Recently I attended a Compass Box whisky tasting with one of the various clubs in Glasgow. I have a lot of fun at these events as I get to enjoy a few drams with like-minded folk. The event was very educational; I also found it pretty cool to listen to people reminisce about the brand, its history so far and the way some of its whiskies have changed. I am only acquainted with the more recent offerings, so I can’t really compare. It’s a shame, as I really want to try the illicit Spice Tree of ye olden days! I’ve heard many a good thing, and I wonder why they didn’t continue making the spirit as they had done. Maybe they could have labelled it something other than whisky? What a great money-making scheme… I am sure fans would snap it up! Whilst Compass Box has gained many fans for themselves since coming into existence around the turn of the millennium, not everyone is on board. For examples, you can refer to some of Jason’s past reviews!

I have tried a few of Compass Box’s range and found them quite delightful, but I do feel they can be overpriced. Take, for example, the whisky I am going to review: it sells for around £50, which I guess is not unreasonable these days; however, I could probably pick up something that is a bit better or a bit older for the same price. Hey, though—that seems to be the way it is going for many brands. Extortion! Don’t get me started on the Aberlour A’bunadh!

At this tasting we sampled the stalwarts of their core range, plus the whisky I decided to review: the latest addition, called The Story Of The Spaniard. Why? I like the name, and amongst the drams at this particular tasting, it stood out. I am fond of the interesting designs Compass Box whiskies generally have; they call to my artistic side like a doomed moth to a flame. For this particular whisky, I also love the romanticism of the name. From what I have read, it came about from a chance encounter with an older Spanish gentleman that John Glaser, the founder of Compass Box, had. The story goes that the older man welcomed him and took him on an adventure discovering local sherries. Swoon, it is like a budding love story! When John embarked on his whisky journey, he revisited those memories when he was selecting casks. I think that is quite a charming little tale and paints a picture for me of many of the things I love about southern Spain: of the sun, wine, grapes and cured meats! It sounds delicious!

You can purchase this release from Master of Malt for £49.95 or the Whisky Exchange for the same price.

Compass Box The Story of The Spaniard – review

Colour: apple juice

On the nose: up front, it is quite sweet with fresh rich red berries. Then it becomes more fruity but darker and deeper with ripe red dates, dried goji berries, prunes, figs and a slight hint of sour blackberries and apple smash. It starts to get savoury and meaty with earthy undertones, but with something else in the background that I can only describe as rubber.

In the mouth: it is very sweet and oily. Those fruity berries I get on the nose transfer to the taste and lace the back of my mouth. Weirdly, I get icing sugar on my throat; it reminds me of eating sweeties coated in the stuff and accidentally inhaling the powder, which tickles your tonsils. The mouth begins to slightly dry, and then those rubbery notes begin to make their appearance. They come in strong: rubber, plastic and then—quite suddenly for me—it turns nasty. Imagine entering a butcher shop: those smells of bleach and meat begin to overpower the previous flavours, and I get hints of stagnant pond water and rotten food. The finish is not particularly long; it becomes quite drying, but every so often, a warmth at the base of the throat, and that rotten aftertaste.

Conclusions

As you can see, this whisky did not agree with me. The nose was quite nice; I enjoy those rich deep tones and even the meaty savouriness. However, the aftertaste and the butcher shop aromas really made me feel sick. Horribly, it reminded me of when I used to be an art student and we would go to the anatomy building at Glasgow University to study body parts and sketch them. The smell and taste of formaldehyde are the memories this whisky brought back. Maybe some whisky fungus had gotten into it! Shivers… I thought I was the only person that experienced this, but a few others did comment that there was something at the back which was unpleasant. Phew… I thought I had gone mad! Online, there are quite a few reviews of this whisky, and it has scored relatively high. I fear I may be lynched by Compass Box fans for giving this whisky the score that I have, but I have to stay true to my senses! Saying that, I would be up for trying it again, because I don’t believe that giving it only one chance is fair.

Score: 3/10

There are commission links within this review if you wish to make a purchase. However, such earning potential never influences our judgement.

A new Instagram post recently piqued my interest. A new bottle was due for release, very limited, and I had missed out on purchasing the last variation. The bottle in question? Old Perth 14-year-old, a blended malt containing just two distilleries’ wares: Highland Park and Macallan, married together in a sherry cask for the entirety of their maturation, producing 675 bottles.

The Old Perth 13, the one I missed, was a blended malt again comprising the eponymous duo from Edrington. This time, production yielded 620 bottles from a single sherry cask, and it sold at retail for a reasonable £75 to £80, depending on the retailer. Personally, I was a bit gutted I had missed out, but hey; you can’t buy everything… right?

Here stood another chance to get in on the action. I direct-messaged the retailer in question, the Whisky Barrel, about when the 14-year-old would be available to purchase.

“Keep checking new arrivals,” came the response.

“I missed out last time… I WANT this one! LOL.”

“Be warned. They increased the price quite a lot!”

I waited for the listing… then I saw the price, and promptly decided that I didn’t WANT this one any longer. The price had jumped to around £125. As much as I’d have liked to have tried it, I wasn’t willing to part with that much cash, even for a blended HP/Macallan. Considering the 13-year-old had only been released around six months earlier, I was a bit taken aback by the substantial price rise.

I messaged the Whisky Barrel to say I’d suddenly lost interest in making a purchase. They explained that the price rise wasn’t their doing, but was the result of Morrison & McKay (the blenders & bottlers of the Old Perth range) themselves. Essentially they had watched the previous releases go straight to auction and make much, much more than retail, so the price rise was designed to curtail this release going straight to auction, and to obviously cash in on the the sums we consumers were willing to pay (the last part of that statement comes from myself, not the Whisky Barrel).

I can understand Morrison & McKay’s logic. The Old Perth 13 was fetching north of £400 at auction, a tidy windfall for those flippers who never intended to open their purchases, and had a direct line to their auction house of choice. So as a producer, why not get a slice of the pie?

Now recently The Whiskey Barrel themselves made quite the commotion in the Twittersphere and beyond by pricing the recent Springbank 12-year-old cask strength at £150 a bottle, a bottle released with an RRP of around £55; coincidently, the price I paid for mine from my local bottle shop, Fairleys. When asked about the pricing, the Whisky Barrel were very open about the fact that they were essentially matching auction prices (I have since checked The Whisky Barrel website and noticed that the price has dropped down to £69.95 for the Springbank). They even have the entire Game of Thrones malt set on offer for the very reasonable price of £1500… slightly more than the £400 at which it was was available on Amazon.

Cue much murmuring, wailing and gnashing of teeth throughout the Twittersphere.

Now, this is not a phenomenon unique to the Whisky Barrel. There are many online retailers who add their own top line to a product, especially if they know it’s limited release, discontinued or about to be so. Just wait a week or so after Feis Ile and see the proliferation of Festival bottlings that appear for four to five times the original asking price, charging auction prices before the auctions manage to even move any bottles. I even heard of retailers in Ireland last year refusing to sell on the latest Dingle Cask Strength releases as they were too valuable. Sad times indeed.

Curiously, though, these overpriced bottles seem to sell… eventually. Even auction prices and beyond don’t seem to put us, the whisky-buying public, off making a purchase. As such, then, our own behaviour has not only helped fuel the flipping culture, but led onto producers and retailers, who are keenly watching our behaviour, to get in on the act.

Personally, I am not keen on retailers following this kind of price-setting culture. In fact, I think in the long run, this will alienate them from their customers.

As consumers, though, we have a choice, and that choice is not to buy. If you see a bottle that is significantly overpriced at retail, pass it over, and spend your money on something else. The world will not end if you miss the next Springbank 12 Cask Strength; there are an infinite number of alternatives on which to spend your £55.

If you see something on a Facebook ‘Buy, Sell, Swap’ page or at auction with a stupidly high reserve or asking price… just slide on by. Ask yourself, is it really worth it?

By voting with our wallets, we might cause a few opportunists to get their fingers burnt and possibly help put an end to the flipping, price setting and profiteering culture that now seems to be an ever-growing part of the whisky world, and we might even make the secondary market achieve a level of sanity.

Bringing this full circle, I actually have an Old Perth to review. The Old Perth 22 is a blended malt that is fully sherry matured and produced 326 bottles from a single cask at a healthy 55.2%. I don’t know exactly what’s in the mix, but there are rumours that Bunnahabhain and Glen Grant amongst others form the blend. I bought this from The Whisky Barrel for a very reasonable (in my eyes) £73.61 for my bottle share club.

Old Perth 22 year old – review

Colour: Rust orange.

On the nose: Initially quite taut, with a large alcohol hit and oodles of spicy oak. A little time brings cacao nibs, cinnamon sticks, raisins, ginger nut biscuits, and leather. There is an underlying fruitiness here, though: stewed apples, nectarine, and a notion of cherry Tunes (Google them). Water highlights cream sherry, more raisins, dates, brown sugar, tobacco and a light smokiness.

In the mouth: Not a super-sweet sherry bomb; more like dry oloroso, verging on a touch of fino. Raisins, dark brown sugar, clove, and quite a bit of oak. Walnuts and dark chocolate-covered brazil nuts with a tinge of salt. Water opens things out a little more and gives more dried dark fruit, more sweetness, steamed pudding, and the cherry note appears again.mSome chilli flake heat with a lingering wisp of smoke. The finish is of bitter chocolate, clove, oak and slightly ashy.

Conclusions

A very good whisky; not overly complex, but had enough going on to keep you interested and wanting to return. I feel this was cask dominant but for £73 for a 22-year-old blended malt there is little to argue with. There is a 23-year-old Old Perth available now, but it is literally twice the price on the Whisky Barrel site at £152. I’m afraid at that entry fee I’m unlikely to return to the brand for a second sitting to step up a year in age statement.

Score: 7/10

It has been exactly 1 year, 5 months, 18 days and approximately 6 hours since I decided to take this whisky thing seriously. And by that, I mean graduate from the occasional drink to thinking about what goes from barrel to bottle; let the spark of a passing hobby grow into a flame that fuels a passion for that liquid gold that connects us. For me, that has involved a lot of time spent reading blogs, the odd book, visiting distilleries and whisky shows, tasting all types of drams (dear liver, I am sorry) and, most importantly, talking to like-minded individuals.

Introvert that I am, the talking part was (is) sometimes the most difficult for me. It has, however, been the most educational and rewarding part of the process, for obvious and less obvious reasons. As with anything, the whisky industry is full of smooth-talkers, humble brags over social media, casual name-dropping in conversation and pontificating about tasting notes. For those of us on their first foray into this arena, that can be intimidating to the nTH degree. What if they think my drink of choice is terrible? What if I can’t pick out the right notes? For anyone out there who might be worried about talking the talk, here’s an oldie but goodie on flavour wheels—or do as I do, which is say the first things that come to mind in a (hopefully amusing) word association/stream of consciousness that could pass for a Rorschach test of how my brain works.

