Compass Box The General

We are, there can be no denying it, squarely inside 2014 by now but I hope the genial fog of the festive season has not entirely lifted for you all just yet. When another sample of interesting Scotch whisky arrived courtesy of Compass Box Whisky Co. this week, I certainly experienced something of a Christmas relapse.

Compass Box don’t really do viral marketing, but if you follow their Facebook page things become mightily tantalising. Towards the end of last year the steady trickle of small batch Scotch whiskies issuing from John Glaser’s blending lab became a torrent with three limited edition blends and a blended malt. One that they kept under wraps longer than most was The General. They promised it would be old. They promised it would be unusual. They promised it would be stonking.

So here we have it: a steam locomotive-inspired, gold wax-dipped beauty. I’ve raved about Compass Box labels before but just look at this one: classic bold graphics and a killer colour scheme. With the rich rosewood tones of the whisky within, this is one of the most handsome bottles I have laid eyes on for a while.

The concept behind this whisky is complex, if not convoluted. Two separate companies had both blended grain and malt whiskies in cask some time ago and then laid them aside. We must infer that neither could find a use for their super-mature blends upon their rediscovery, hence Compass Box’s acquisition of them. John worked for two months with these stunning, unique packages of stock – some from ex-Bourbon barrels, some from ex-Sherry butts; some 33 years old, some more senior still – to find the right combination. The result is a blended Scotch like no other. I’ve said before that older isn’t always better, just different. However, in this case, older is better than just about anything I’ve ever encountered.

Compass Box The General 53.4% (1,698 bottles) £180-199

Colour – very deep: leather-tinged amber.

Nose – compact, rich and exquisite texture. Leather boot polish, cinnamon and cherry liqueur. Damp hogsheads – this is very old indeed. Roasted sweet peppers and habanero heat. Scented soap and heavy floral notes give a surprisingly feminine lift. With time there are fine, ethereal tropical fruits, egg custard, sandalwood, blackberry and more oak.

Palate – big dark oak flavours, especially vanilla, creamy coffee and orange-accented dark chocolate.

Finish – bourbon oakiness with cereals crisping up rapidly. Very brulee’d crème brulee. Drying.

I’ll be honest, I was disappointed on first examination. The oak was stifling rather than enhancing the whisky and I had no option but to contemplate water. With whiskies of this age, such a strategy carries risk since many are liable to disintegrate. However, the following are my notes after just a touch of water had been added.

Nose – quite savoury at first with a nut and pretzel mix. Then a brittle, valedictory toffee apple rises from the oak, surrounded by a Bourbon-like matrix of wood, spice and aromatics. Masses of peaches in syrup. Now I get soft, kiln-ready green malt and – more amazingly – fresh pink grapefruit for life. Still, though, the earthy oak takes my senses to new realms of maturity. Time reveals a moth’s cough of smoke and grapefruit again. Liquorice root, black cherry and a textured grassiness I can neither believe nor resist arrive.

Palate – old, fruity, shifting into spicy with garam masala. Amazing development to maple syrup and honeycomb. So rich with a bit of charcoal smoke and again tropical fruits (dried mango, fresh pineapple). It waits for you to swallow before building up tiers upon tiers of flavour.

Finish – still weighty but the oak doesn’t drag. Buttery and soothing. Sweetly spicy like fresh cardamom. Sweetly earthy, too. Waxier weight and incredible length.

So…?      I’m not sure I’d have had the balls to blend these blends together. I imagine that, faced with the samples for the first time, the safe option would be to go: ‘they’re both fantastic, we’ll bottle them separately’. However, John has pulled together some excellent extra dimensions which I had no idea whisky could accommodate or sustain. Older is not always better, but in this instance the concentration and exotic combination of aromas and flavours is an absolute treat. This is a very very good whisky which some may find reminiscent of Johnnie Walker Blue Label in its rich, heavy oak intensity. However, this stops short of being fungal and shows a dapper, genteel maturity.

Given the praise I have lavished upon The General, it seems extraordinary to admit that he has a rival in the super-old blend stakes. Before Christmas I tried Batch 4 of Duncan Taylor’s Black Bull 40yo and this is another example of dazzling whiskymaking. To my tastes, it just has the edge. Duncan Taylor boasts one of the largest inventories of mature Scotch whisky of any independent bottler. When putting together a blend of such phenomenal age, they are at liberty to select whiskies with marginally more favourable oak/spirit balance than I believe John had at his disposal. Especially neat, The General’s whiskies are back-of-house pulling the strings – what we primarily see are the oak-derived characteristics which have absorbed the majority of the once vibrant spirits into themselves. The Black Bull 40yo puts its whiskies centre stage with fabulously dense oak forming the backdrop. The General’s ‘antique’ oak notes are unlike anything I’ve had before, and are of the very highest standard, but perhaps – for my tastes – the Black Bull has a fraction more to offer.

