s rich, spicy Sherry notes and deep toffee flavours were a hit with many on our table, however.

Lucas with the newly re-packaged 17yo. A new canister - and also a new hue.

We now turned to Balblair and the fresh face of youth again. I have had the 2000 bottling maybe four times, but never has it had the power to recall the distillery so particularly and thrillingly. The bolshy, jellied citrus fruit notes leapt out at me straight away and for a moment I was standing with Martin by the spirit safe as the low wines began to dribble through, then by the feints receiver. The incredibly dense spiciness and clean barley flavours evoked the malt bins, and my cleated clatter between them to the changing rooms each morning. As the aroma developed my nostrils duped my brain into believing that I was back in the courtyard beside the draff lorry, and then in the mash house itself. I was stunned by the clarity and idiosyncracy of smells which I could identify with the help of the 2000, that within my little wine glass Balblair’s scent-filled nooks and crannies could be rediscovered.

For my thoughts on the Balblair 1989 I would simply direct you to this post of earlier in the year. Suffice it to say that for those who could not be made to swear oaths of fealty  to the Old Pulteney 21yo, this was their champion of the evening and received plenty of plaudits. It was the 1978, however, that made my night.

When Lucas mentioned that column condensers hadn’t made it to Balblair until the early 1980s, my ears pricked up. When he spoke of Sherry maturation my legs began shake. When I raised the glass and inhaled, the rest of my anatomy damn near went into catatonia. Whiskies pushing passed 30 are always difficult to dissect. They have that langorous ease of age which melds all elements of its production and ingredients list into one glorious whole. So it proved with the 1978 as rich dried fruits and deep oak aromas blended with dark, smooth maltiness and a dried floral note. The grip on the palate was mightily impressive and creamy vanillins curled around drying tropical fruits as the finish developed. I adored it. And stole the canister so that its purply handsomeness could commemorate another precious encounter with one of my favourite malts.

Massive thanks are owed to Lucas and Inver House whose generosity and estimation of Quaich Society tastes proved to be most astute. Lucas hinted that anCnoc might merit a tasting all of its own next year… We shall see.

The penultimate tasting of the academic year finally arrived after a two-week Spring Break intermission, and we Quaich Soc’ers were delighted that the supremely high calibre of outfits pitching up in St Andrews for the purposes of sloshing the water of life around a bit was to be maintained following March’s superlative visit from Compass Box.

Glenfarclas is, as some of you may know, one of my absolute favourite whiskies. My first heavily-sherried whisky was their multi-award winning 15yo – a firm favourite of Michael Jackson and Jim Murray. I found that, straight out of the bottle, there was an aroma of sweet, treated wood and a velvety, clinging mouthfeel which were unlike anything I had come across in whisky until then. More time spent in its company revealed a rich fruitiness, balanced as it was by an earthy spiciness. Only latterly did I appreciate the wonderful dark nuttiness and fat vanilla flavours. I was satisfied with my tour of the distillery, keen to escape the caprices of violent wind and hail which had been coiling about Ben Rinnes that day. Peter Donnelly, brand manager, was on a mission to bring some of this heritage, critical acclaim, unique location and strong family values to bear upon us students, through a mightily impressive inventory of whiskies with the final three far older than anything that has been put before the Quaich Society this year.

After some very brief background, Peter was anxious that we should be drinking some of his whisky. We all turned to the 10yo, one I have had before and was quite impressed with. Surrounded on all sides by its older siblings, however, it came across as somewhat limp: a clean, sweet nuttiness, grassiness and vanilla all that could really distinguish it. Not a bad whisky by any stretch of the imagination - and as Peter asserted, it is more of an introductory malt – but the guests in the Scores Hotel function room were keen to continue exploring.

The 15yo I effectively described above, and I shall only add here that in a comparative context, much more biscuity flavours emerged on the palate and finish beside the richer, older expressions.

Peter Donnelly

Of especial interest was Peter’s emphasis on the maturation process, and how it is uniquely influenced by the microclimate generated in and around Ben Rinnes. It cannot be ignored. As I alluded to earlier, even in mid-April it is possible to experience a disorientating white-out as snow and sleet bucket out of the sky. Winter temperatures at the distillery can be as low as minus 22 degrees Celcius – extreme is the only word for it. Glenfarclas, however, have stuck by their traditional maturation techniques. Thick, ancient, stone-walled warehouses with slate rooves and earthen floors ensure that the worst of the heat and cold is avoided and provides the perfect consistency of ambient conditions to aid in fully-interactive maturation with minimal evaporation. Indeed, Glenfarclas can boast some of the lowest evaporation by volume in the industry. Strength is largely unaffected, too, as the extraordinary proofs many of the very old Family Casks have retained demonstrates.

To the wood, though, and this is where little, family-run Glenfarclas has to muscle in alongside the big boys - the likes of The Macallan, Highland Park, Laphroaig – all of whom want top quality Sherry casks in which to mature their drams. Demand of such casks vastly outstrips supply and hence why so many distillers have switched to ex-Bourbon barrels, more plentiful and crucially, much much cheaper. When the Grants head over to Spain each year, each cask will cost them between 600-700 euros. That Glenfarclas nevertheless abstains from charging Highland Park and Macallan prices, however, is what is so remarkable, considering the quality of the product that leaves those venerable, dear, Sherry butts.

