Making Whisky Delicious Again

This week, Yumi Yoshikawa (friend of this parish) got in touch with the latest news of her boss, Ichiro Akuto’s, latest venture. His grain distillery in Tomakomai on Hokkaido is now up and running, giving him the ability to make 100% Japanese blends and also, if the original intention still holds, being able to supply other independent distillers. 

Yumi sent me a short documentary on Ichiro made by Japanese broadcaster NHK which not only covered the Tomakomai story but his whisky-making philosophy. While there was a focus on mizunara, there were also interviews with farmers – one in Hokkaido who will be supplying maize for the new distillery, another in Chichibu who has been growing heritage barley for Ichiro. 

The interviewer asked the sensible question, why go to all of this trouble – expensive oak, low-yielding local barley, a cooperage, all of which add costs which most distiller would dismiss as unnecessary. ‘Because,’ Ichiro explained, ‘I want to make whisky as delicious as Scotch from the 1950s and ‘60s, and the best way to do it is with the same method as they used back then.’ 

So, maize rather than wheat; a Coffey still rather than a multiple column, old barley varieties, direct fire (in Chichibu II), a malting floor, etc etc. All for deliciousness and hang the expense. 

He’s not alone. ‘Deliciousness’ is a phrase I’m hearing increasingly frequently from distillers around the world – and while not all will refer to the Scotches of yore, the idea that we need a rebalancing with deliciousness/essence/resonance, call it what you will, being front and centre and the wisdom of efficiency being the sole driving force being questioned.

The need to make distilling efficient is hardly new. It’s been an aim from the 18th century to the present. It makes sense. Achieving that balance between high quality and low costs is, however, tricky.

Breeding a high-yielding barley was a major plank of the efficiency drive. Don’t forget than Golden Promise was one of those when it was introduced in the late 1950s in the UK. It was only a matter of time before it too was usurped by ever more higher-yielding strains – which could only achieve those targets with ever-increasing chemical inputs. 

Efficiency became the watchword for a Scotch whisky industry knocked by the downturn of the late ‘70s and early ’80s. It made sense from a purely financial standpoint, but speak to now-retired distillers who worked through this time and they will all talk of how flavour and texture declined as costs fell. Is there any surprise that these days wood is doing more of the heavy lifting in terms of flavour rather than distillate?

All of this is a roundabout way of getting to Aberargie, the Perthshire distillery which has just released its first single malt. Built in 2017, it represents the return of Brian Morrison and son Jamie to distilling (Brian’s brother and nephew Tim and Andrew run Clydeside) after the sale of Morrison Bowmore to Suntory in 1994. 

Welcome though the family’s reappearance is, it is the thinking behind Aberargie which aligns it with the deliciousness movement. It sits on a 300 acre farm which grows all of its barley requirements, Laureate but most significantly Golden Promise. ‘The family is back,’ says Jamie Morrison. ‘We’re making whisky in the way that makes sense to us.’

Graeme Mackeddie is not only the head of distilling, but grows the barley. ‘Distilling will always be an extension of agriculture,’ he says. ‘Our biggest asset is the farm. We’re feeding 300 head of cattle, the pot ale is the fertiliser for the crops. We’re sowing cover crops, practising crop rotation to reduce inputs, having sheep grazing on the fields which gives more fertiliser and keeps the soil healthy.

‘There’s no sense in growing Golden Promise if you look at it purely financially,’ he continues. I’ll get fur tones per acre with Laureate. Golden Promise is half that, but we want a barley which generates flavour. We’re never chasing yield.’

Both barleys are processed separately, but even with exactly the same parameters in place produce different results. A clear wort for Laureate gives an an estery, crisp new make. Golden Promise comes out of the mash tun naturally cloudier (‘it’s a dirty variety all the way through,’ says Graeme) and ends up at new make stage with a thick, juicy texture, heavier fruits and a nutty touch.

A tasting of both spirits in first fill ex-Bourbon showed the Laureate retaining its lifted bite with some green apple, lightly sweet and creamy, while the Golden Promise had more weight, an oily texture, pastry and brown butter.