But the industry also has more than its fair share of people who are genuinely interested in exchanging viewpoints and who have been incredibly encouraging and supportive. The same people, who have spent far more time than I have in whisky circles around the world, have also sought out my opinions. Having spent most of my adult life as a woman in male-dominated industries, this experience is always pleasantly surprising (even if it shouldn’t be in this day and age). Before you start wondering where this self-indulgent retrospective might be leading, though… my first introduction and taste of Old Perth was the result of the kindness of strangers who decided to strike up conversation, ask me questions, challenge my perceptions, and then generously offer a dram out of their bottle behind the bar.

So, before we dig a bit deeper into this bottling, we need to ask the question – where does this come from? That would be Morrison & Mackay, an independent bottler that was founded in the early 1980s in the Perth area, and is best known in the whisky space for its Càrn Mòr bottlings. Alongside these, in 2013, the company bought the “Old Perth” name from White & Mackay and relaunched this obsolete brand. Old Perth has its origins as a blend of Speyside, Highland and Islay malts, with the occasional North British grain, aged for between four and six years, and Morrison & Mackay has continued this tradition, with three NAS Old Perth bottlings (Original, Sherry Cask and Peaty) readily available. In the revamp, a number of limited release age statement Old Perth bottlings have also been produced – largely distilled in the 1970s, mid-1990s and early-2000s, with outturns of between 250 and 700 bottles. The exact composition of these bottles remains rumour and speculation, with very little information available despite putting my best stalking detective and badgering skills to work (emails have been sent to Morrison & Mackay to try to confirm said rumours, but to no avail).

That is, with the exception of the 14-year-old whisky that is the subject of this review, which is the third release of this Old Perth bottling. Distilled in 2004, this is widely known to be a blend of 90% Macallan and 10% Highland Park, and is matured in a single sherry cask. Now before you hem and haw and immediately write this off—as I know many of you share a common (negative) view of the bottles coming out of these distilleries in recent years—pretend for a minute you are back at the beginning, before the cynicism settled in.

Old Perth 14-year-old – review

Colour: Rosewood

On the nose: An overenthusiastic welcome – pressed grapes, rum raisins and maraschino cherries. It settles into the conversation, with hints of more subtle flavours fighting to come through—dark chocolate espresso beans and musty earth and vines—but the dark fruits won’t let you forget their presence.

In the mouth: Surprisingly thin and incredibly dry. Christmas mince-meat, but the recipe’s gone a bit wrong; someone has been heavy handed with the brandy and the spices. If you can stay with it, dark chocolate, candied orange peel and a hint of vanilla comes through. The finish is quite long, and by now, the dryness probably has you searching for water.

Conclusions

This one is… interesting. Interesting in that way that something is good but maybe not as good as the person who recommended it to you thought it was but you’re trying to be polite. This is a whisky that surprises and demonstrates the quality blending that went into it. It also goes to show the benefits of keeping an open mind, as many may have written this off immediately upon hearing the word “blend” or the whiskies that went into it. And that, once upon a time, quality trumped profit margins and some of that excellence still exists in the world. All that said, a big thank you to those who introduced me to this bottle, at which I wouldn’t have otherwise looked twice, as well as for the opportunity to get involved in the conversation.

For an outturn of 675 bottles, you could argue in today’s whisky economy this should have been priced higher than its average £130 a bottle. On the other hand, that is a statement of where we are today, and my reality is that this is probably on the top end of what I think is reasonably priced for a 14-year-old blend.

The more drams we try, the more I think we are compelled to search out something…more: more unique, more rare, more value for money, more than what the average Joe would ask for, in order to distinguish ourselves and, at the same time, to keep up with the Joneses (or the bloggers and Instagram influencers). But I’ll echo other Malt writers in encouraging you to try for yourself, make your own opinions and, most importantly, keep the conversation going. Bring people into the conversation or, if you are quieter like me, take the leap and get involved! Whisky is a community, and one to which we should not hesitate to welcome people! You never know who might have the most interesting things to say!

Score: 6/10

Photograph kindly provided by Master of Malt.

Ben Nevis of late has been receiving plaudits due to its single malt releases with an excellent 10-year-old and an intoxicating 2008 cask strength bottling. The rising status of the distillery has been assisted by a series of rather fine independent bottlings heralding from circa 1996 that showcase some marvellous characteristics.

So far so good then, as many of us are loving what’s coming out of Fort William. We must enjoy these whiskies whilst the distillery is able to still offer support across its limited portfolio of maturing stock. Then there is the other side of Ben Nevis, which we’re going to explore today. The often overlooked releases that sit beneath their showcase single malt expressions. Just because something is deemed lesser or younger, doesn’t mean as a whisky experience it isn’t worthwhile, or has a distinctive journey to offer.

A visit to this distillery is always worthwhile. Whether you are recovering from the epic nature of Glencoe or preparing to head north towards Skye and the simply glorious coastline of northern Scotland. There is a rugged tactile emphasis to the presentation of Ben Nevis and its whiskies. These hark back to a more traditional style that was dominant 15-20 years ago. The distillery remains faithful to the past and has shunned the more boutique styling of rivals, or the desire to release annual special editions. For this simple and holistic approach, many of us remain thankful.

Then there is the tour itself that is also more representative of a casual stroll around the distillery. Where you’re able to take in the surroundings without the need for a script, or having a brand message reverberating around your battered eardrums. No, Ben Nevis prefers to stand upon its reputation and whiskies as much as the dominant mountain that dwarfs the distillery. I have a friend who delights in hearing impressions from attendees post-Ben Nevis tour and collates these for his future enjoyment. I’ve always enjoyed the tour experience, but the reactions of some tell a different tale. An old worldly feeling permeates the tour, as much as the confines of the site itself.

It was a recent attendance from my asymmetrical co-host Rose at the distillery that provided the samples for this article. When asked about the visit she recalled that the tour started with a strange and outdated film. Led by a man with no personality, but it was still nice to see around the distillery and then try their mediocre whiskies.

Then Rose proudly waived a cask strength purchase under my nose, followed by a miniature of the excellent 10-year-old. A full-sized version of this prized release had already been procured in advance for her return leg to California. If you haven’t read Noortje’s review of this future classic then now is the time. Needless to say, the whiskies coming out of Ben Nevis resonate with many, regardless of location or preferences.

We’ll step away from hyped single malts and instead, deal with these 4 whiskies from the other side, or the underbelly of Ben Nevis. Beneath Scotland’s highest mountain, there is distilling of significance reaching fruition and then the other stuff.

Dew of Ben Nevis Supreme Selection – review

A blended whisky bottled at 40% strength this will set you back £21.10 from Master of Malt, or £21.35 via Amazon.

Colour: Sun bleached barley.

On the nose: A touch of smoke and a musty quality before toffee apples appear. There is a hint of oil and industrial grain coming through strongly. A light honey and touch of citrus follow with lemon and then white chocolate. With water, there’s varnish, some fruit sugars and sweetness.

In the mouth: Very delicate and grainy it must be said! Apples, lemon and wood bitterness. The grain is evident throughout and into the finish. A very limited and shortlived palate. Water doesn’t bring anything to the party.

Score: 3/10

McDonald’s Traditional Ben Nevis – review

Bottled at 46% strength this will set you back £42.95 from the Whisky Exchange, or for the same price from Master of Malt, or Amazon will charge £44.08.

Colour: A faint sandy beach.

On the nose: More malty and with added substance. Wood oils, a touch of smoke and milk chocolate. Then apples, a dash of lime followed by nuts and shredded wheat. Lemon sponge, oats and melon. Water showcases fudge doughnuts, vanilla and wood chips.

In the mouth: Zingy with apples, smoke and roasted coffee beans that cascade into the finish. Caramels and chocolate digestives herald a nice and simple presentation. Water reveals more wood bitterness, more coffee notes and charcoal followed by peppercorn.

Score: 5/10

Ben Nevis 12-year-old Deluxe blend – review

A blended whisky bottled at 40% strength this will set you back £24.95 via Master of Malt, or the Whisky Exchange will charge the same price, as will Amazon.

Colour: 8 carat gold.

On the nose: Very gentle with peanuts, caramel and a gentle smokiness again. Wood shavings, almonds, walnut oil and cardboard. Water reveals limes, apples and pears in muted form.

In the mouth: Very delicate and sandy, subtle and nutty. Toasted oats, almonds and overall very little definition. Water should be avoided as its a fragile thing.

Score: 3/10

Glencoe 8-year-old Ben Nevis – review

Bottled at 58% strength this blended malt will set you back £32.45 via Master of Malt, or the Whisky Exchange comes in at £39.95.

Colour: Butterscotch.

On the nose: Wet tweed, toffee and honeycomb. Dried orange peel, mustard seeds and French onion soup – with plenty of caramelisation. Lots of oats, limescale and UHT glue. With water there’s tar, spent smoke and cloves.

In the mouth: Oily and firey! Chocolate, more caramel, nutty once again and smoke spent smoke. A touch of yeast as well. Water is recommended and it can take a fair drop, showcasing more oils, olives, green apples and grapefruit.

Score: 5/10

Conclusions

This is a mixed bag from Ben Nevis in all honesty. I can totally appreciate the need to support a variety of palates and wallets in today’s realm. A cheap blend to satisfy passersby, wanting a no-thrills and inexpensive souvenir. However, there does seem to be an overlap from some of these whiskies.

The range is as jumbled and confusing as the distillery itself to some visitors. A real oddity. An distant outpost with character and sustenance. Less is clearly more in my opinion. Removing a couple of these is no great loss to anyone. This would allow the distillery team to focus on supporting what remains, or even better still some new opportunities.

The Traditional does try to recreate an old release and is passable. I don’t mind it at all, but again, you’re not too far off the 10 in terms of pricing, if you can find it. Whereas the 8 is fun to play with and reasonably priced, but why park the bus, when just around the corner is that 10-year-old?

Distillery images kindly provided by Rose aka From Where I Dram. Bottle photographs are from the Whisky Exchange.

Today’s whisky is, I believe, the oldest whisky I’ve had by year distilled—which, as a first-time contributor, will mean absolutely nothing to you! With such an old whisky, it can become one of those you pause a bit before opening, wondering if there might be a special occasion for which to save it. However, one of the benefits of a bottle share group with friends is that you can share special whiskies that would normally go beyond your own budget. Therefore, you don’t feel the same need to save special whiskies for “the perfect moment.”

An interesting aside is perhaps asking: are bottle shares one of the reasons for whisky prices increasing? As prices have gone up, it seems more normal to share bottles with friends to reduce the hit to the wallet, while still being able to taste a wide range of whiskies. By doing this, however, we find it easier to pay more, as we’re not buying a full bottle, and so can buy bottles at a higher price. If enough people do this, does it result in driving up the cost of our drams?

