The Weekly Mash, Friday 22nd August

The whiskies came first this week, three peated numbers which in turn triggered memories of one of my first whisky epiphanies. 

On The Shore

Whisky is about memories. Each aroma we have experienced is locked away somewhere in the deeper recesses of the brain, each moment logged. 

It was on the beach below Bowmore distillery in the early ‘90s. Sitting with a dram after finishing a week’s ‘work’ at the distillery, an attempt to work out how a whisky came together. 

I had not long started as features editor of a weekly trade paper, my first full-time writing job. Prior to that the only words I’d had published were on weird jazz and left field music. 

I’d been aware of musicians’ feelings about someone who couldn’t play an instrument writing about their art. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake in this job. If I was to write about whisky I ought to know how it was made. 

I was the geek, the kid writing down the formulae, the weights and measurements, the temperatures, times, and strengths which, for someone with a profound inability at science or mathematics, was a strange route to take. 

Each night I’d look at my notes to try and work out the story contained within the incomprehensible figures, and then recall how the guys I shadowed [Eddie MacAffer, Percy McPherson, James MacTaggart, David Turner, Ginger Willie] talked about their craft through touch and smell; the hand in the bed of malt, the smell of mashing or ferment, the aroma when that still was coming in. A sensory way of whisky-making – and one filled with laughter, their knowledge worn lightly. 

During the day, Jim McEwan (at that point still manager) took me on drives round the island. We’d stop and smell flowers and blossoms, grass and seaweed. The balance seemed to shift away from the analytical into something which was real, yet at the same time abstract, or fanciful. 

That was the dilemma as I sat on the beach with a dram. Stick with process, or move into a different area where aroma and flavour, people and place were more important? 

Even if I struggled with it, the first seemed the easier option, maybe because it was the orthodox approach: figures, analysis, scores. The second was more difficult because it was speculative, heart-driven.

The dram was Bowmore 17 year old, at that point regarded as the best of the range. I looked at the water. The sand damp, but warm, the kiln on, the glass slowly being emptied. 

A wave hit the sun-heated sand, releasing its salt spray and ozone, mingling with the reek from the pagoda, or was it coming from the glass? I smelled the air, I went back to the empty glass. It was in both, the ghosts exhaling their final, perfumed, breath meeting the smell of this place at the precise moment when the wave hit the sand. It was the moment when things changed for me.

I knew that, for me, there were more possibilities in this world of flavour; a different way of articulating whisky which was less about the what, more of the why and how it absorbed me emotionally. The empty glass put me on another parallel path.

—————-

In My Glass 

On The Shelf

Meikle Tòir is Glenallachie’s peated expression and a further example of what has happened since Billy Walker purchased it in 2017. A distillery which could make 4.2m litres per annum, is now making 900,000. Ferments have risen from 56 hours to anything between 140 and 180 hours – some of the longest in the industry. It’s not just a distillery reborn but a distillery transformed. 

I was hugely impressed by the 5 year old Meikle Tòir Original (50%/£43.75) when it first appeared. A mix of delicate woodsmoke coupled with a menthol/eucalypt/bay back note and a palate which has a soft silky wight that sits happily in the middle of the tongue, the smoke bubbling through. There’s more smoke and a peppery kick to the finish before it softens again into lemon flower and pear. It’s one I reach for if I fancy a smoky Highball. 

Now there’s two limited edition single casks. One a web exclusive, the other for sale at the distillery.

The former is an Oloroso Hogshead 6yo (60.5%/£75.99). I love me a sherry hoggie and this doesn’t disappoint. There’s bonfire-like smoke which mixes with pomegranate, dried red fruit, smoked peach and banana. Water brings out roast red pepper, rowan berry jelly and more smoke.

The feel is thick and (unsurprisingly) hotter than Original. It starts with a lick of oil, beeswax polish and then, like the Original creates a chewy ball of fruit in the middle of the tongue that crackles with acidity. The smoke masses at the back along with molasses and dried fig giving things a savoury character. Water allows more smoke to emerge, along with chocolate, bramble and sweet (smoked). Lovely balance.

The distillery exclusive is a PX Hogshead 7yo (59.9%/£75.99) The aroma of raisined juice pulls you with the smoke adding a subtle layer. There’s touches of toasted nut. 

The palate is the thickest of the three which keeps the higher strength at bay. While there’s plenty of PX’s mix of raisin and blue fruit, it doesn’t dominate. A similar savoury note to the Oloroso begins to build, but in the background is a mix of pure peach and apricot which, added to the smoke gives a respectful nod in the direction of Bowmore, though this is broader. There’s chocolate, hot embers and woodsmoke, and raisin. It has extraordinarily mature characters for its age. Water diminishes the smoke and things finish with a sticky date and fig pudding.

Elements of Islay Campfire (Limited Release) (54.5%/£84.95)

For this release that launched at this year’s Féis Íle, Ollie Chilton blended together whiskies from three (unnamed) Islay distilleries – and no, I’m not gong to try and work out which ones. It’s aged in a mix of PX and oloroso butts, first-fill ex-Bourbon and lightly charred and toasted new oak barrels. 

There’s a roasted/toasted aroma from the off which adds a swetness to the smoke. Robust and chunky it mixes ginger snaps, Bourbon biscuit, a little camphor, then Highland toffee.

The palate is clean with a grassy/herbal character that trails a little lavender and sage behind. The peat smoke is in check. If the Meikle Tòir Original was the fire starting, the oloroso a bonfire set, and the PX has the fire radiating warmth, this is when it has calmed and its smoke is clinging to your clothes.

A lovely mix of light oils softens the start and while it crisps up in the mid-palate, the delivery is far more mellow than the nose suggests.

Water is your friend here, opening up its full character – that slightly boggy vegetal quality to the smoke which you can get on Islay, smoked almond, melting Tunnocks caramel wafer and a drying, marine finish. Rooty yet sweet.