Our next whisky was the 21yo, one I have not previously come across and was grateful to do so here. I found it rather unusual for a Glenfarclas, with a lightness to it as to which I’m still unsure whether the pronounced mulchy earthiness balanced. Initially, I found planed oak, quite spicy and sweet. Then came fragrances of a damp ornamental garden: sweet earth, wet waxy leaves and lush grass. Potato peelings yielded to white grape notes and then a toffee yoghurt character. On the palate there was more sweetness, with an assertive dryness. Earthy again, the experience concluded with floral and fruit notes. Peter revealed that the 21yo batches have become much more consistent, and of a higher quality, now that they have sourced casks from a smaller, more artisanal producer. I was intrigued by this whisky, but not wholly won over.

In stark contrast, the 25yo came blustering along with a challenge painted on its richly-hued face. This was the first of Peter’s ‘occasion whiskies’ – not for everyday drinking but a damn good thing to have tucked away. I couldn’t agree more. Marvellously focused, I discovered more of the apple notes than I had been able to with the others, together with oranges. Lush grass melded into a firm, spicy oakiness. The experience moved into the panelled library, with old books a suggestive aroma. Finally, crystallised orange peel confirmed the age and the Sherry behind this excellent dram.

On the night, the 25yo even outshone a whisky which had for a long time been remembered as one of those ‘Malt Moments’, when your immediate surroundings have no other recourse than to take a back seat as the dram in your hand moves centre stage. That had been the 30yo when I had it at the Scotch Whisky Experience in 2009. Though still impressive, the 25yo showed it a clean pair of heels for pace and agility.

What came next was to be possibly the oldest whisky the Quaich Society has ever seen at its tastings, but before I move on to that, Peter related a fascinating story of the oldest whisky Glenfarclas has. This is not one of the Family Casks – it isn’t even for sale. During the 1980s, a call was patched through from America. The caller had discovered a case of Glenfarclas whisky behind the chimney fixtures of his late father’s house, and offered the Grants the opportunity to buy back their stock, if they so wished. Further investigation through distillery records revealed that what was being described was not old whisky in terms of the spirit (between 8 and 10 years at most) but it had been bottled before Prohibition even got going. For three quarters of a century this whisky had been tucked out of sight, but sadly no-one had got round to drinking it. Perhaps they had forgotten where they had put it. The plain white case is now in the keeping of J & G Grant.

But, to that mature gentleman in our final glass. Peter had treated us to their 40yo, at £300 a bottle far out of reach of most of the tasters in the room that night, even with a misappropriated student loan, but as we couldn’t help recognising, considerably good value for money. Aware that lots of and lots of heavily-sherried whiskies might exhaust my olfactory senses, I had in fact turned to this dram first and discovered an intense, sherried red fruitiness with a creamy and rich sweetness. Dried cherries were in there, together with sweet spice, soft leather and heathery peat. The palate was rich, dark and tongue-coating, with peach and plum. Returning my nose to the glass revealed an added nutty sweetness with hedgerow berries. A touch of water brought out vanilla and big, boozy and juicy fruitcake. Oaky resin emerged, together with delicate heathery smoke. Big, but soft red apple rounded out a very rich and fruity nose. The diluted palate was very drying and rich with a spicy earthiness and somewhat too short finish. I had expected more from this whisky, I must confess. I feel it could have benefited from a little more abv, just to give it a bit of life. Who am I to argue with the wishes of John Grant, however, the one who put the whisky together? If he feels the best of the whisky is drawn out at 43% abv then so it shall be.

For a family-run business, Glenfarclas are hardly cautious in the big bad world of whisky. Peter described the dramming session of 2007 which would result in the release of the Family Casks. ‘So,’ says one, ‘what is the oldest whisky we’ve got?’

‘Ah well,’ says another, ‘I think there are a few casks from 1952.’

‘Huh… And what’s the next oldest after that?

’1953.’

‘And after that?’

’1954.’

Peter Donnelly with the 175th Anniversary bottling.

In short, they discovered that they had casks from every year between 1952 and 1994 so what did they do? Rather than feeling rather smug and secure – as they had every reason to do – the cry went up: ‘Release ‘em!’ Peter makes out that this move was made ’just for a laugh – honest to God’. He reasons that the folks behind Glenfarclas have ‘made their money a long time ago’, and if they could offer something different, they ought to. No sooner was the release announced that 14 complete sets were immediately sold – that’s 43 individual bottles, the most expensive of which is nearly £1100. It has been phenomenally successful, the aim being to supply spectacular whisky, at prices that people can manage. Glenfarclas all over, really.

For the raffle, as Glenfarclas 105 circled about the room, Peter had a special prize for the first ticket out of the cannister: a bottle of the 175th Anniversary. A vatting of 18 casks from across five decades, bottled at 43% abv - just 6,000 bottles are available worldwide. Again, the whisky was intended to be the star of the show, hence packaging that is no different to the standard range – affordability ‘over crystal boxes and chandeliers and all this nonsense.’ The winner certainly looked happy with himself, and my three strips of tickets utterly redundant.

Many thanks go to Peter for breaking out the seriously rare stuff for us, and for the Quaich Society team for putting together another sell-out tasting.

The whisky-drinking fraternity of the University of St Andrews had not taken well December’s showing of Snow Blight and the Seven Sacrificed Drams. Last-minute cancellations due to the ice rink that was the runway at Edinburgh Airport had kept Compass Box grounded in London and that, we feared, was that for 2010/11.

Not so: Domino, Society President, had reviewed, reshuffled and doubtless deployed many other arcane strategies known only to members of student committees to secure a slot for the boutique blender in the Quaich Society schedule. The date was set, posters and Facebook groups went live, all sixty places in the Garden Suite of the Scores Hotel were taken. John Glaser was here.