Very many thanks indeed to Chris Maybin for the sample.

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Cutty Sark Storm

A Storm of flavour.

After detailing my first baby steps into whisky blending, I thought I had better review a new release from the professionals. The modern master blender is not content – as I was – with 11ml of whisky boasting a bit of life and character to it; instead, he or she has their mind trained on cases and cases of consistent, distinctive and tasty liquid.

At the turn of the year, adventurous blenders Cutty Sark wanted something with a little more presence and power. They named the result Storm, a delectable maelstrom of older single malts allied to fresh, clean grain spirit.

Cutty Sark Storm 40% vol. £19

Colour – light honey gold.

Nose – clean, medium-bodied and bright with immediate bold cereal sweetness, scented buttery oak, nuts and pineapple. Comice pear and caramel are followed by honey and fruity, fat malt. Browning butter and nutmeg.

Palate – fresh with plenty of pineapple before the rich biscuity oak takes the palate in a drier direction. Flashes of dessicated coconut and dark sugars.

Finish – peaches in syrup – even a hint of treacle at the back. Fruit salad. Slowly drying.

Adding water adversely affected the exuberance of the blend, offering extra honey, leather and spice on the nose with added emphasis on the clean, firm grain whisky. The grain again held sway on the palate with a chunky, sweet cereal body and dryness. A touch of green tobacco smoke fills the nostrils immediately after swallowing. Whereas – undiluted – fruit had led the way into the finish, now there were only notes of Werther’s originals, honey and a dab of lemon pith.

So…?      As with the standard Cutty, the neat nose is a joyful mixture of the fresh and the lively. The Storm adds a few percentage points of richness and more impressive malty boldness, however. Whether it would work with Appletiser, the recommended summer serve according to Jason Craig at Cutty Sark, I have yet to see so intrigued was I to try the blend without any sparkling apple flavour.

When my highball glass and carbonated can of fizzy apple juice arrived in the post, it rather stole the thunder (Storm, thunder – geddit?) of my own Cutty cocktail idea. Why not try this next time you are basking in the summer sunshine: 40ml Cutty Sark, 40ml apple juice, 25ml apricot brandy, 10ml grenadine and 10ml of lemon juice. Shake all ingredients and strain into an old-fashioned glass filled with crushed ice. A lot more work than the official proposition, but I believe it remains true to the creative ethos pushed by the brand just now. Not to mention, it tastes jolly nice!

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Ardbog After a Hard Slog

Many people ask for ‘no fuss’ on their birthdays, but you aren’t supposed to believe them. Perhaps British reticence and conditioned modesty compel this caveat, but everyone secretly wants others to take notice of their special day.

Ardbeg operates more from the US ‘Super Sweet 16′ model for throwing an annual look-at-me jamboree, however, swapping the hideous convertible sports cars of the MTV shows for a tractor, and supplanting the yappy youths with bearded Germans and barrel-chested Swedes. No other Scotch whisky can muster quite such a hullabaloo.

June 1 dawned with the reek of peat thick in the air. Around the globe, Ardbeg disciples uncorked their Corryvreckans and guzzled their Uigeadails in sacramental whisky worship of their favourite distillery, while in London inflatable sheep were driven about the streets, culminating in one almighty party. Meanwhile, Ardbeg distillery closed the Feis Ile festival of malt and music with much frivolity and fun. I, however, was working.

Nevertheless, Ardbeg wanted me to feel part of the occasion, and sent a sample of the new Committee release my way. Ardbog was also available for the general public to try at the numerous international Ardbeg Embassies on Ardbog Day itself. Bottled without an age statement, all we have to go on is that this whisky is roughly 10-years-old, with dual maturation in American oak and ex-Manzanilla casks. It is also cask strength. Is it a fit toast for this cult distillery?

Ardbeg Ardbog.

Ardbeg Ardbog 52.1% £79.99

Colour – rich caramel gold.

Nose – at first, a tickle of ashy peat with freshly sliced apricots and a fat maltiness drizzled with honey and syrup. With nose really wedged in the glass I find a classic Ardbeg arrangement: a rich cummerbund of peat, echoes of the kiln and dark, medium-sweet malt. Treated fenceposts, worn leather and spice gradually, with Manchego rind (a hard Spanish sheeps’ milk cheese) and pink peppercorn-laden white chocolate later. With more time, I get wholemeal bread from a wood oven.