In ex-sherry (a blend of Oloroso and PX from American, European, and Spanish oaks) saw Laureate became more cask-driven with candied fruits and raisin, while the Golden Promise settles into a old soft armchair. It’s fat with chocolate, date and that distinctively thick palate. The barley is still driving things. 

This reinterpreting of whisky’s past here is appropriate, for me at least. My Dad’s family came from the next village along. My great-uncle was the village baker, my great-grandfather a salmon fisher on the Tay. I never knew any of them. I don’t know what they drank, or even if they drank. They were however close to Perth as it was growing into a major whisky centre.The fields around them would have had barley, the town’s warehouses would have been filled. Whisky would have been an acknowledged part of where they were from. Then in my lifetime it all went. Dewar’s left for Glasgow, Bell’s followed, while Matthew Gloag (Edrington) moved to the outskirts of town centre and then, also, took the same route south.

Now, here is a small return to whisky ways and by returning to the land whisky is once again rooted in its place – another searcher for deliciousness.

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In My Glass 

For some unknown reason, all this week’s offerings start with ‘A’ … Who knows what next week will bring?

Aberargie ‘Inaugural’ (48.2%/£65)

Made from 52% Golden Promise, 48% Laureate, and a 50:50 mix between ex-Bourbon and ex-sherry. No chill-filtering or colouring is involved. The sherried element has added both colour and aroma. Rich, with a sense of weight . There are soft dried fruits, stewed apple, a light touch of Comice pear skin, nuttiness and muesli (with addd almond raisin and date) In time it’s like a warm tarte tatin.

The palate is thick and unctuous, with caramelised fruits and distinct oils from the Golden Promise. It all means a big, chewy mouthful. Water brings out some butteriness, and toffee but those thick, earthy Golden Promise qualities remain. On the finish, the refreshing sourness of fruit kernel balances the overall fatness. Not ‘showing potential’, but already fully formed. Form a queue. 

Ardnahoe 5yo, Cask Strength (60.9%/ £64.95)

I always feel that Ardnahoe ought to have an exclamation mark attached. ArdnaHO! just sounds so much more dynamic. This has been out for a wee while and apologies for only now getting round to it. 

There’s a real sweetness to the nose alongside smoke, a seaside-y brine, then pencil shavings, a hint of mint, hay, and rosemary. The palate is slightly hot, but not painfully so. There’s decent weight. Smoky malt sweetness runs through the palate, adding chipotle to the vanilla (this is 100% first fill ex-Bourbon). It perks up at the end the sharper alcohol mixing with smoke adding a peppery touch.

Water emphasises the mineral elements, while the palate expands into sweet yellow and white fruits alongside drying almost heathery smoke. There’s even a light animalic note underneath. Bright and airy. 

Ardbeg 10yo, Cask Strength, Committee Exclusive (61.7%/£75) online only at ardbeg.com (or at the distillery)

It’s been a while guys… 20 years maybe? What kept ye? This was filled into casks ‘at unusually high strength’ and judging by the pale colour, they weren’t casks with a huge impact either. Sooty smoke to open with a hint of custard tart, and lime zest before you head towards the bog over a newly-tarred road. In time there’s a suggestion of seaweed at the wrack line. There’s a sense of wildness here and, after being pushed one way or another with seemingly endless cask-driven variations it’s a relief to see Ardbeg’s distillate being central once more.

The palate sees drying peat ash mashed together with the oils but it is, as Ardbeg ought to be, naturally sweet – almost to agave syrup levels along with some pimentón. The alcohol burn is held in check allowing purple peat smoke, burning sage and malt to develop. It then shifts into yellow wine and sesame oil. Water initially releases a silage/piggy farmyard aroma which flies off into fresh sea breezes. The palate is drier palate that develops into salt drying on skin. 

It’s probably sold out by now… but I’m sure some friendly bar might have a bottle stashed away. It’s worth asking.