To give a bit more context for the review, my whisky journey started “properly” around 2012, when as part of the stag party for a great friend, we visited Glengoyne distillery. Up to then, it was just the occasional dram. Since then, some of the old whiskies I’ve been lucky enough to try have formed some of my best whisky experiences, though they have by no means been the only ones; a huge amount depends on the company (and location) at the time, which can elevate a decent whisky to a very special moment!

Some highlights: a 1961 Glenfarclas straight from the cask at the Spirit of Speyside festival a few years back. Another sharing the 1981 Glenugie Jason reviewed with my family at Christmas, as well as surprising a few strangers by giving them some to try when on a couple of distillery tours after. Joining a friend at a bar where we had several 1960’s Glenglassaughs for bargain prices (the bar charged the original cost, instead of massively hiking prices to current market values) constituted another. Overcoming (mostly!) the language barrier with some friendly strangers in a tiny Japanese bar in Tokyo over some fantastic drams.

In contrast, an old 1966 Glenturret miniature was the worst I’ve ever had, tasting of distilled fairy liquid. Even when I shared it later with a group of nine people as a curiosity, we were not able to finish the 5cl! Others have been left too long in the barrel, resulting in an experience like drinking liquified wood (I suspect; I’ve not actually done this!).

Getting back to today’s whisky: where will this one land, as a gem or a disappointment? Perhaps an introduction should merit a mention that it saw and survived the rise and fall of the Nazis, the Cold War, and even 90’s pop. One of those events played a large role in its history, and without wanting to spoil the ending, the story is in many ways better than the taste! (And thankfully, than 90’s pop.)

During the early part of the Second World War, as part of the North Africa campaign, the famous German General Rommel and his Afrika Korps came across a huge wine and spirits cellar. This contained a million and a half litres of top-quality Scotch whisky, Jamaican rum, London gin and French cognac. Perhaps not surprisingly, the soldiers were thirsty and helped themselves to a large amount of this trophy of war. However, more than 1 million litres survived, which were then shipped across the Mediterranean in wooden oak casks to Italy, ending up in the village of Nettuno.

Some time passed, and the tide of war turned against the Axis powers. In 1944, the Allied armies stormed the beach near Nettuno, and after some horrific fighting, took the area on their way to Rome. They also liberated 250,000 gallons of alcohol from Nettuno, which was taken to the local Delva distillery for bottling after presumably more sampling by the soldiers. Eventually, the remaining stock was taken to Austria. There it entered storage, with some used for wining and dining guests after the war.

More time passed, and in the 1970’s following negotiations, some of the bottles received a new label and were put on sale, which is where the story ends for the captured alcohol as a collection. One bottle, in particular, was put into a whisky auction which a friend bought and opened, and a sample arrived at my house shortly after. Thus, after an unknown distillation date and over 74 years waiting in the bottle, it’s finally time for it to be drunk!

Delva Special Brand Old Scotch Whisky – review

Colour: Pale gold, with a rose tinge.

On the Nose: Different! This is not like any whisky I’ve had before, more like an aftershave or perfume. Sweet, flowery – lavender and camomile, antiseptic – mouthwash perhaps – although not minty, a little soapy, fake strawberry flavour from pic ‘n mix sweets. Bizarre stuff! Picking up the glass the day after, it smells of red fruit tea.

In the Mouth: a weak start, some taste of chemicals, oranges, lavender, somewhat more herby—parsley, nutmeg, overripe fruit, white pepper, wood and cardboard in a somewhat dry finish that continues remarkably long, considering the starting strength. I wonder how much of these flavours are original, and how much are from storage over the years in likely varying conditions. It could be interesting to compare different bottles to see.

Conclusions

Not sure this is what you’d typically call whisky! The nose is the most powerful part of the experience, but somewhat unusual, and not really what I’d call very pleasant. However, certainly… interesting! Once the whisky hits the tongue, it’s almost pleasant, but the floweriness and chemical note in the background stop it from being fully so. One of the interesting things is that the new labels in the 1970s were put over the top of the original from 1944. The original had the text “Chemical tests carried out on Delva Liquors showed all to be within standards of purity prescribed for use by Allied Military personnel.” I wonder if this is still the case, given the taste?!

I suspect it’s one of the first times on Malt, but considering the taste, price and the historical background, it’s only recommended to buy as a collectable for the history if you are into that sort of thing, if one assumes that this bottle is representative of the others. Otherwise, just try as a small sample if you find an open bottle and want to experience something different. It may not be the best, but surely one of the main reasons for trying different whisky is this: to find those different experiences?

Score: 2/10

Thanks to Whisky Auctioneer for the photographs and remember to open your bottles!

“Dewar’s never varies.”

So went the tag line of the old print adverts for Dewar’s “White Label” blended Scotch whiskey. Responses to this statement might serve as an interesting Rorschach test of whisky drinkers. Does that comfort you or bore you?

As an adventurous drinker, I often find myself passing over the big brand names – especially in blended whisky – in favor of independently-bottled curiosities or the new expressions that emerge periodically from the single malt distilleries. This is exacerbated by the emphasis on consistency. If nothing ever varies, as promised, then why bother going back again?

I, therefore, found my curiosity piqued when I noticed a trio of new Dewar’s expressions hit the shelves of my local bottle shop.

There’s not much of a history with Dewar’s on MALT. Jason did his duty by reviewing the ubiquitous White Label in 2016, which was served in a miniature bottle on an aeroplane. I wonder what percentage of Dewar’s sales come from this format? It’s certainly the only way I ever consume it – or did until United started offering Glenfarclas 12 Years Old for $1 more. Otherwise, coverage has been limited to the 18 year old, also reviewed by Jason. Like all the legacy pieces on the site, they’re full of insight and deserve occasional re-reading.

Thus, this novel trio seemed to offer an opportunity to revisit Dewar’s in a way that might be of interest to the MALT readership. In the spirit of trying something familiar yet new, I sprung for the lowest entrant in this fancy new range.

The first impression, before the bottle is even open, is that these look very different from the normal Dewar’s offering, ornamented as it is with Celtic knots and the gold foil crest of royal appointment. In stark contrast, these are presented with an aesthetic similar to Apple products; the packaging is modern, white, and comparatively clean.

Angular 375 ml bottles are ensconced in a heavy box that seems designed to mask the lesser quantity of actual whisky. The smaller format is reminiscent of the downsizing that occurred with the ill-fated “premiumisation” drive at Mortlach, and we all know how that turned out. Even before I opened the bottle, I was on guard, especially given the higher price point.

As Jason noted, the writer of Dewar’s labels seems to suffer from loghorrea. The quantity of words in whisky is often in inverse proportions to the amount of information provided. These new expressions are dubbed “Double Double Aged for Ultimate Smoothness.” Additional verbiage specifies “4-stage ageing, finished in Oloroso sherry casks.”

A diagram on the back of the box, reproduced below, gets into specifics. Stage 1 is single grain and single malt whiskies aged in oak casks. The second stage is blended grain and blended malt whiskies, also aged in oak casks. Step 3 entails blending the blended grain and blended malt whiskies, with additional aging in oak casks. Step 4, verbatim: “This meticulously blended whisky is finally aged in sherry casks.”

As a primer on the blending process: it’s not a bad one, if over-simplified (“Blending for Dummies”). I don’t know if the invented “Double Double Aged” designation will stick, or rather I hope it won’t. “Ultimate Smoothness” is not the type of selling point that typically resounds here at MALT. It suggests a lapidary approach to whisky making, with all the rough edges, sanded off to create something innocuous, bland, and characterless.

For a point of intrigue: these do carry higher age statements. I have often found that blends stand up to extended aging better than single malts. Perhaps this is due to the aforementioned re-vatting, in which fresher casks replace their tired counterparts? Or perhaps the complexity imparted by the multiple components requires longer to knit together into a cohesive whole? Either way, you’ve got this 21 year old (Oloroso sherry cask finish), as well as a 27 year old (Palo Cortado sherry cask finish) and a 32 year old (PX cask finish).

So let’s see here. This is a blended Scotch whisky, aged 21 years and bottled at 46%. I paid $50 for 375 ml.

Dewar’s Double Double Aged 21 Year Old – Review

Color: Medium-light golden brown with peachy glints

On the nose: Highly pleasant and appealing nose. Malt and grain are intertwined. Honey, peach cobbler, grilled pineapple, some meatier scents of roasted pork, and the faintly rich citric note of Meyer lemon. Some tannic wood hovers around the periphery, but never overwhelms the layers of aromas.

In the mouth: An initial taut, fruity intensity gives way to nutty cashew notes on the midpalate. There’s once again a lemony fruitiness that transitions into a lingering, slightly soapy finish. This has a bit of edge throughout the mouth as a consequence of the reasonably high bottling strength, in a way that makes up in places for the relative lack of depth. Again, there are woody notes around, but they don’t step to the fore in a way that distracts from the overall presentation.

Conclusions

There are some charming aspects of this, particularly on the nose. The palate is not as dense and flavorful but has enough substance to prevent this from turning watery or dilute. I wouldn’t be able to pick this out as being sherry cask finished, much less to identify the particular type of sherry cask used. It’s just too, well… smooth. Mission accomplished, perhaps from Dewar’s perspective, but I’m left wanting more.

As Dewar’s is owned by Bacardi, I wonder if this wasn’t a case of the corporate parent’s sales and marketing folks sensing a market opportunity at higher price points, with the blenders reverse-engineering a product to fit the brief? At the equivalent of $100 for a 750 ml, this competes with Chivas Regal 18 year old, which I have not tried but which Jason indicates is comparably unassuming. It’s a great deal cheaper than Johnnie Walker Blue Label, which is the undisputed heavyweight champion of the world in terms of brand positioning at the luxury end of blended whisky.

Speaking of Johnnie Walker: while tasting this I kept having memories of the eternal Black Label, which Jason praised in this review. It’s my go-to blend; it’s on every bar shelf and is delightfully quaffable over ice, which is how I take it. It’s also 70% less expensive and does essentially the same job.

All in all: I’m not a Dewar’s convert, particularly at the price. If Bacardi is going to compel us to part with more money in exchange for a premium offering, they’re going to need to figure out how to do so in a way where the whisky in the bottle deserves more attention than the glass and cardboard surrounding it.

Score: 5/10

Today, we have a couple new releases from Wemyss Malts in the form of the Blooming Gorse and Flaming Feast that fit snugly into their Wemyss Family Collection range joining Vanilla Burst and Treacle Chest, which Mark reviewed in 2017. Rather than being single malts as such, Wemyss are flexing their blending muscles and giving us what are effectively blended malts.