It would be sorely tempting simply to reproduce the snippets of quotes I managed to scribble down during a superlative tasting. Erudite, eloquent and passionate, John guided us through the Compass Box range in a manner only the man who made them can. There could have been no better candidate to advocate the potential of Scotch blends to a hoard of single malt swilling students, and so prolific were his mantras from the ‘margins’ that a dedicated platoon of us tramped off at high speed after the tasting to purchase some bottles before Luvians, the local wine and spirits store, closed. However, as enthralling as, if not even better than, John’s presentation were his whiskies, seven of the most distinctive and thought-provoking I have had in quite a long while.

Respectfully borrowing some of John’s idiosyncratic inclination, I shall end at the beginning. Unusually, our first pour of the evening was perhaps my very favourite, and this is in part thanks to the extent to which it exemplifies John’s philosophy for his company.

John holding court.

Leaving Whisky #1 aside for the moment, then, let us contemplate the evolving, absorbing nature of Whisky #2. My initial snufflings of Oak Cross were uncertain: I thought it a little musty with lots of earthy cereals verging on a drying peatiness, hard sticky toffee and banana bread. A tad muscle-bound, perhaps. On the palate, however, enlightenment – just what John had been so particular about stressing up to this point and for the remainder of his time with us. After his various malts have spent around 10 years (he looks for ‘roughly’ a certain age profile for the business of constructing his whiskies) in quality American oak casks (first- and re-fill casks only), they are allowed six months in casks with new French oak heads. ‘Why French oak?’ was one of the first of many questions John fielded from a lively audience. ‘Richness, complexity, and spice’ was the reply, John’s background in the wine industry furnishing him with privileged insights into oak-and-alcohol interaction in a wide variety of contexts. The vatting of Clynelish, Teaninich and Dailuaine created a deep, soft fruitiness at first with blackberry and sweet oat biscuits. The finish was outstandingly long with chewy, stewed fruits and heavy, sticky sulphuriness – in a good way. A little water (John had supplied pipettes for the ultimate in geeky levels of spirit-cutting exactitude) pulled out maritime flavours with more vanilla. A stonking dram.

The next whisky exemplified John’s passion for the ‘craft approach’, something he described as ‘trying to do something for the sake of it’ quality-wise, and not to consolidate a brand identity. Spice Tree made the Scotch Whisky Association very nervous when it was first released and was indeed effectively banned. John had to re-engineer his approach to introducing French oak from the Vosges forest to his whiskies. The result is now legal as far as the SWA is concerned, married in 80% new French oak casks rather than hogsheads with staves of French oak secured to the interior.

In a very measured and reasonable rant, John bemoaned the legislation which abides doggedly by ‘traditional’ at the expense of innovation for quality’s sake. Any time spent with Compass Box whiskies reveals what a ludicrous position this is to take for any body ostensibly in existence to champion and thereby preserve the status of Scotch whisky. While the SWA, commendably, protects against fraudulent manipulations of every aspect of Scotch - and maintaining sanctity of origin together with assurances that the process is as natural as possible are immensely important - one cannot help but experience something of Glaser’s mystification at the extent to which whisky’s deliciousness is factored out of the rule book. Together with his cooper, John estimates that the typical cask is used by the Scotch whisky industry a frankly unbelievable six times. There is a quantity of extremely tired wood out there which some companies yammer are still fit to mature whisky. His little ‘magic trick’ involving spirit caramel reversed the natural v. traditional debate. With a wry smile, John described how artificial colouring of whisky was ‘traditional’, but could hardly claim to be natural.

'And for my next trick...' John is dead against 'Farbstoff'.

Anyway, Spice Tree offered sweet woodsmoke, cayenne pepper and citrus on the nose, with a palate remarkable initially on account of its mouthfeel. Firm, oaky, fruity and spicy, it exploded on the tongue. Vanilla, orange and creamy dark chocolate came along soon afterwards to soothe again.

I shall briefly mention Peat Monster and Double Single – not because I didn’t enjoy them, but because there were more drams than can be conveniently accommodated in one blog post. Suffice it to say that the former was bathed in fragrant and complex smoke with a delicious balancing sweetness and the latter all strawberry sauce for ice cream and summer pine forests. It was at this juncture that John revealed that the recipe for Peat Monster was set to change: Ledaig in for Caol Ila and more Laphroaig in the mix with batch code numbers soon to appear on all Compass Box whiskies – ‘for all you geeks’. ‘Amen!’ piped up my neighbour.

Forgive me for glossing over Flaming Heart, too. By this point my olfactory senses were drowning in lactic acid and the fog of 46% abv drams had claimed the brain. However, it reminded me of a big and dark yet clean Bowmore: all smoke and balancing fruity sweetness. It was a mightily impressive whisky, and its label – very soon to be if not already an icon of whisky packaging – adorned the t-shirts and posters John dispersed to raffle winners and correct responses to his rhetorical questions.

Another cause of my sensory fatigue was that I could not leave alone whiskies #1 and #5. Rounding out the core range was the whisky that launched Compass Box ten years ago: controversial, daring, but utterly brilliant, it has been through several renditions since then and goes by the name of Hedonism. A vatting of grain whiskies of an average of 20 years old, this bottling demonstrates just how awesome that ‘blend filler stuff’ is when treated sympathetically in, as John reinforced, great casks. Light, floral, woody and sappy, the cereal formed the shapely body on top of the oak chasis – like an Aston Martin DB9. Coconut and creaminess came next, with a snapshot of pine forests in spring: all mist and blueberry bushes. Caramel popcorn rounded out a truly glorious nose which water did not harm one bit. Leafiness jumped out as did more coconut once a few drops of water had been added. On the palate there was plenty of oak and butterscotch, spice and dryness. A heart-stopping whisky.