Palate – thick with a boiling blackcurrent depth to the peat. The peat element dries and darkens before lemon and honey fill the palate. Just at the end is a rock salt and rosemary savouriness.

Finish – the star of the procedings: rich dark chocolate torte, with a sulphorous match note coming next for complexity. Bonfire night. For a while, flavour defers to impressions and sensations, although at the end there is bold, smouldering wood ash and shards of honeycomb malt. Complex and evocative, as the best Ardbegs are.

Adding water weakened the experience, where it had engineered lift-off with the Galileo. The nose was sharper with the malt and oak stabbing up through the peat. I found a central aroma of gooey sweetness, like the fruity-caramel combo of a tarte tatin. Over the peat was an invigorating menthol presence with hints of almond flour and cherry stones. Overall, it didn’t express itself quite as well. On the palate, there was greater smoothness and more fruit, with the peat and a vanilla note closely aligned. A puff of smoke dried everything before chantilly cream trickled back in. Wholemeal returned on the finish with salty vegetal notes, like sea cliff top verdure. Hay introduces a wispy smoke and the rich honeycomb returned together with the sulphur. However, it failed to hit the allusive heights.

So…?      I must confess that, first time through, this was a crushing disappointment. Tasted alongside Kilchoman’s Loch Gorm this appeared lazy, incoherent and uninspiring while the younger whisky boasted dynamism, energy and originality. Indeed, I found this distinctly un-Ardbeg-like, the finish excepted. The Manzanilla had adulterated the overall character, rather than enhanced it.

On a second tasting, I found more to like, and – praise be – more that was unmistakeably Ardbeg. I do worry that it has set its sights on earthlier pursuits, while Galileo sought for the stars, but this is certainly above average liquid. I remain conflicted about the sample, but my anxiety to taste the next Committee release when it comes along will remain undimmed. More Marsala wood, Bill, that’s all I’ll say.

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Kilchoman Loch Gorm

By golly, they’ve done it again. While I always hope and intend to say insightful things about whisky, now and again all metaphor, analogy or apt digression must be supressed in place of an indulgent grin. Nice one, Kilchoman. Get in there, etc.

The email promised a new range from the youngest of Islay’s eight distilleries. Loch Gorm (named after a distinctly peaty body of water near the distillery) joins Machir Bay in a regular line up of two whiskies, which doesn’t seem terribly extensive. You might also be forgiven for thinking that core ‘range’ is not terribly accurate, considering that both expressions are intended to showcase the Kilchoman spirit as it evolves. The first incarnations, emerging from Islay’s western shore since 2008, have suggested a seriously precocious whisky, however, and indeed a couple of months ago, the International Whisky Competition announced Machir Bay as its Whisky of the Year 2013. This is an extraodinary accomplishment for a single malt which is still, relatively speaking, in its nappies.

Loch Gorm introduces the peaty product from Islay’s farm distillery to the close, sensuous attentions of Sherry casks from the off. Aged in the freshest Oloroso butts, the Loch Gorm whisky is then finished in ex-Sherry hogsheads for six weeks. Kilchoman does not artificially colour or chill-filter its whiskies.

The new Kilchoman Loch Gorm.

Kilchoman Loch Gorm 2013 46% £56

Colour – medium amber.

Nose – immediate youthful fruity sweetness led by poached pears in syrup and a dab of punchy passion fruit. The peat lends a warm cherry cola aroma. It is definitely Kilchoman under there: dazzling bright barley with the sweetness of tablet and authenticity of green malt. Almond pastry. The smoke keeps its distance at first, evidenced perhaps in a sweet and oily pepperoni heat. Lime pickle and mango chutney. The peat sits at the foundation, providing its own sweetness.

Palate – a cascade of sweetness with raisins and dried cranberries. The malt is the chief delight for the sweet of tooth. The peat digs in with a thick and fuzzy texture before drying to leave impressions of the kiln, as well as that outstanding malt and echoes of walnut.

Finish – increasingly dry with a beautifully acrid and industrial peat character. Singed hay, rich caramel and vanilla pod.