Fans of the single malt dynamic might be slightly disappointed by this news, but I am somewhat pleased to be sitting down with a blended whisky; whether it has grain or is comprised of malts exclusively. I’ve gone on record as saying there are too many single malts being released that frankly are not up to scratch. The frenzy of a whisky boom has provided the excuse and reward for every cask owner to bottle regardless of the contents.

These last 5 years have seen an explosion in single malts being released but not a rise in quality, or even treading water. The emphasis on quality has slipped and the constant stream of bottles from many independents (in particular the Scotch Malt Whisky Society) highlights the promotion of business over actual quality. Dubious short-term finishes to lift up inadequate casks seem the norm as the industry tries to place a wooden band aid over the inadequacies of their distillation and cask regimes. Therefore, ideally, we should be seeing more blended creations or vattings. Take the limitations of a cask (or casks) and combine these to potentially create something more viable and worthwhile.

Except, we’re not seeing that many new creations hitting the market. Simply because people are buying without thinking and making that purchase as an investment rather than a drinker. I should whisper it, but fools are easily parted with their money, which the current market demonstrates. The casks that make up these 2 new releases could have easily been released as single cask entities and potentially generated more revenue, but speaking with the odd Wemyss representative now and again, they do actually value their emphasis on quality.

Wemyss have in recent years has demonstrated that they can put together a tasty product. These are often affordably priced and go down well with enthusiasts looking for a liquid experience. Given that Compass Box (or Corporate Box as I refer to them as) have lost their way of late with some overpriced releases and lacklustre offerings; there is an opportunity in the marketplace. One that isn’t wrapped up in a fancy label or packaging. One that isn’t overpriced for the actual liquid experience, or aimed at foreign markets who – whisper this – can be more easily parted with their money.

Releasing consistently pleasing and affordable blended creations will be a fruitful venture. The company, or blending house that gets it right, will clean up. Such success will be based on their skill as a blender and the inventory of stock that they can summon. Corporate Box are slightly tarnished and have lost some of their dayglo sparkle in recent times. Wemyss, or another independent, could in theory take advantage and show us there is more to blending than adding Clynelish to 97% of the recipes you release.

The devil is in the details. Thankfully, Wemyss do provide us with some background to these concepts and their heritage. Sadly, not to the proportions that we’ve seen from Compass Box who have pushed out the transparency boat as their big selling point.

Occasionally, I’ve used gorse as a tasting note in a whisky and I know from feedback that many international readers don’t actually know what gorse is. It is a plant that is widely seen throughout Scotland and is colourful and hardy. It has an especially rugged, floral and almost homespun woollen fabric aroma. Hence the name of the Blooming Gorse, which symbolises the colourful displays we often see when driving throughout the Highlands. Therefore, it’s no surprise that the whisky draws upon distilleries from this region; with the Northern Highlands being cited. Comprised of 15 1st fill bourbon barrels and 4 1st fill hogsheads, this has resulted in an outturn of 6900. Bottled at 46%, it is naturally coloured and non-chill-filtered. It’s available from Master of Malt for £45.95.

Whereas the Flaming Feast numbers an edition of 6000 and features casks from the East Highlands and a Highland Island. Again, 15 1st fill bourbon barrels form the bulk of creation, topped off with 2 recharged hogsheads and the same emphasis on natural presentation. It’ll cost £47.95 via Master of Malt.

Wemyss Malts Blooming Gorse – review

Colour: stripped pine.

On the nose: plenty of vanilla and wood chip influence. A buttery apple quality with pears provides some spark with white chocolate. Freshly baked bread, a little lemon and crackers, then, the oddity of freshly washed china. Water delivers more fruit and a sappy nature.

In the mouth: toast and a rugged nature, which doesn’t go anywhere or do anything. This just sits with stewed black tea, apples and water removes the edges but leaves the sense of something very simple.

Score: 4/10

Wemyss Malts Flaming Feast – review

Colour: apple juice.

On the nose: fresh apples, flour and a touch of smoke. Creamy vanilla, liquorice and freshly laid tar. Coastal elements with salt, wet Tweed and smoked haddock. Toasted pine nuts and barley drops follow. Water delivers petrichor and cream soda.

In the mouth: an oily mouthfeel, honey, sea salt and a spent campfire. Dried orange peel, rock candy, peanuts, apples and a coarse vanilla. A long salty finish endures but water isn’t beneficial here and should be avoided.

Score: 5/10

Conclusions

The Blooming Gorse is slightly underwhelming, it has that Highland rugged style but then fails to build upon a forceful entry and frankly go anywhere. A sudden puncture forces you to pull over into a layby and end the sense of fun that the road promised. Not the winner that I had expectations of, given the introduction. Price-wise it isn’t too bad, but I’d rather pick up a supermarket exclusive over this and save a couple of quid. However, I’m pleased to see a marriage of casks hitting the market and offering some variety.

Meanwhile, the Flaming Feast is solid and a step up. The nose is fun although the palate somewhat youthful and fragile with the addition of water. Difficult to recommend with the Cadenhead’s 12-year-old blended Scotch whisky, sitting within my eyesight and comes in slightly cheaper, whilst offering more complexity and enjoyment.

Is there lesser blending skill here from Wemyss? I don’t think so, but maybe a reflection that inventories are filling up with casks, but sadly, very average or meh vessels that produce a very average whisky. A blender is only as good as his or her tools clearly.

Both images kindly provided by Wemyss as were the whisky samples. There are commission links within this article if you wish to use them.

We try to cover all bases here at Malt. Generally, Mark sticks to the finer things in life, like well-matured Dronachs, Laddies, Balvenies and his über-favourite, Macallan. Jason and Noortje practically bathe in older Cadenhead releases, then occasionally clean their toilets with Jura. The rest of us are generally in the lower Malt caste. Taylor is going all out as Adam’s replacement in Vanilla town, Dora recants tales of what got her into whisky in the first place and I occasionally get stuck with monstrosities like Springbank 15 (too soon?).

Thus, as a willing underling in Malt-land, I recently (a few months back) padded my way into a local Tesco to see what was on offer in … their Whisky Dungeon of Doom! Yes, folks: it’s supermarket time again!

Back in February in Glasgow, I had a great chat with Roy Duff (@Aquavitae) about what we do collectively at Malt, as well as how he approaches his excellent vpub pieces on YouTube. Part of that chat was also about our whisky progressions, our personal whisky journeys and how, as we move along, we can sometimes pay little heed to where we came from, and become guilty of easily dismissing what were initially the building blocks of our love of whisky.

I’d say that for many of us, supermarket aisles were key to letting us explore a wider whisky world, and that was certainly the case for me personally. Balvenie 12 was the expression that really got me and encouraged me to start broadening my horizons.

Now I have got to the point where I rarely buy from my local supermarket because it’s generally the same high volume brands that I have grown a little tired of: Glenfiddich, Glenlivet, Glenmorangie, Jack Daniel’s, et cetera, et cetera. I will admit that I do use the supermarket to top up on some whisky cabinet essentials like Black Bush, Redbreast 12 and Ardbeg 10, though, so it’s not all totally bad.

I noticed on this fine day in Tesco that they had brought in a couple of new lines, one of which was the Aerstone Land Cask and Sea Cask expressions. These are 10-year-old single malts from the Ailsa Bay distillery owned by William Grant & Sons of Glenfiddich and Balvenie fame. What caught my eye was the price. Usually £30 per bottle, they were on offer for £20 each, so I figured I’d take a punt. On a much more recent trip to Tesco I saw this offer being repeated, so it looks like the availability for £20 could be a fairly regular occurrence.

In an effort to make choosing whisky a much simpler affair, Aerstone give us two choices: the Smooth & Easy Sea Cask or the Rich & Smoky Land Cask. Funny that they have chosen such descriptors for each of the monikers. For many, the coastal implications of the Sea Cask would conjure up images for briny trawler nets and smoking peat bonfires, while the Land Cask may imply summer orchards and heather honey.

Anyway, here’s the marketing guff straight off the Aerstone website, so you don’t have to waste your own time looking it up!

‘Enjoy Sea Cask and Land Cask. Our two carefully matured 10-year-old single malt whiskies with two clearly differentiated tastes. Sea Cask whisky is smooth and easy thanks to the maturation process in our warehouses by the sea on the Ayrshire coast in Scotland. Land Cask whisky is matured further inland using Scottish highland peat for a rich and smoky character. Aged in separate casks and exposed to opposing climatic conditions, Sea Cask and Land Cask are both matured to sip, savour and enjoy.’

As regards further information on maturation, that’s your lot, I’m afraid. Bottled at 40%, more than likely wearing a little fake tan, let’s jump into the tasting then, shall we?

Aerstone Sea Cask – review

Colour: Glenfiddich standard gold

On the nose: I found this to be quite a tight nose and not particularly forceful. Biscuit base, warm bread. Honey, vanilla and some malt. Eventually some stewed apples with a dab of envelope glue. Black pepper, cinnamon and just a very faint note of cocoa powder.

In the mouth: Lacking in body for me. Actually, quite earthy and musty on arrival, but I didn’t pick up on any of the saltiness suggested by the name. Malted cereal and grain husks. Honey, just about. Then becoming quite tannic, dry with a touch of tired clove, and quite a bit of citrus pith. The finish is very short, slightly reminiscent of a really dry white wine, with loads of oak and that underlying earthiness.

Score: 3/10

Aerstone Land Cask – review

Colour: See above

On the nose: Immediately a more expressive nose than the Sea Cask. A healthy dose of brine and forceful peat smoke. Cracked pepper corns, mustard powder, coal tar soap and a little barbecued meat.

In the mouth: Houston, we have a problem. Burnt rubber and melting plastic. Coal tar with smoked lemons and brine. Green olives and flint. There is a hint of fruitiness trying to break through, but the acrid smoke of burning tyres consumes all. The finish, thankfully, is short, but is totally dominated by that acrid smoke.

Score: 2/10

Conclusions

So it’s another particularly disappointing visit to my local supermarket off licence.

The Sea Cask is pretty unimpressive stuff, thoroughly one dimensional and bland. It’s drinkable, just….but I couldn’t say it was an enjoyable experience. The Land Cask….well if drinking the remains of tyre-filled bonfires are your thing, then you are in for a treat. Not as bad as the West Cork Distillers Peat Charred cask experiment, but not far off, this is a dram I’d encourage you to steer well clear off….there is certainly no joy to be found here.

At £20 a bottle, I couldn’t recommend these, never mind the original asking price of £30. Here’s hoping the next supermarket purchases will be greener pastures.

Today we’re taking in 3 single casks releases that are linked not only by the independent bottler, but united by a sense of unfashionability. There’s an easy way out for independents whenever possible to bottle names that sell – if you can find the casks – rather than following your senses and taste buds. After all, for the smaller indies, it’s all about cashflow and being able to ship respective releases asap to then bring in revenue to continue the cycle.