My favourite, however, was the opening dram. Though the lightest, Asyla had such grace, depth and distinctiveness that I drained the glass last of all. A blended whisky for – as I discovered following the race to Luvians – under £30, this was simply astounding. Confessing that it was the dram he drank at home, John’s genius is present to the same degree in this as in the likes of Spice Tree and Oak Cross. Described on our cards as ‘Sweet, delicate, fruity and smooth’, I added to this butteriness, rounded sweetness with soft fruits (melon) and citrus (lemon). Charred oak and earthy peat showed themselves in addition to raw barley and apple. Water lightened the experience still further with spice and barley sugar and in addition to sponge cake qualities, I detected that magical signature of first-fill Bourbon: soft white pine syrup sweetness. The fresh green oaky scents flicked a switch in my brain and for a moment I was nosing my exalted malt: that Aberlour single cask. The palate was equally beautiful: light and sweet, it exhibited spice, jellied fruits with plenty of vanilla. After dilution it became peppery with toffee, black cherry, dark chocolate, more of that vanilla and a grassiness. Goooood wood.

Even 1500 words cannot communicate the brilliance, assurance and knowledge of Mr Glaser. Questions came from all around the room, and each answer revealed some obscure fact of the whisky-making and marketing process which John has discovered, explored and adapted. His mission statement is to create whiskies that are exceptional and balanced, that exhibit the best of the raw materials that comprise the spirit and encourage the drinker to return again and again to the glass. ‘Few other drinks are as compelling as whisky,’ he says. ‘It is something you will never tire of.’ With this uncommon insight into a whisky company headed in unpredictable but undoubtedly exciting directions, I’m sure that this will prove true. The fantastic materials John has at his disposal, the sympathetic imaginings which he indulges concerning them and the passion he has to take them around the world for discussion ensure that Compass Box shall henceforth be at the forefront of my mind. Not only that, but in such a capacity John performs a tremendous service to the multi-billion pound blending industry as a whole, too.

Sincerest thanks go to John for coming along to talk to us and all credit to the Quaich Society committee for securing this incredibly busy man.

The Quaich Society here in St Andrews has acquired a considerable quantity of momentum so far this term. A number of factors put paid to the final portion of last term’s itinerary but so far in 2011 the drams and learned conversation have been liberally flowing. This Thursday (the 10th), Diageo came to town, and I could not miss my chance to appraise how the world’s largest drinks producer goes about conducting tastings. As it happened, they are rather good indeed.

There could have been no more appropriate ambassador to address a bunch of students than a man who looked as if he had only just graduated himself. Duncan opened his talk with an allusion to just this happy circumstance, promising that he was relishing the change in demographic our forty-or-so strong crowd presented.

With his six key points of discussion, and a special al fresco stunt planned for us at the end of the evening, Duncan’s task was a hefty one. Constraints of time are rarely too strictly observed at the Quaich Society, however, and we lapped up all of the information Duncan put before us. And the prevailing bias of the tasting was just that: information. The only thing ‘hard-sell’ about Duncan was his sincere love for his job and Scotch whisky, and putting the free Talisker scarves and ‘rocking glass’ to one side, gimmickry was notable by its absence. He expressed his personal views on such matters as terroir and centralised warehousing, basing many of his statements on the science of distilling, in addition to the simple realities of economics.

To those six factors, therefore: facets of the Scotch whisky product Duncan felt it most necessary to know. He accompanied each individual whisky with a spiel relating whichever of these categories that whisky could most interestingly illustrate, the first of which was Glenkinchie. Now this little Lowlander receives a fair amount of flak from some quarters, but I happen to be a fan of its sweet, dry, herbal characteristics. On this occasion I found more of the tight spiritiness of younger whisky with a great deal of vanilla and ginger cookie dough. Duncan partnered this with the distillery’s history. When the phylloxera virus decimated Cognac in the 1800s, two Edinburgh businessmen saw an opportunity to supply drinkers south of the border with spirit. However, it had to be different from their past encounters with the potent, heavy qualities of Highland Scotches. Sited close to rail links and raw materials for efficient production and access to market, Glenkinchie today continues to provide much of the freshness and zip in blends such as Johnnie Walker.

We covered Dalwhinnie next, a preferred dram of mine in the right circumstances. Creamy and peachy with honey and smoke, the flavours did not disappoint or surprise. Duncan illuminated the story of Dalwhinnie with a word on the journey required to reach it. ‘You know when you head north of Pitlochry on the A9, when everything starts to look as if you’re in Mordor? That’s Dalwhinnie.’ Meaning ‘meeting place’, I can empathise with Duncan’s description. Unfortunately this was from the comfort of a car instead of a bike but that is what the next Odyssey is for…

Dram no. 3 was introduced in a highly novel fashion: ‘OK, who has beef with the Singleton of Dufftown?’ Hands shot up. Duncan’s explanation of why Diageo markets three different malts in three different territories in exactly the same style went some way to pacifying the dissenters in the room. Glendullan for the States, Glen Ord for Asia and Dufftown for the UK and Europe are each intended to occupy a given location on the Flavour Map, which was also wheeled out a couple of times during the evening, hence the identical labelling. Duncan conceded that, as a trio, they did not garner the greatest critical acclaim. However, he then dropped in the little nugget that the Singleton was the fastest growing whisky and in the world. Fair enough – Diageo don’t stay where they are at the top of the tree by refusing to give the general drinker, and in this case new drinkers, what they want.