With water, this moved into another gear with a nose of dried fruits and coal smoke, double cream and milk chocolate. Red apple, orange and cinnamon appeared, before things became heathery and bog-like. With time, strawberry coulis and lime-doused Granny Smiths emerged, with a blackcurrant character to the peat. Fabulous. The palate begins with a charming softness, before sharpening to pin-point and precise flavours. Fruity sherry accentuates the apple/pear core of the Kilchoman spirit. Strawberry jam next, with thick charred peat which reminded me of Toulouse sausage. To complete the picture, juicy peach arrived. The clean and malleable barley sets up a beautifully simple and well-judged finish, with apple strudel and dying beach bonfire staying true to the Kilchoman character.

So…?      What a joyous, satisfying whisky. Manager John MacLellan and Dr Jim Swan have mitigated whatever risk may be attached to drawing young peated whisky from Sherry casks to reveal another, even fruitier side to Kilchoman. This is a seriously sweet whisky at times, but the strength and purity of peat wins out in the end.

If you can come by a bottle, grab it. I can think of no better companion to a twilit summer evening.

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The Bloggers’ BenRiach

The whisky blogosphere can be both intoxicating and intimidating. On the one hand, to see so many people pursue their passion as far as maintaining a little corner of the internet in which to display their views I find tremendously inspiring. Appreciating how others drink so deeply of the spirit of the subject provokes a redoubling of my efforts at comprehension and communication.

On the other hand, however, there are the likes of, a blog so professional, so influential and so damn readable I wonder how my attempts can be in any way comparable. It would be easy to become downhearted – even petulant – if Joel Harrison and Neil Ridley, the blog’s founders, were not such lovely people and performed such a sterling whisky service by providing comment, controversy and creativity.

Creativity, thinking outside the box, is the focus of my post today. enjoys a standing few other blogs can boast because has done things few other blogs have attempted. In 2011, to celebrate the three year anniversary of the blog’s inception, Joel and Neil took a risk: they approached the Isle of Arran distillery, purchased a cask from them, and bottled it for their readership. They told me in November last year that those 96 bottles had given them plenty of sleepless nights. Would it be popular? Would they all be sold? Would they have to flee the country as the traditional independent bottlers made pariahs of them for discrediting their profession? I made that last one up, but dipping a toe in the financial realities of whisky distribution, rather than simply writing about it, was a serious step to take.

The Caskstrength BenRiach.

They needn’t have worried, of course. Former A&R men for the music industry, they can sense a hit when they hear it. The Arran sold out, and as 2012 rolled around their prescient noses sought a second project. Nothing if not thorough in their approach, Joel and Neil thought that an alphabetical system worked as well as any other and hence the Cask Strength and Carry On BenRiach was released through online retailer Master of Malt last week. I placed my order within minutes of receiving the press release, having got wind of the bottling on Twitter. I like to show my support for creative enterprises, after all. Please take a look at Chris’ excellent side-by-side review of last year’s Arran with this BenRiach over at Edinburgh Whisky Blog.

Cask Strength and Carry On BenRiach 1996 cask #5614 55.2% 296 bottles. Available here for £54.95

Colour – rich chestnut orange.

Nose – restrained at first with ripe banana and a cereal bar stickyness: raisins and dates. Dark but sweet liquid honey. Sundried tomato. Suddenly, weighty toffee and sweet bubblegum step out as well as some lovely herbal sweetness: patchouli. Sweet leather and gentle smoke. Oily citrus freshness interchanges with toastier, burnt rich flavours. A saltiness.

Water turns the spotlight onto the Pedro Ximenez influence: a heavy, lichen-like oak aroma with purple raisin and marzipan. Some gooseberry-like tartness. Iced gingerbread men and the booziest of Christmas mince pies. Caramel and a nuttiness, like pecan. Stewed dates with a wrapping of soft smoke.

Palate – soft, nutty and mouthfilling. Medium-dry and sweet malt rolls over the tongue with a suggestion of singed grasses. Then unctuous, creamy oak sugars pour over everything. For all this, it is surprisingly delicate and superb for it.

Water revealed dried fruits galore, all against clean but not obstructive oak. Creamy vanilla, orange and syrupy flapjack. Yellow fruit and icing sugar.

Finish – still with a soft creaminess, there is plenty of oak but also honey. Some dryish bruised apple flavours give way to glazed almonds.

Water enlarged the experience with suave richness. Bold pear, almond butter and biscuity, cinnamon-accented malt. Perfect sherry oak contribution with sultana and vanilla caramel.