Throughout 2019 on MALT, we’ve been focusing on the independent bottler in a series of articles. The team at Dornoch are on my to do list, but for now we’re just going to concentrate on a trio of their recent releases. I’m sure I’ll catch up with either Simon or Phil for a chat about whisky soon enough. By then, more than likely, a few more worthy selections will have hit the market.

What I do know about how they operate, is that they bottle what they like. A cask from a broker that impresses after a sample is tried. This explains the huge variety and assortment of releases they’ve already put out; each adorned with an eye-catching label from Katie. Underling this approach is the trio we have lined up today; an obscure distillate, a Campbeltown blend, which effectively by default makes the single cask Caol Ila the Macallan of this article.

On that point, I’ll say that consistently Caol Ila produces solid single cask releases with older vintages becoming epic in nature. Even at a young age, it has something to say that elbows many of its Islay brethren. Caol Ila is Islay’s factory distillery, with its produce being shipped off the island to mature and yet it still sings. I’m looking forward to the Caol Ila then, but also the Campbeltown 5-year-old blend. When was the last time you saw a 5-year age statement on a release? It’s not a common occurrence and I was slightly miffed at the SMWS recently for celebrating their first No Age Statement single cask bottling. Why exactly? Don’t be afraid of the number and don’t butter up the audience by saying the distillery has the same approach; if its good enough then it’s good enough, regardless of age.

Amongst all of this, is the easily overlooked 2005 Inchfad, that prompts the immediate reaction of being typed into Google in search of answers from several onlookers. Let me save that chore for you this time around. Inchfad was a heavily peated distillate once produced at the Loch Lomond distillery. This overlooked distillery can create a variety of distillates thanks to its unique assortment of stills and open-mindedness that has, on occasion, brought the wrath of the Scotch Whisky Association down upon it.

The Inchfad was bottled at 13 years old, 53.2% strength and will set you back £65. The refill bourbon hogshead produced a reasonable 295 bottles. The Caol Ila has just sold out and is from a refill hogshead with 338 bottles at 51% strength. Rounding off our trio is the mysterious Campbeltown blend that has just sold out, but was originally £40 with 386 bottles at 50% strength.

Campbeltown 2014 Blended Malt – review

Colour: white grapes.

On the nose: very light and delicate for a 5-year-old whisky. Apples, melon and grapefruit all merge nicely with white pepper and pears. There’s salted caramel in the background, lemongrass, vanilla, sweet pastry dough all underpinned by a gentle peat. White chocolate, sherbet, coconut and a resin quality. Water revels a sappy nature, malty and used tea leaves.

In the mouth: interesting, although not hugely defined given its age but enoyable. Wine gums, apple peelings, a touch of salt, an oozing texture and an oozing peat. Cheddar? Crackers, grapefruit towards the end with sea shells with that layer of salt on the finish. Water wasn’t hugely beneficial and reveals a yeasty apple quality.

Score: 7/10

Caol Ila 2008 – review

Colour: Pear flesh.

On the nose: oh yes, unmistakable Caol Ila. Beach pebbles, Limoncello and a coarse sea salt. Pine cones, Calamine lotion, smoked apples and an engine oil residue. There’s heather and ham hock before water reveals more vanilla, nutmeg and an ashy quality.

In the mouth: an oily texture is the initial impression with a bacon fat vibe and a rich saltiness. Caramelised apples, Kiwi Fruit and a damp peatiness all rush past leaving that enging oil once again, vanilla and a sticky nature. Petrichor on the finish with a well used shammy, more ash and liquorice. Water isn’t required and its best to enjoy in its natural form.

Score: 6/10

Inchfad 2005 – review

Colour: barley sweets.

On the nose: juicy pineapples, mango and a sweet peat lacking that engineered Ailsa Bay dynamic. The peat is more subtle and integrated. Lemon oil, palm sugar, buttery applesand a fresh varnish. Not a complex nose but enjoyable. Fresh vanilla with a scattering of salt, white chocolate, banana peel and a hint of smoke.

In the mouth: oily with cereals and plenty of lemon. There’s an undercurrent of peat but well layered with a creamy finish. Apples, raw pastry, oats and shortbread. Water reveals more smoke combined with an earthiness.

Score: 5/10

Conclusions

The Caol Ila is almost a seven but price wise it just dropped down a notch. I did really enjoy it and would consider a bottle, but the market is quite populated with single casks from this distillery. I found this to be one of the better examples for its age, so its worth considering. The Inchfad is a whisky to say you’ve had; solid enough expression and an experience. If the palate matched up to the promise of the nose, then it’d be recommended.

Finally, the Campbeltown blend. A mixture of youth that arguably lacks distinctive definition, yet at the same time, the harshness of a younger whisky is lacking. The outcome is a well made and easy drinking whisky. I expect, if I put down a bottle amongst friends, we’d have no bother polishing most of it off during an evening. At £40 it’s easy to see why this sold out and why we should keep an eye out for more of these Campbeltown blended malts when they appear at retail.

After repeated visits, I really swithered between a 6 or 7, but the clincher other than its well made or tasty, is I can see myself going back to this bottle time and time again and enjoying it as the fill level lowers.

The Inchfad and Caol Ila photographs were kindly provided by the bottler, as were the samples for both of these whiskies. Just because it’s free doesn’t automatically mean a favourable review.

What is punk? Or more importantly, does punk exist in today’s disposable, narcissistic, corporate world? I’m sure for Californians singing in an English accent and spiking their hair, punk is as alive today as it was back in the 1970’s. In reality, that musical chapter died an ugly death many years ago. Musically, the last great UK punk album was Mush by Leatherface in 1991, and after that, the rot truly set in.

I’m starting off like this because today, we’re taking in this Compass Box Delilah’s XXV blended Scotch whisky, which is their second-anniversary bottling for the Chicago bar of the same name—an establishment that showcases punk amongst other musical genres. Various bands and artists have risen to prominence from Chicago, including Muddy Waters, Screeching Weasel, Smashing Pumpkins, Kanye West, R. Kelly… okay; swiftly moving on. Personally, Chicago meant Touch and Go Records when I was growing up, as a label that showcased a particular brand and swagger of music. It might not have been punk in the classical sense, but the attitude certainly was.

And that brings us into the modern era, as in my mindset, anyone calling themselves punk isn’t. Punk is an attitude and action, regardless of gender, sexuality, colour or nationality. Punk isn’t following the herd, or accepting what you’re being told. It’s about standing up for yourself and others and doing what you believe is right, even in the face of ridiculous odds. Punk is essentially what you make it, and the courage of your convictions.

Since its foundation at the turn of the millennium, Compass Box proudly sought to be the punk outfit of the whisky world, the young upstarts. Causing mayhem with their releases, kicking down dusty distillery doors, pushing boundaries, unleashing new flavour profiles and making whisky (for many) exciting again—that was the image they portrayed, and one that many bought into hook, line and sinker.

In 2015, Compass Box fell foul again of the Scotch Whisky Association by being open and transparent with its releases “It’s Not A Luxury Whisky” and “Flaming Heart.” The protectionism of the Scotch whisky industry had finally caught up with this bespoke blending house. Undeterred, they made good marketing copy with a petition before finding a workable solution that remains in place to this day. Perhaps, arguably, this is punk to some, and in the stuffy world of Scotch, it must have prompted guffaws and other mannerisms from whichever Gentlemen’s Club the SWA were currently hanging out in.

The promise of that punk attitude was dashed somewhat when Bacardi bought a stake in the company the same year. John Glaser has talked up the move ever since, suggesting that it hasn’t changed a thing. While, possibly, that might have been true for imminent projects in the pipeline, the new ethics of Compass Box have become more visible. We won’t retread old ground, but forcing Sweden’s Box Destilleri to change its name is one of the ugliest corporate moves we’ve seen in recent times. Remember, Compass Box doesn’t even distill its own whisky; everything remains sourced. Box had to change to High Coast to “avoid any confusion,” yet almost everyone I’ve talked to about this wasn’t confused, and the Swedish producer had to change or face a long legal process that it couldn’t afford when faced with the Compass Box lawyers.

In essence, Compass Box are the Coldplay of the whisky industry. They started out small and independent, and what initial promise existed was soon lost amidst the lavish presentation and a belief in their own hype. Today’s Compass Box is aggressively chasing new markets and releasing disappointments such as The Spaniard, which we’ve reviewed twice and been left disappointed twice. Para-para-paradise, para-para-paradise, para-para-paradise, or is it?

Here at MALT, we are totally transparent, and as you’ve guessed correctly by now, I’m not the biggest fan of Compass Box, or Compost Box as I originally referred to them, or post-2015, their new moniker: Corporate Box. However, it always comes down to the whisky and the price being asked for the experience. For these reasons, I’ll continue to explore the old and new releases in the hope that we’ll find that Yellow moment in liquid form.

Bottled at 46% strength, this Delilah’s XXV blended Scotch has sold out at retail. It was a limited edition of 8520 bottles, but you may stumble across the odd example somewhere. Compass Box itself still has some bottles left at £100 each if you’re eager to make a purchase. That’s a commission-free link for your convenience.

As you’d hope to see, there is no artificial colouring or chill filtration applied to this release. The recipe details are available online if you wish to venture over to the official site, but we’ll reproduce them below to save you from RSI. The initial foundation of the blend was a modest amount of the original 2013 Delilah bottling that was reshaped using whiskies from another 5 distilleries:

29% comes from the original Delilah’s 20th Anniversary parcel in a refill hogshead.
20% first-fill sherry butts from Teaninich.
15% first-fill sherry butts from a distillery with red doors near Aberlour.
15% first-fill sherry butts from Linkwood.
10.5% first-fill American barrels from Miltonduff.
10.5% first-fill American barrels from Cameronbridge.

Compass Box Delilah’s XXV Blended Scotch Whisky – review

Colour: a light sugary caramel.

On the nose: plenty of meadow fruits with apples and pears prominent. There’s flashes of lemon peel, pine sap, black pepper and honey. I’m also reminded of floral heather, freshly scrapped nutmeg and chocolate. Patience reveals a richer seam of chocolate and a creamy butterscotch. Water should be used sparingly, as the main emphasis becomes fruit sugars.

In the mouth: an engaging arrival, there’s a summery vibe with a slightly chewy nature. Take your pick from caramel or toffee, as that’s the main foundation. Then a nutty aspect, almost flapjack-like, with some syrup sweetness. A touch of smoke cuts through the presentation, thereby allowing a formidable brigade of spices to jump in. More of that nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger and what I’d summarise as pumpkin spices. Towards the end, black olives before a good, lengthy peppered-caramel finish provides the conclusion. Water isn’t recommended, as Compass Box have taken this down to the lowest point before it loses much of its appeal.