With a word on maturation regimes for the Singletons (almost exclusive Sherry maturation) we arrived at the ‘big boy whiskies’. Duncan’s passion for Talisker and his eloquence on the subject of whisky generally was extremely powerful. ‘Why is whisky favoured around the world? Why is it romanticised in the way that maybe vodka isn’t? Why, when you type Talisker into Google do you come up with endless pictures of dogs?’ We awaited his answer, and – for me – it was the right one. ‘Because of the place.’ Talisker, as I have said before, is the most awesomely-situated distillery in Scotland. Duncan endeavoured to explain how Skye and malt whisky had the power to conspire and embed sensory sensitivity in the overcome visitor. How the locality and force behind the whisky could return to you, when you least expected it, over a Talisker anywhere in the world. That was what the tumblers and scarves were for. Duncan intended to lead us down to the beach, pour out some 57 North and let the magic happen.

Caol Ila and Lagavulin were somewhat hastily guzzled in anticipation of this jaunt – unique in my experience at the Quaich Society. Whilst to describe Lagavulin is superfluous by now (I am deeply saddened that my 20cl bottle is nearly dry), my encounter with the Caol Ila 12yo after what must be nearly two years of hiatus was keenly savoured. When I first entered the room I must confess I had been rather rude to my companions as I slumped on the table with my nose dipped, immovable, in the glass. It is such a magnificent aroma, such a majestic house style: so sweet, fresh, clean, oily and smoky. When Duncan told me that they had recently launched the Caol Ila Moch, I took note. An exclusive for the Friends of the Classic Malts, Moch is non-age statemented, vatting together 8-15 year-old Caol Ila for a medley of qualities. Money, where are you?

After satisfying his raffle-drawing duties, Duncan marched those of us intrepid enough and devoted enough to Talisker to brave the ferocious wind and cold to the shoreline. In the dark, the cask strength hooch flowed into waiting tumblers. Beneath the stars, we warmed ourselves on malty lava from the Isle of Skye. Unfortunately, I was left somewhat cold by the 57 North. It could have been the temperature, it could have been the lack of water to cut the spirit, but I found it too one-dimensional with a rigid dark oak note which strangled the body of the whisky. Rather than that irresistable Talisker peat fire burn which builds and builds, the whole thing just tasted slightly burnt – like salted caramel left on too high a heat.

Though the whisky was not to my taste, it was a highly innovative idea on Duncan’s part – not something he could have done in Manchester or Leeds, for example. The stars and my fellow Quaich Sockers were magnificent company at any rate.

I think this picture adequately demonstrates our gratitude to Duncan, and the Quiach Society committee, for laying on another fabulous evening.

Raising a toast with Talisker.

Had I elected to partake of my flatmate’s evening menu – chicken breasts with a pine nut crust, creamy leek sauce and steamed veg – I would have missed this superlative tasting, the first which I have had cause to chronicle since the Adelphi tasting back in October. Striding into the Scores Hotel after a hasty pasta-’n'-sauce, the atmosphere spoke of more than 300-odd glasses of single malt gently exhaling, but about 50 persons squabbling for seating, too. The place was packed out.

Such exponential interest could have been down to the projector/PowerPoint assemblage, which certainly conferred upon Ian from Springbank a heightened aura of professionalism. Unfortunately, as I had experienced when I gave a talk to my local Rotary Club, there were technical difficulties. Solutions were soon improvised, however, and an exterior shot of the distillery gateway, of which I had likewise taken a photograph with my bike lent against it, appeared on the screen. After a preliminary request that someone keep him informed as to the latest developments in the Rangers match, we got under way.

A healthy turnout.

Springbank – and indeed the Argyll area as a whole – made a singular impression on me, yet I have had minimal opportunity to explore their output beyond the delicious 10 and 15yos. Ian would redeem my ignorance.

The first of the six sparkling glasses of the evening contained a dram I have been very keen to source: Kilkerran. Produced in the J & A Mitchell-owned and restored Glengyle distillery, expressions have been released annually for the last couple of years as ‘Works in Progress’. The representative on this occasion was 6-years-old and mightily intriguing it was, too. Firm, clean and very sweet, barley sugar notes stood out on both the nose and palate, the former became more tropically fruity with waxy mango skin after a touch of water. Honey and citrus also made an appearance. Spicy, oaky and vaguely biscuity on the palate, a creaminess slowly developed. The casks have been doing their jobs impressively, and this is set to be a very enjoyable malt.

Ian was to surprise me with his next selection: not the CV expression of the triple-distilled and unpeated Hazelburn expression, produced in the Springbank distillery, but the limited release and Sherry-matured 12yo. Apricot-like initially, that Springbank saltiness came through in a rush. Grungey, oaky, leafy and oily, there was a dustiness in the mouth that reminded me of very old houses. These drying flavours lightened, and intensely herbal aromatics appeared. Returning to this later on in the evening, however, the Hazelburn seemed a tad washed out beside its richer, peated siblings.

Our measures for the evening.

A couple of gents whom I had not met at previous tastings were asking some very intelligent questions and between them and the folk on the committee table, Ian was given a real work over. However, with rakish assurance cask-variety percentages, barley strains and peating levels were all related to us – although he got a little bit distracted when news of Rangers’ last-gasp goal which ensured their passage to the next stage of the Europa League came through. On the subject of barley, the distillery has been using Optic for some time now, and malts 100% of their requirements on-site. Where possible, they aim to use the produce from local farmers in the west of Scotland, but during especially damp winters, supplies from the East (Lothian) have to be brought in. As I mentioned in my review of the Springbank experience, they were distilling batches of ‘Local Barley’ again from farms immediately around Campbeltown and this is intended to be kept back for a few years yet. On the subject of peating levels, we now embarked upon the Springbanks.