So…? As I breathlessly declared on Twitter, this was not the malt I was expecting. In the past I have always gazed with longing upon the Batches of single cask releases BenRiach and sister distillery GlenDronach indulge in each year, hoping to come by one of these rich, fruity and generous expressions. A 16yo single cask, with four years of PX maturation behind it, fitted the bill perfectly and I knew Joel and Neil would not sign their names to a duff bottling. Whilst it might not – on first impressions – wear its heart on its sleave, I believe this BenRiach is an example of what Martine Nouet calls ‘whispering whiskies’.

It is composed, brilliant, complex, challenging and utterly delicious but it does not shout to be heard. Water accentuates some of the distillery’s inherent fun-loving fruitiness, but this is a dram to spend a long evening with – do not expect cheap, quick thrills.

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The Port Charlotte Paradox

The latter years of the noughties will go down in the annals of history as the Peaty Arms Race, when two forces from the Wild West of the whisky world competed for smoky supremacy. Both of the two distilleries involved had been only recently resurrected. One, Bruichladdich, wished to couch its rebirth in terms of independence, innovation and inspiration; the other, Ardbeg, boasted a cult following and a long legacy of phenolic excellence. Who would emerge the victor?

Bruichladdich - site of some seriously clever WMDs (Whiskies of Monstrous Deliciousness).

Octomore played Supernova in a titanic bout akin to Alien v. Predator, Barcelona v. Real Madrid, Charizard v. Mewtwo (I’m showing my age, there). Each vied with the other for PPM points: phenols became nuclear warheads as one sought to annihilate the other – and the drinking public – with an atom bomb of smoke. I must confess that I have yet to do battle with a rendition of Supernova, but two Octomores have made it as far as my taste buds. In fact, in pursuit of the prize for the peatiest, Bruichladdich may have won. While only a couple of Supernovas were released, the Octomore range has welcomed a fifth addition with Comus. At 167ppm, you would expect this to be as close to licking the inside of malt kiln as you could get.  And yet…

Port Charlotte PC8.

Bruichladdich is not Ardbeg simply plonked on the shores of Lochindaal. With those Octomores, the peat presence was undeniable, but so too was a lovely rich biscuitiness – all the more beautiful for the unlikelihood of its existence. No matter how much earth you throw at it in the beginning, those Bruichladdich stills are hard-wired to produce a spirit with beguiling sweetness at its heart. Perhaps this points to its appeal beyond the smoke-singed lunacy.

The same can be said of the distillery’s Port Charlotte bottlings. Medium-peated in comparison with Octomore, it still butts heads with the old guard of Islay’s fire-breathing dragons. Since 2006, peat freaks have salivated over the latest PC vintage, of which there have been five in addition to the An Turas Mor multi-vintage expression. On the face of it, with the same ppm rating as Laphroaig you cannot help but anticipate an ash tray experience. In reality – as I found recently – it is anything but.

Port Charlotte PC8 60.5% £125

Colour – full and syrupy yellow gold.

Nose – straight away there are overtones of the forceful Islay peat profile, but there is a pillowy softness there, too. Cask staves ooze vanilla. Immediately there is sweet spice, especially ginger, at the heart of this whisky in addition to medium-sharp green fruit and red liquorice. There is also the sweet shortbread note I find with all Bruichladdichs. The smoke is at the margins, with sandalwood scents. With time, there is a gorgeous one-two punch of tablet and ashes.

Water pulled out more wood sugars with the smooth yet prickly peat texture continuing. Creamy, buxom and clean barley is right at the core, with a side show of dark brown peat and caramel (Benromach 10yo-esque). There are aromas of burning twigs, tablet again and a cumin/cayenne heat. Warm and ‘squidgy’ pear drops surge upwards out of nowhere. The whole effect is now dominated by pear, shortbread, seashells and invigorating smoke. With more time, insistent saltiness fixes the nose in place with a little lime.

Palate – oh yes, there is the peat. Fairly prickly with the alcohol and the peat really digs in with full-on earthy and smoky flavours. Mouthcoating. Some warm cookie dough behind.

Water lent some sanity to the delivery but the peaty power is maintained partnered by full-bodied maltiness. There is a crush of green fruit then spades of rich peat just on the kiln. The peat is so thick it has a gravely crunch. Remarkable breadth and clarity.

Finish – if the palate took you deep into the West Coast earth, as the finish develops you slowly rise out of it to rest on the cropped grass above. Loose green tea. Very good peat notes at the back with suggestions of a summer driftwood bonfire. TCP hints, too. A whisky that is permanently in a buoyant mood.

Water opens up the peaty palette still further with Arbroath Smokies and crumbs catching in the toaster. Sweet Coal Ila-like peat settles in before the sweetness crystallises around peated grist. Some creaminess.