Conclusions

One of these whiskies where I’m kicking around a 5 or 6 for the score. However, at £100 a bottle, it has to be marked down. It doesn’t scream Chicago, music or rebellion to me. Arguably, drinking this in a bar isn’t the right environment either, which is ironic. You need time, space and peace to appreciate the finer details here.

Overall, a solid release, but one that doesn’t grab me by the baws or prove to be memorable. This time next week, I’ll have forgotten about it, and at £100 a bottle, that’s disappointing.

Score: 5/10

Lead image kindly provided by the Whisky Exchange.

“Community: the people living in one particular area, or a group of people who are considered a unit because of their shared interests or background.”

I watched a rather interesting YouTube post from Malted in Montreal a while back entitled ‘The Death of Traditional Whisky Reviews‘ in which our jovial host Swami highlighted the fact he wanted to take a step back from the #whiskyfabric or community of whisky enthusiasts. The problem he was facing was that a lot of the posts being put up were, for lack of a better word, marketing.

Swami concluded that indeed the #whiskyfabric had lost its objectivity and was now, in essence, a ‘hive’ mentality where freedom of thought and expression was denigrated. To quote Emmet from the Lego movie “Everything is Awesome”. To go against this line of thinking in the whisky world is essentially sacrilege, as I found out with my thoughts on Springbank 15.

This hive mentality seems especially apparent Stateside and can be very evident on social media feeds that are either, in essence, paid adverts, rich guys flexing their financial muscle with an abundance of old and rare Macallans, or ritual back-slapping on acquiring the latest Glenfiddich experimental release. They are lifestyle posts rather than being about the actual product. Have the audacity to offer an opinion that cuts against the grain of the collective celebration of mediocrity, and well… be prepared to feel the full force of the keyboard warriors. Time to pick your seat on the bleachers.

Negative comments are something, you may be surprised to read this, that I’m fairly used to now here on Malt, and I reckon that most of the Malt writers are too. It’s to be expected I suppose when you rail against the majority opinion, but it does amaze me when remarks get personal over whisky… as if my not liking your favourite whisky is akin to punching your mother in the face.

There were plenty of whisky reviews that I respectfully disagreed with when I started my whisky journey, which is actually the reason why I started my own blog in the first place.

One of the weirdest examples of the darker side of the #whiskyfabric happened in May this year when I attended a gathering of Irish bloggers in Galway, a trip paid for by Sonny Molloy’s Bar, just so you know; transparency in action, guys.

On arrival at the first stop of the evening’s frivolities, I was told to check if my Twitter account had been suspended. It turned out it had… along with several others in the Irish blogging community, a well-known journalist and a whiskey bonder amongst others. As to why I had been targeted, I couldn’t account for, but I assumed I was guilty by association.

No warnings, no evidence to support the suspension just an account blackout. After an appeal and over a week off Twitter I was reinstated with a warning that if I broke Twitter rules again pertaining to posting spam, using bots to get followers or selling things, I could face my account being deleted for good. I suppose retweeting Malt articles could be mistaken for spamming people.

I did what every victim of such a travesty of justice would do: I immediately retweeted the email from Twitter and asked them to provide the evidence of my violations of their rules. Not expecting a reply, I began drafting a GDPR request to have Twitter give me information regarding the complainant, the nature of the complaint and the evidence to support my suspension.

Thankfully, Twitter saved me the hassle. Not long later, I received an email from Twitter with legal correspondence from the person who got my account suspended expressing regret that my account had been unfrozen. This letter even falsely alleged I had set up a false Twitter account to berate the person in question while my proper account was suspended; hard to do when you didn’t know who got your account suspended in the first place.

This all driven by a person I have never met or corresponded with directly – behaviour that is unsavoury and unwelcome. I’m sure a direct message, email or phone call could have sorted out the original offence -whatever it was.

If you ever follow the #fridaynightdram, #saturdaynightsip or #sundaynightsup evenings that occur every weekend on Twitter with the Irish blogging community and beyond, you’ll know that it’s like a feeding frenzy of banter and everyone gets their turn in the spotlight; sure, I have my own #jealouspathetic hashtag. Maybe I should start reporting people who use it or start litigation proceedings? No, I have a sense of humour and perspective!

So the #whiskyfabric is flawed. Aren’t we all? But the #whiskyfabric is also to be celebrated, and I prefer to look at its positives.

Take, for example, my trip to Glasgow in February this year: a chance to finally meet Jason in person after years of Instagram and email correspondence. They say never meet your heroes, so it was probably a good thing Mark wasn’t attending the Glasgow tasting, but Jason turned out to be a lovely, charming and cuddly fellow, quite unlike his online persona! Co-ed: utter lies.

Roy Duff of @aqvavitae fame picked me up from the airport and taxied me to my hotel as well as sharing a few samples with me – someone with whom I had only corresponded with online, who didn’t know me from Adam, and yet went out of his way to welcome me to Glasgow. A true gent. Now go and subscribe to his YouTube channel.

I got to meet Noortje, Justine, Dora, @royswhisky, @whiskynorway, @sanfranciscoclub, @whiskyisonone to name just a few. All passionate people, knowledgeable and completely without pretence or snobbery.

My trip to Galway and subsequent trips to Midleton and Dublin let me finally meet many of the Irish blogging community for the first time including Omar (@thatsdramgood), Ivor (@whiskeytalk2u), Mark (@whiskeyorwhisky), and Barry (@irishwhiskeybarry) to name a few again. Thankfully, in real life, they turned out to be like their online personalities. True whiskey enthusiasts who are opinionated but know how to laugh at themselves, and certainly know how to have the craic.

In fact, in July, I attended two tastings, one in Midleton distillery and the other in the Palace Bar Dublin, that raised over €5,000 for local charities. Certainly something worth celebrating.

You may remember this year that Jason had his own #openyourbottles campaign encouraging us all to get back to whisky basics, you know that crazy idea that maybe we should all just open our purchases, actually drink them and even go so far as sharing the contents with others!

Thankfully, I also have positive experiences here, too. I have found people’s generosity and willingness to share totally refreshing, and a welcome change from much of the online posturing that occurs. Recently I took receipt of seven 50ml samples from @whitstablewhisky, including the latest Chichubu peated release (your reciprocal care package is being finalised and will be dispatched soon!). Again, someone who only knows me via Instagram and Malt, but hopefully I might get to a London Whisky Club tasting and put that right.

This level of generosity is not unique among our community of whisky lovers (apologies for not mentioning all those who have furnished me with samples, but you know who you are and are all to be applauded), and in fact, is one of the reasons that I can actually do this piece.

On the release of the North Star Vega 41 I posted an Instagram post of the Vega 23 I had reviewed here on Malt musing on my inability to purchase either the Vega 40 or 41. This post garnered a response offering a sample of the 40-year-old, which was duly supplied! So thank you Robert Ball (@mrrobertoball) of the Dead Bottle Collective for your great act of kindness.

In actual fact, then, maybe Emmet is right: maybe ‘Everything is Awesome’ after all.

And with that… let’s talk whisky.

First up is the North Star Spica, a 20-year-old blended Scotch distilled in 1997, bottled in 2018 at 45.2% and limited to 1000 bottles. This cost me £59 from The Whisky Barrel. Next up is batch 4 of the Vega series, a 28-year-old blended Speyside malt distilled September 1990, bottled in February 2019 at 46.7% and limited to 800 bottles. This cost £100, again from The Whisky Barrel. Finally we have the Vega 40, batch 2 of the Vega series. Another blended Speyside Malt matured for a minimum of 40 years, bottled at 43.1% and limited to 400 bottles. Sample provided gratis.

North Star Spica 20-Year-Old – review

Colour: dirty rust

On the nose: sweet grain with a little floral overtone reminiscent of fabric softener; cut ripe red apples, peach, cherry laces and red wine. Dry spiciness apparent; ground cinnamon, wood shavings, spent fireworks and balsamic vinegar in the background. Then sweet raisins, caramel, coffee cake and coffee butter icing.

In the mouth: rather lacking in body considering the ABV. Spicy from start to finish. Dark fruits first: raisins and dates, then dark chocolate, licorice and coffee, with lingering spice attack of dried chilli flakes, black pepper and raw cloves. The finish continues the dry spice theme along with a light tartness: pink grapefruit, coffee and cocoa nibs.

Score: 6/10

North Star Vega 28-Year-Old – review

Colour: Bashed copper.

On the Nose: sweet sherry at first, overlaid with orchard fruit: apple and pear. White grapes, orange zest, caramel and latte coffee. A definite menthol element with the lightest of clove notes. Quite honeyed.

In the mouth: again, rather thin in the mouth—coffee grounds, brown sugar, raisins covered in baking spices, and then an over whelming barrage of pepper and dry toasted oak. Really tannic, leaving a slight metallic aftertaste. The finish is warming, oak-driven with bitter coffee grounds becoming rather sour.

Score: 4/10

North Star Vega 40-Year-Old -review

Colour: Root Beer

On the Nose: now, this is inviting: sherry influence is apparent, but not overwhelming; it has stewed red and dark berries like a strawberry, raspberry, blackberry and blackcurrant compote. Sherry soaked raisins and sultanas. Some apricot too. Very jammy. Leather and rolled tobacco leaf. Marzipan with orange oil and a hint of mint. There is a little cherry, too, along with cola and chocolate.

In the mouth: a medium mouthfeel this time, slightly oilier than the Spica or Vega 28. A soft but flavoursome arrival that is thankfully not overtly sweet. Dry oloroso with a touch of manzanilla. Hazelnuts and almonds, salted dark chocolate, muscovado sugar and then those jammy berries from the nose along with the apricot, citrus oil and menthol element. Beeswax, raisins and espresso. The finish is long with licorice, orange oil, black pepper and a soft old leather note.

Score: 8/10

Conclusions

Certainly a mixed bag here. My first experience with North Star Spirits was the very lovely Vega 23 year old. I missed out on purchasing the Vega 40 & 41 year olds and so was intrigued when the Spica 20 was released. Could it match the goodness of the Vega 23 year old?

Not quite. For the price of £55 it’s a solid whisky but cask dominated. Certainly more about the oak than the mix of spirits which is a shame. Though slightly imbalanced, it is a decent drop, especially considering the asking price.

The Vega 28 is a real disappointment. For £100, I expected a lot more, but instead was subjected to aggressive oak and spice with little-to-no flavour development. Even as the bottle has slowly drained dram by dram, things haven’t improved… sadly. I thought possibly time and a little oxidisation would improve proceedings. Alas, this has not been the case, and I’ve been left thinking my £100 could have been spent much better elsewhere.