At roughly 20ppm, the standard Springbank is a medium-peated malt whisky. It is no Ardbeg, but peat does constitute a large proportion of its character, although as we would all discover with the next three malts, in complete harmony with the other flavours hailing from the Mull of Kintyre. The first of these was the CV expression. CV stands for Chairman’s Vat, and represents the company’s endeavours to market both a more affordable whisky and a perfect introduction to the Springbank house style. If it helps, it gets my seal of approval. Matured in a mixture of Bourbon, Sherry and Port casks, with an age profile of between 6 and 10 years, this boasted lovely sweet and rich notes. Banana cream pie, nutty, very toffeed with a breath of sea air, the palate was a medley of crisp peat and smoke, big, lively richness and a slight appley character.

Much has been said about the 10yo, and even amongst such exotic company, the principal bottling held its ground. I loved the soft leather, barley, orange and pepper notes, and especially the velvety muscular body. The palate hadn’t the peaty presence of the CV, but was richer, oakier and nuttier.

The very best – to my mind – was saved for a penultimate encounter. The new addition to the range and hot on the heels of the other fairly young, age-statemented and above all cask strength releases from around Scotland was a 12yo at 58% ABV, which took the breath of some other tasters. A blend of first- and refill Sherry casks, I couldn’t help but glory at the complexity of body and depth of oak flavours faithfully rendered by the preserved strength. Perfumed, with oak and lots of pear and apple, the nose carried on into baked bread and earthy spice. Vanilla and nuts appeared, as did paprika, sawn oak and toffee. I loved the palate: thick and phenolic, with apple peel notes and general citrussy qualities. A touch of water revealed the maritime character, as well as barley sugar and burnt bark. The whole thing was a thrilling triumph and I want more, please.

Ian in lecture-mode.

The tasting concluded with the peat monster: Longrow. One of the best drams I was implored to try during my tour was a nip of the CV in Cadenheads after my tour of Springbank and I adored its rugged, seaside freshness in addition to thick, oily industrial smoke. The 14yo was somewhat disappointing after such fond memories. Peat had been present at first, but with so much time interacting with the air, this had if anything disappeared, blown over the sea to Islay where they know how to keep hold of their smoke. What I detected instead was a very pleasant rich pear aroma. Then came creamy toffee and ginger biscuits. I was beguiled by its apparent softness. Peat appeared on the palate, but only after a slow build. Otherwise, the experience was clean and sweet, with heather and more fruit on a return to the nose.

Ian encoutnered very little resistance selling the Springbank story. The traditional – some might say stone-age – approach to making whisky has not failed them yet, it would seem, and it is a very strong range, happily polished off but us thirsty students in the process of the raffle. I would like to thank Ian for bringing the word of Campbeltown from distant Argyllshire – we thoroughly enjoyed his company and knowledge. Credit must also go towards the committee of the Quaich Society who put on yet another seamless tasting. The next few promise to be very entertaining indeed, but I shan’t give anything away just yet…

Do not miss this shop if you are anywhere near north east Scotland. It is relatively accessible (between May and November!) and contains malts and people unlike any others.

Re-visit Glen Garioch: check; dine at Sandy’s: check – I had been very efficient in my completion of whisky-related objectives so far on my Scotch Odyssey plenary, and with the previous night’s Speyside Platter still handsomely fueling my faculties, we made the journey into the Cairngorms to Tomintoul for my third mission.

As far as whisky emporia which I encountered over the course of my tour, none could match the Drury’s Whisky Castle. For the two days I enjoyed Tomintoul as my base camp, I spent a good deal of time in the shop and not nearly enough money. Mike and Cathy are passionate, generous, and often outspoken, but in the main fabulous ambassadors for whisky – although I don’t expect The Macallan or The Glenlivet to be employing Mike as sales director any time soon, but more of that later.

A sample of the varied bottlings to be found here.

Where else could I have gone to purchase a most significant bottle? Who else could more instructively and entertainingly me guide me through the plethora of independent expressions available inside? Mike was my man for Mortlach.

He did not at first understand why I should be so determined to limit myself within the biodiverse jungle of his shop to one species of distillery alone. I had to explain that Mortlach was a special place for me, producing a special dram appreciated by special people. He grabbed a 12-year-old Provenance from the phalanx of sample bottles behind the till and tipped some into the bulbous Whisky Castle tumblers, which worked well for the tasting. I sensed conifer branches and burnt toffee, with plenty of phenolic character. Rich oak and sweet barley sugar emerged, too, along with a little shortbread. It was a clean nose, leading into a big, sulphury palate which filled the mouth with sweetness and a hint of peat smoke. A worthy start, but it hadn’t the guts at 46% ABV that I was really seeking.

This was a thoroughly pleasant way of spending a Thursday morning. I mean afternoon...

Mike’s next suggestion was a Douglas Laing of the same age as the Provenance. At 50% ABV it was approaching the heady heights of raw whisky and certainly propounded plenty of oaky flavours on the nose: vanilla, new oak and a dry sweetness, extra rounded stewed fruit notes appearing after a time with greener fruits behind them. Toffee was present in the mouth, as well as more oak. Chewy and fruity, this reminded me quite a lot more of the 16-year-old official expression, one of my very favourites.