So…? I have known for some weeks that I need more peat in my life and this stunning whisky only highlighted the gaping chasm in my drinks cupboard. This is the sort of whisky to revive your spirits: to remedy any feelings of despondence or uninterest. There is so much goodness and wonder to pay attention to besides the smoke, as lovely as it is. The wood policy (Business Development Manager Craig Johnstone shares my view that there is a lot of first-fill Bourbon in there, with some refill) complements the clean, rich flavours of the malted barley and at cask strength the flavours boast so much exuberance.  Perhaps it cannot claim to be balanced in the same way as a Bowmore or a Coal Ila, but for intensity of fruit, cereal and smoke in glorious combination look no further.

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Glenfiddich Age of Discovery

I discovered Glenfiddich remarkably late, which probably doesn’t make me the sort of pioneer the marketing guys at William Grant & Sons have in mind with their latest campaign. Despite the uniquity of the exhaustively-awarded 12yo in bars and pubs, my energetic beginnings in the world of single malt embraced many obscure distilleries before output from the independently-owned, world-renowned Dufftown behemoth finally passed my lips. As I sought new flavours and stories, I overlooked (wrongly and naively) the distillery largely responsible for ploughing the single malt furrow, without which those whiskies I had been sampling may never have come to my attention. In my age of discovery, I had forgotten the original pioneer.

The Glenfiddich distillery.

Glenfiddich have extended their remit in recent times to champion, on the back of their world-leading sales figures, the pioneering spirit. Courtesy of long-running schemes like their Artist in Residence programme and global gatherings such as the One Day You Will Summit of last year, the distillery has sought to provoke discussion around human creativity and endeavour. With the Summit, the mission statement focused on raising awareness internationally for how food and drink are produced, how they interact with their consumers, and how we can build for the future. In a similar spirit, but one which nods to how they went about their business in the past, the Age of Discovery expression was released.

At 19-years-of-age, this whisky presents a wise face to the world. While the spirit was maturing, the Kyoto Protocol took shape, issues of climate change and environmental sustainability entered the mainstream and, of course, the single malt category exploded again. Attitudes to how we eat and drink have evolved, as has a consciousness regarding where our food comes from and how it reaches us. This Glenfiddich supplies a case in point: I think about the Scottish barley grown in the North East, the distillery itself with those 28 squat copper pot stills, the cooperages of Kentucky and Tennessee from which those hogsheads hail, and the final ingredient from wine caves of Portugal: Madeira casks. As you can see, Glenfiddich have done remarkably well in teasing out an ideological nexus for this expression, incorporating a very contemporary conscientiousness for provenance, ethics and craftsmanship. But the proof is in the consumption, after all.

Glenfiddich 19yo Age of Discovery 40% £89.95

Colour - light toffee with shades of bruised apple.

Nose - fairly solid and chunky oak at first and rather dark. Creamy vanilla and blackcurrant jam. Hard honeycomb with some biscuit crumb maltiness. Weighty, heathery floral notes emerge together with poached pear. Underneath is simmering honey. Pale oak with a spicy depth. After a time some aged rum character develops.

With water the delivery is slightly denser with treacle sponge. Demerara sugar in abundance and rich pear. After dinner chocolates emerge and soon there is the accompanying coffee, lending a rich and dry aromatic quality. With more time there are dunnage hints and a vibrant jellied fruitness with rough, dark malt for balance.

Palate - Spicy oak swings in first before a lemon-accented maltiness enters. Slight hint of marzipan to offset this freshness.

With water the oak is tamed and heather honey, leafy and malty notes can move about more freely. Raspberry. Orange peel replaces the lemon from the undiluted palate. Creamy tablet lends a lovely texture.

Finish – light coffee notes from the oak. Lemon peel. Perfumed at the end.

With water chocolate milk, a little more lemon, sticky toffee pudding. Quite long with a rich, firm maltiness on the end.

So…? I enjoyed and felt a touch frustrated with this malt in equal measure. While some of the rich cereals and deep fruit notes satisfied me, the overall delivery lacked warmth and friendliness. Rather like the old explorer, whose pioneering days are behind them, crouched in an armchair recounting tales from former frontiers, the zeal and immediacy of such endeavours felt distinctly second-hand. I’m not even certain a higher ABV would have helped. A curious whisky, therefore, the like of which I have not had before. I would not discourage you from following in my footsteps, but be careful not to assume to much of this idiosyncratic dram.

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