Finally, the Vega 40 year old. Firstly, it’s been a pleasure to finally scratch the itch that was drinking a spirit older than me. Secondly, it’s even better that it turned out to be really good. An excellent balance between the nose and palate and at the release price of around £140 good value for money too. Even better than someone saw fit to open and share it.

Finally, we’re sitting down with Aldi’s much-hyped and award-winning blended Scotch whisky. Ironically, I have a branch of this German supermarket within 5 minutes’ walk of where I live. However, for whatever reason, I’ve just never picked up a bottle until now.

In terms of website traffic etc. it’s a must inclusion given the news articles published on this release. Also noting how popular our Glen Marnoch reviews are generally, it’s another mental note to do the review. Yet still no review. Then we asked our readership recently via our Instagram channel, as to what they’d like us to cover. Common themes were the supermarket, more blends and more affordable whiskies. Proving we do listen, I picked up this Highland Black 8-year-old shortly afterwards.

For those unaware, Aldi is a relatively recent upstart to the extremely competitive UK supermarket scene. Originally, they started out on the discount end of the market before slowly improving their quality and presentation. Today this is still combined with an emphasis on value and quality, with noticeable savings to be made when pitched against Asda, Sainsbury’s, Tesco, or Mark’s favourite in Waitrose.

Rather than stocking the main brands you’ll see on the shelves elsewhere; they prefer to source their own whiskies. These mainly take the form of the Glen Marnoch range. A very popular option, offering a single malt experience for under £20. As a sourced and white label product, there can be batch variations; meaning we should return to the offerings. But if you do venture into an Aldi then expect to see whiskies from the Highland, Islay and Speyside regions all without an age statement. Limited releases also do appear now and again including regional age statements and in the run-up to Father’s Day and Christmas, expect to see significant age statements at enticing prices.

Before we get going on this Highland Black, we’ll state that this isn’t the best whisky in the world and not to believe such nonsense. What is the best whisky in the world? How can you categorise such a thing? I can tell you some of the most enjoyable whiskies I’ve had, amongst the thousands I’ve tasted, but it is down to personal opinion. Even my ‘best of’ list won’t mean that it is the best ever. Ditch those expectations (or concerns) and just enjoy your purchase.

Price is important. This Highland Black retails for £14 for a 70cl or £10 for the dinky 50cl, which I have here today. The Scottish minimum pricing laws mean we cannot expect to see it any cheaper, but elsewhere in the UK, I’ve seen the full-sized bottle on sale for £12.49, which is remarkable considering you have an age statement, meaning the youngest whisky in the bottle is 8 years old. Yes, it’s bottled at 40% and artificially coloured, but this is a mass-produced blend for the supermarket. The target market is more price focused and would prefer value over extra flourishes.

Pitch this against the big brands in the blend market such as Bell’s (£16), Famous Grouse (£15), Whyte & Mackay (£16), Grants (£15) and you can see where it is positioned in the market. Many consumers buy these brands because they have done for many years and perceive them to be of a decent quality. Unfortunately, if you’re able to compare a Grouse of today to one bottled in the 1990’s or prior, you’ll notice a dramatic change. Most of these blends nowadays have lost their balance between single malt and grain whisky. Instead, the grain ratio has been upped dramatically and you’re left with at times a rather industrial and unpleasant blend.

The producers will say it is a necessary evil to meet such price points as above. Others may argue that they are maximising their profits by dramatically cutting costs and the quality of their product. My own personal opinion is that there are better blends out there. It’s up to us here at MALT to identify these and hopefully save you from a little pain.

Meaning today’s review is the Highland Black 8-year-old! Most blenders are fairly coy about what is contained within their recipes. Aldi as they only source this product, will be limited by what they can disclose due to agreements. After all, if I was to say this is a great blend featuring Dalmore and Tomintoul, you’d possibly snap it up. However, that would be at the cost of official Dalmore releases, which the distillery wouldn’t want to happen. Nor would they want to devalue their brand by being seen as providing content for a cheap supermarket blended scotch. But what we do know if that the grain component of this Highland Black comes from Girvan distillery; the giant facility owned by William Grant & Sons of Glenfiddich and Balvenie fame. The malt content comes from the Highlands and Speyside, but beyond these 2 whisky regions that’s all we know. Sometimes it is better to have a little mystery and sense of discovery.

Highland Black 8 Scotch Whisky – review

Colour: a light honey.

On the nose: there is grain to the experienced nose, but it is well integrated. A simple and pleasant assortment of aromas with honey, toffee, flora, vanilla cream and peanut butter. Just a few drops of water brings out a sappy quality, new matchsticks and toffee apple.

In the mouth: very malty, with crushed biscuits, caramel, ginger and honey. A gentle perfume note which reminds me its Girvan at the core. Yet it’s been blended well and transformed with a reasonable mouthfeel. Vanilla, more grain on the finish. A couple drops of water reveals more fruit, maltiness and an intact experience.

Conclusions

There’s a simple wholesome pleasure about this Highland Black. A well constructed blend that puts it ahead of the aforementioned big names. For those on a budget, just wanting a good example, it’s tough to beat.

Score: 6/10

Were things really better in the old days?

It’s hard to make an empirical observation about this. “Of course,” the old timers will tell you. “When I was a boy…” However, as I’m fond of noting in this space, the prism of reminiscence distorts our perspective and makes us unreliable narrators. Our personal favorites from days gone by will always have a special emotional resonance that will taint any attempt to evaluate them fairly and objectively.

For example, the lost distilleries are – by their nature – lost, and thereby occupy a hallowed place in our collective consciousness. We fetishize them, as Adam described in one of his sublime meditations, for reasons of nostalgia, as well as the oft-disappointing state of modern whisky. Even for those of us who didn’t have a chance to taste them while they were in operation, the absorbed veneration and awareness that we’re drinking something special and rare can similarly thwart any honest assessment of a dram’s virtues and flaws.

How to free myself, then, from these dual pitfalls of subjectivity? I think I’ve come up with an answer. Today, I will be tasting two incarnations of a blended scotch whisky to which I have no sentimental attachment and which remains widely available today. The first was produced between 40 and 50 years ago; the second is from a bottle freshly plucked off the shelf of a local liquor store. This has long been an aspiration of mine, and I have come about the opportunity serendipitously. More on that in a moment…

The scotch in question is Ballantine’s Finest Scotch Whisky, their entry-level blend. The backbone malts of this blend come from Miltonduff and Glenburgie, acquired by then owners Hiram Walker in 1936. Ballantine’s was sold to Allied Domecq in 1987, after the first bottle here was produced. The company was acquired by Pernod Ricard in 2005, adding to their Chivas Brothers portfolio of blended Scotch. This is the regime which will have created the second bottle considered today.

As far as the composition of the blend, Jason indicates that the older bottlings have higher malt content, while contemporary blends lean more on grain. I’ll be on lookout for any discrepancies between the two that would indicate as much.

The story of how I came about the circa-1970’s bottle of Ballantine’s is really something. You may be aware that I recently traveled to Peru, which is a wonderful country full of delicious food, stunning vistas, and some of the nicest folks you’ll ever have the pleasure of meeting. What Peru lacks is much in the way of interesting whisky, as evinced by my review of the indigenous Old Times bottom-shelf brand. On arrival, I quickly reconciled myself to a holiday without the “water of life,” and dove into pisco cocktails of every conceivable permutation.

That is, until I was invited to a dinner at the home of a friend’s friend. As my gracious host stirred an enormous dish of paella, he instructed me to avail myself of his bar. Quickly, a dusty old bottle of Ballantine’s Twelve Years Old “Very Old Scotch Whisky” caught my eye. A glance up at his bar shelf revealed enormous, ancient bottles of Ballantine’s and Grants. Feeling like Edmond Dantès, I gently inquired as to the origins of this superannuated whisky collection.

He genially explained that neither he, nor his father before him, drank. As friends arrived at parties with bottles of booze as housewarming presents, he would stash them away in a cupboard where they slumbered undisturbed for decades. He pulled back a sliding door in his living room to reveal a treasure trove of vintage spirits, including a bottle of (regrettably oxidized) Jim Beam dating back to the 1950’s.

Gesticulating with all my verve, I attempted to explain to him what he had on his hands. This wasn’t just old booze; it was history! I bumbled my way through a brief dissertation on the consolidation of the Scotch whisky industry, and the associated changes to production methods and so forth. With consummate good manners he excused himself, explaining that the paella needed stirring.

I counted myself grateful to have a peek into this curio cabinet of wonders, and – to the extent permitted by decorum – splashed a bit of this and that into my glass. I would have been contented with a brief glimpse into this cache of wonders over the course of the dinner party. However, extending his considerable generosity yet further, he rummaged through a cabinet and produced a dusty carboard box. My benefactor plucked this large 1 liter bottle of Ballantine’s from it and pressed it into my hands, sending me home elated and very full of paella.

Starting with the older bottle: there is no indication on the label as regards bottling strength. A comparison of the label with other examples from auction dates this in the 1970’s; the preponderance of bottles from this era were produced at 40% ABV. As noted above, it was a kind gift from a friend, but these seem to change hands on the secondary market in the £20 to £30 range.

Ballantine’s Finest Scotch Whisky (1970’s) – Review

Color: Medium-pale gold with orange glints.

On the nose: “Aaahhh.” That’s the soulfully satisfied noise I make when I sniff really funky old white Burgundy, and I’ll be damned if it’s not apposite here, too. All sorts of maderized goodness. Salted nuts galore: salted cashews, salted hazelnuts, salted walnuts. Lemon furniture polish, slated caramel, and honeysuckle. Grainy sweetness; the malt has certainly not overwhelmed. There’s also an uncanny bit of minty-citric-milky smoothness here, reminiscent of Baskin-Robbins’ “Daiquiri Ice” in a sugar cone.

In the mouth: This is a subtle one. Texturally, a wee nip of piquant woodiness at the front of the mouth. There’s a brief reprise of the drily nutty saltiness at midpalate. A slight burst of golden raisins shows through the otherwise continually salty finish. An unexpected and momentary lick of bubblegum pokes its head out for a nanosecond before receding.

Conclusions

I hesitate to use the descriptor “salty” once more, but that’s what comes through most on both the nose and the palate. This is like a bag of mixed nuts meets a handful of popcorn. I adore the nose but find the palate a bit drying. In total, the delicious notes are memorable and the saline notes are tolerable. As an unexpected curiosity it delivers in fll. I rate it two full steps above average.

Score: 7/10

Our second bottle is freshly-purchased. You can find it for as low as $15 for 750ml; my neighborhood liquor store had it for $18, and – given the good fortune associated with my coming into possession of the older bottle – I considered the small markup to be my donation to the alms box of local business and whisky karma. It is bottled at 40%. It retails for £19.69 on Master of Malt, £20.95 via the Whisky Exchange or £15 from Amazon.