As I was nosing, scribbling and pondering, people were continually being sucked through the door. Whisky drinkers are chatty people – even at 11AM – and what was as a harmless remark on the part of one couple that they had visited The Glenlivet the previous day caught Mike’s attention. Yes, he said, The Glenlivet was a nice place to visit, it wasn’t really very good. He had plenty of malts which could kick the standard bottlings into touch.

‘I’d like to see you prove that,’ was the retort, and while he poured me further Mortlachs, he attended to these new customers and, I rather fancy, he did.

It is Mike’s policy to slyly rub you up the wrong way: juxtaposing your apprehension of the industry with that of his. His experience informs what can come across as incendiary – even sacrilegious – remarks about the state of the industry at present, and such disappointment is derived from his knowledge of better, more exciting days of flavour and distinction; these, he says, are behind us. His argument is that single malt whisky in its readily available, big-brand form, is dull. Not bad, he says, just consistent; uniform. He hurls his invective on chill-filtration and 40% ABV bottlings, claiming it sucks the life out of a once idiosyncratic spirit. He takes issue with the scale of the industry, too, bemoaning the lack of really good wood and this is where the Macallan comes in. The husband of the couple, when asked by Mike what he normally drank so that a suitable challenger could be selected, nominated the Speyside megastar. Mike argued that their wood management, whilst extensive and sophisticated, was dealing fundamentally with a threatened, finite resource and the resulting whisky was not a patch on that being bottled fifteen or twenty years ago. The Fine Oak range was a prime example of how the paucity of good Sherry casks was afflicting the X-factor of the output of distinguished malts today.

With the aid of a single cask 18-year-old Longmorn, the lack of protest from his patrons would suggest that he had made his point.

Meanwhile I had been savouring an Adelphi which Mike had put in front of me which, in his opinion, was a Mortlach. Technically, it proceeded under the rubric solely of ‘Breath of Speyside’ but his suspicion was that it was Dufftownian in origin. Single cask, cask strength (57.9% ABV): this was what I was here for. On the nose, sweet and powerful oak flavours dominated with plenty of toffee and a resinous character. Smooth and chocolatey, its dark richness put me in mind of dunnage warehouses – an instant hit for any whisky. Lightly charred notes came forward, with thick vanilla. Barley sweetness, like with the Provenance, appeared, too, with caramel shortbread. The palate was epically enthralling, evocative of the majestic Flora and Fauna bottling so rich, dark and fruity was it. The presence of more chocolate and toffee made this just the decadent example of Speyside I am particularly partial to.

The A D Rattray 16-year-old could not quite measure up to this delightfully rich mystery dram. Whilst being deeper and fuller, with more resinous dark fruits, it was a little too musty for my liking – very drying indeed. Caramel toffee and orange teased the nose, with some honey and rich barley. Those phenolic notes appeared on the palate with more fruit and vanilla. Nuts and sugar presented an authentic Mortlach experience.

It had to be the rich, sweet, oaky power of the Adelphi, though. Its spirited dynamic exhibition of the best of Sherry cask maturation ensured I would be taking this back home to Northumberland.

Requiring a walk to clear the old head of whisky vapour, my Dad and I wandered in the Glenlivet Estate, the same route we took, in fact, the day immediately prior to stumbling into the eponymous distillery. The weather, just as it had been three years ago, was as delicious as the malts I had been quaffing, and as the track took us beyond the tree line we could appreciate the rugged isolation of the Cairngorms and Tomintoul tucked within them. Scanning the valley bottom, I found the road which I had agonisingly toiled along only five months earlier: blizzard-blasted and hamstrung. All that came after had its steel, optimism and endeavour rooted in that day. My reward then had been an hour in The Whisky Castle, with a super meal at the Clockhouse Restaurant. It was there that we reconvened with my Mother and Aunt for another extraordinary feast.

Okay, okay… so I haven’t managed to meet my targets for blogging consistency. I’m sorry. It has been rather a long time since I posted up my recommendations for two new whisky-related videos and a recount of my birthday on Speyside – the event itself even more utterly entombed in the past. With regards to whisky in my new home, however, I didn’t have to wait long for my first taste – pardon the pun – of the St Andrews University Quaich Society.

On October 7th Antonia Bruce of independent bottlers Adelphi Distillery, made the trip from Edinburgh to the Scores Hotel, St Andrews to conduct a tasting of some of her company’s products and in so doing, educate lots of keen whisky-drinking students. Oh, we were keen…

This proved a popular tasting, as walk-ups outstripped the number of seats available. Upon entering the hotel, whisky was an almost physical presence in the air, the exhalations of the five glasses each taster had before them wafting from the function room into the lobby.

For all they don’t distil their own drams now, in 1826 Adelphi was the name of a bonafide distillery in Glasgow making malt and grain spirit. Messrs A. Walker & Co. assumed control in the 1880s, pumping additional investment into the plant. More than 500,000 gallons of new make flowed from the four pot and single Coffey still on an annual basis from 1886, although this mighty industrial force would sadly fall into neglect. DCL-owned following purchase in 1902, the distillery was to be found abandoned by 1907. The final nail in its coffin may have been the lack of any in their washbacks for one of the nine within the distillery collapsed, initiating the same behaviour in its fellows. The resulting tsunami of wash drowned livestock and, tragically, a man just leaving the pub.

In 1993 the Adelphi name was restored to be associated once more with whisky activity by Jamie – great-grandson of Archibald Walker. His attention to detail has been adopted by the present owners, too: Keith Falconer and Donald Houston. Both are near neighbours in Argyllshire, the local topography providing the inspiration for the epithets of their more anonymous malt whisky expressions.

Antonia guided us deftly and amusingly through the selection of malts, beginning with a Macallan. Distilled in 1996 and left within a sherry butt for thirteen years, this was a fine introduction to the Adelphi ethos: no chill-filtration, no colouring and cask strength. Never having tasted a single cask Macallan before, I was anxious to dip my nose in. When I did I met with a classic Speysider: rich, nutty and full. There was a creaminess, offset by a dash of orange zest. Marzipan, rich oak and a bold maltiness confirmed this as the malt from Easter Elchies. The wood leapt out on the palate, too: sherried and charred with plenty of dark chocolate. This was a bold expression. As Antonia had stated, Adelphi will tend to plump for the ‘strong style’ when buying casks. A good call!

In the course of their cask selections last year, they came some from an Islay distillery which they unanimously believed to be rather splendid. The resulting vatting of five of these European oak casks has spawned Liddesdale (a nod to somewhere near Ardnamurchan) and Adelphi’s third ‘limited edition’. This one came in at 46% ABV, and Antonia warned that it may prove divisive. I liked it a great deal. Despite reduction, it had maintained the feel on the nose of a rawer whisky and rawer, in my book, is much much better. To prove that this was an 18-year-old, our hostess proceeded to violently shake the bottle about. We were urged to inspect the ‘beading’ and right enough there was a quantity of foam on the surface of the whisky. This died down after a period and apparently the more leisurely a whisky does this, the older and/or stronger in terms of alcoholic content your dram will be. I have witnessed Mike at The Whisky Castle do this, too, and I still can’t understand why it is completely necessary.

This one had aromas of lanolin and bracken, with a damp, fragrant peatiness emerging. Overall, it had a very fibrous and viscous nose. Heavily-sherried with spicy peatiness on the palate, a slight seaweediness was hinted at, too. Subsequent sips unearthed vanilla.

I was not entirely won over by the Bowmore which was next on the list. An 8-year-old at 60%, I recognised some of the sandiness, exotic soapiness and moss-laden peat of the Legend expression but I was always overwhelmed on first nosing by a very aggressive – too aggressive for my idea of Bowmore – phenolic character which put me in mind of stables in the winter. Water brought out toffee and fudge notes, with some heady tobacco in the mix. The phenols mutated into crisp sweet peatiness with a hint of Indian spice when I swallowed some and familiar Bowmore maritime smoothness asserted itself on the finish.

Our final two drams were a pair of masked mystery men. Proceeding under the nomme-de-guerre of Fascadale, the first was a 10-year-old ‘from the Scottish islands’. Antonia could not be more specific, and her reasons revealed more of how independent bottlers operate in tandem with distilleries and brokers. Distilleries exchange casks amongst themselves quite frequently: this is old news for anyone who has toured a dunnage warehouse and found casks maturing very far from their place of birth. However, some must be held not merely for precautionary purposes, or even for the ultimate aim of blending by the parent company, but kept as literal liquid assets to be passed on to independent bottlers or brokers, or on to yet another distillery. However, with whisky which has been circulated in such a manner, very often the distilleries whose product it is would rather the public did not know of its precise origins. It is in the interest of independent bottlers to comply with their wishes, or else their own supplies would soon dry up. Distilleries are anxious to put across a particular house style, whether their malt portfolios are expansive or select. A single cask or limited vatting may have a character entirely at odds with this carefully composed and maintained house style and the last thing they want is for independent expressions to confuse their consumers. This is why we have the Fascadale and Breath Of the Isles instead of [--------].

To the Fascadale, then, and here there was a very intriguing freshness, a bubbly, clean fruitiness, principally bananas, peaches and grapes. This general voluptuous sweetness was offset by pepper (:-0), raw, ripe, sugary barley and thin worts. Other tasters described it as ‘the inside of a horse jacket.’ I couldn’t quite divine what they meant. The palate was dry and thick with an intensity of soft sweet peatiness. Richly biscuity, to boot, notes of charred cask and smoke came through, also.

The Breath Of The Isles was a stunner, as far as I was concerned. 14-years-old and 59% ABV it had real presence in the glass, exuding richly peaty aromas with bran, toast, Bourbon and hot sand. It was, to my mind, like standing on the beach beneath the kiln, with acres of air blowing about you. It possessed a very satisfying palate, too, with peatiness and biscuit flavours again, in addition to a seaweedy maltiness. Chocolate ice cream appeared on the syrupy finish. This was a little more recognisably from… wherever it was from, in comparison to the Fascadale.

Having purchased a bottle from Adelphi while in Speyside – a story I wish to bring you soon – I was intrigued by what this tasting would provide. With a price range of between £37 (the Fascadale) and £65 (The Macallan), these were not bargain basement offerings and all were astonishingly distinct. The quality – for all I didn’t care for the style and delivery of the Bowmore – was indisputable: Adelphi only acquire 4% of the casks they are offered and such high standards was reflected in the bottlings on show. I see from their website that they have a Longmorn, a Glen Garioch and a Caol Ila due for imminent release. Even with my 10% discount at Luvians bottle shop, one of the additional perks of joining the Quaich Society, I don’t think these are destined to pass my lips any time soon.

Gratitude is owed in no small part to Domino, president and master tactician of the Quaich Society and the rest of her committee team; the Scores Hotel for hosting the tasting with additional apologies for the many days of airing the function room must have required, and of course Antonia, without whom it would have been nothing more than forty students and a few loaves of bread.