Ballantine’s Finest Scotch Whisky (2019) – Review

Color: A slightly lighter shade of medium-pale gold.

On the nose: Abundant wildflowers, lime juice, lime peel, key lime pie, limes everywhere! Freshly-mowed Kentucky bluegrass lawn, more Daiquiri Ice, and the unsalted meaty-nuttiness of cashews. Overall, the aromas are wispy rather than forceful.

In the mouth: Pale and weak in comparison. There’s a watered-down hint of the nuttiness of the 1970’s dram, but otherwise this disappears without a trace. Almost no entrance, no midpalate, no finish.

Conclusions

A complete nonentity. Imagine the dullest blended Scotch whisky and then add a deluge of water. The very best I can say for this is that it is appropriately cheap.

Score: 4/10

It’s almost like modern distilling, with its view to rush spirit through production and put it into second and third-fill knackered oak, has a detrimental effect on flavour! More proof!*

On the nose, these are kissing cousins. In the mouth, however, there are miles between these two. The 1970’s incarnation has body, force, presence, character, personality. It doesn’t entirely come off, but what it has to show for itself is excellent. The 2019 version – by way of contrast – is a wet blanket, a limp noodle, a wallflower, milquetoast, all the associated adjectives.

So were things better in the good old days? Yes, at least in this case. The generational side-by-side is a useful framework for comparison, one I hope we’ll frequently avail ourselves of on this site going forward. In the meantime, most sincere thanks to Señor Paco for making this longtime aspiration a reality.

There are commission links within this article but as you can see, they don’t affect our judgement.

*words of wisdom from our Mark?

Johnnie, Johnnie, Johnnie, Johnnie, Johnnie…

How many expressions of blended Scotch whisky does one house need? Twenty-nine, says John Walker and Sons Limited – or their corporate overlords at Diageo. The core of Johnnie Walker’s range encompasses seven labels (Red, Black, Double Black, Green, Gold Label Reserve, Aged 18 Years, and Blue) with an additional four “Exclusive Blends” (XR21, King George V, Odyssey, and The John Walker), nine Limited Editions (Blenders’ Batch Triple Grain American Oak, Blenders’ Batch Wine Cask Blend, The Jane Walker, White Walker, Blue Label Ghost and Rare Brora, Blue Label Ghost and Rare Port Ellen, Blue Label Year of the Pig, Game of Thrones Ice, and Game of Thrones Fire). This is not counting the travel retail exclusive editions such as the four Black Label Origins bottlings (Highlands, Speyside, Lowlands, and Islay), Swing, the Blenders’ Batch Red Rye Finish, and the three Explorers’ Club (Gold Route, Royal Route, and Spice Road). For the collectors, there are additional city-specific editions of the Blue Label. But wait! As I’m typing this, I have noticed a press release for “The John Walker, The Last Cask.” Make that an even thirty!

Forgive that self-indulgent, Salingerian exercise in list making, but I believe it makes an important point about expression sprawl, of which Macallan is possibly the king. Brands are in competition for shelf space and have intense pressure to devote limited marketing dollars to a set of essential sub-brands with commercial longevity and individual unique selling propositions.

At the same time we – the whisky-drinking public – are a fickle and easily-bored bunch. For those passing through an airport duty-free shop, a novel expression with a perceived scarcity (the oft-abused “Limited Edition” tag gets liberal application) can mean the difference between an impulse purchase and an unmolested wallet.

A steady flow of new-ish releases, or at least fresh coats of paint on old standbys, can also guarantee regular coverage in the “News” section of whisky websites. These “articles,” which are more often regurgitated press releases, provide questionable value to Johnnie and Jane Drinker. However, they unquestionably drive site traffic, an example of the chummy symbiosis which we have eschewed here at MALT in favor of a more substantial – and critical – survey of the landscape.

As a generally curious guy and somewhat of a completist, however, I will admit to the subconscious appeal of “collecting the whole set,” as I was exhorted to do on the back of early 1980’s Star Wars action figure packaging. Today I’ll scratch that itch with a by-no-means-exhaustive survey of a swath of Johnnie Walker expressions. What I’m sacrificing in comprehensiveness I am making up for in convenience, as these came pre-packaged in a set dubbed “Discover.”

I was able to pick up these five 50 ml bottles for $40. I was able to pick up these five 50 ml bottles for $40. I did the boring math and the fair market value for this wee set, based on retail prices for the full-sized bottles of each of these, is closer to $26 for the five. A 50 ml of the Blue Label is available for $20, though, putting market price closer to $34. Either way, I paid a bit of a mark-up. The things I do for you, beloved reader!

In truth, I’m most excited to try the Blue Label. My first and only run-in with this expression came in the middle of the last decade, right after university, when a friend was gifted a bottle for Christmas. Casting his pearls before swine, he opened it at a party where it was consumed rather than savored. Needless to say, my tasting notes from that experience are nonexistent.

Conceptually, I have a skeptical relationship to this expression. It’s everywhere and it’s typically the most expensive bottle on the shelf, which attracts the attention of those less-than-sophisticated drinkers who know the price of everything and the value of nothing. I liken it to the placement of Opus One Napa Valley Red on the wine lists of American steakhouses, where it is usually the priciest option. In the way that people who know nothing about wine “know” that that Opus One is “good wine,” people who know nothing about Scotch whisky “know” that Johnnie Walker Blue is “good Scotch,” based on price alone.

So, I am interested to see if the Blue Label lives up to the top billing it frequently receives. There’s a lot of blended whisky to try first, though. Without further ado, let’s tuck in.

The first is the ubiquitous Black Label, one of my all-time favorite blended Scotch whiskies. I am in the habit of enjoying this over ice at cocktail parties, dive bars, and anywhere else that the selection of whiskies is relatively limited. It is bottled at 40% and sells for around $30 in my neck of the woods, or £30.25 via the Whisky Exchange, just £24 from Amazon,or Master of Malt will charge £26.95.

Johnnie Walker Black Label – Review

Color: Medium golden-orange.

On the nose: Ahh, there it is. Wildflowers, honey and milky grain scents. A weak cup of black tea and some old cinnamon sticks. A bit of chalk and some whipped cream frosting.

In the mouth: It’s really interesting to taste this neat and slowly. At the front of the tongue there’s the astringent and tannic nip of tea – this time, a strong cup. It blossoms at midpalate with tart lemon and richly woody notes, as well as some sharper floral flavors. There’s a fade into the back of the mouth, but this also lingers with some slightly salty nut flavors and a bit of savory broth. Letting this sit a while longer, I’m getting a slightly sour and bitter aftertaste as the only obvious flaw.

Conclusions

This is really the blended Scotch baseline, for me. It is diluted down to minimum strength but does not taste dilute; it is self-possessed and mostly seamless. Not one that inspires philosophical meditation or poetic exuberance, but it does the job adequately for the price.

Score: 5/10

Johnnie Walker Double Black retails for around $45, but my local has it on sale for $35 currently. You can expect to pay £32.75 via the Whisky Exchange, it’s the same price on Amazon and Master of Malt. It is also bottled at 40%. The official notes state, “Johnnie Walker Double Black is matured in heavily charred casks and uses a greater proportion of characterful West Coast and Island whiskies to elevate iconic flavors to a new level of intensity.” Full disclosure: I tied this before and was not a fan, but I’m keeping an open mind – as one must do with blends – given the inescapable batch variation.

Johnnie Walker Double Black – Review

Color: Identical golden-orange color to the Black Label.

On the nose: More limited than the Black Label. This has some of the floral scents as well as a buttery note of pastry like freshly-baked brioche. There’s the faintest whiff of mint but then… nothing. The more intently I sniff this, the less I am able to discern individual nuances. It performs an olfactory vanishing act.

In the mouth: Rounder, softer, but with less personality. This is distinguished by a very subtle smokiness, but it’s merely an afterthought. The most prominent – nay, only – flavor in the middle of the mouth is a muddled malty-meatiness. There’s a bit of ash on the finish, which otherwise feels weak, save for more tea-like astringency.

Conclusions

The prior batch I tried was marred by an acrid smokiness that seemed like a clumsy overlay and detracted from the character of the basic Black expression. This doesn’t have that flaw, but also doesn’t have much in the way of pleasant characteristics to offset. It remains a step up in price and a step down in quality relative to Black (singular).

Score: 4/10

The Gold Label Reserve is another 40% bottling. Per the website: “Johnnie Walker Gold Label Reserve is created using award-winning whiskies – including fruity Highland malts and lighter Speyside malts for sweetness and spice, combined with those from the Scottish islands for our signature smoky finish.” Further, it was “created by Master Blender Jim Beveridge to celebrate nearly 200 years of the art of blending.” It’s priced at a non-celebratory $70, the Whisky Exchange charges £43.75, a more appealing price of £30 via Amazon and Master of Malt will charge £42.90.

Johnnie Walker Gold Label Reserve– Review

Color: Medium-light gold, a bit fainter than the others.

On the nose: Fruity, indeed. Some mango and grapefruit to start. There’s fruity hard candies and underripe kiwi. A bit of sugary pavlova, enlivened by some lemon zest. Orchard fruit here, too- green apples and yellow pears.

In the mouth: A bit of citrus to start.Vanilla wafers, an evanescent note of custard. The most wispy and fleeting flavor of ground nutmeg. There’s a slightly drying note of chalk here, before a nondescript roundness with a muted grassy accent punctuates the beginning of the finish. And the end of the finish. This literally has no finish. It leaves abruptly, without saying goodbye.

Conclusions

If blending is an art, then Jim Beveridge is blending’s Blinky Palermo (that’s a bit of minimalism humor for you). Considered in isolation, this is cheery and satisfactory, without conspicuous flaws. It would be a solid recommendation at 1/3 of the suggested retail price. At the current ask, this is pretty brazen in its underperformance, and is therefore being docked a point.

Score: 4/10

The notes for the 18-year-old blend read as follows: “Johnnie Walker Aged 18 Years is a smooth, well-rounded combination of up to 18 different whiskies from all over Scotland. Most of these are classic malt whiskies – which have undergone a slow, easy maturation in Scotland for at least 18 years.” Ah, it’s fascinating how much that sounds like bollocks. Also 40%; they hit you $80 for this one. The Whisky Exchange will ask for £69.95, Amazon just £59.51 and Master of Malt £69.95.

Johnnie Walker Aged 18 Years – Review

Color: Similar medium-light gold to the Gold Label.

On the nose: Ripe red apples and cinnamon, in the manner of apple cider. There’s a slightly green vegetal note, but not forceful enough to be counted as a flaw. Some butter cookies, perhaps? These are getting more amorphous and duller on the nose as the prices rise.

In the mouth: Texturally, this is quite odd. The front of the mouth has an all-together maltiness. This transitions by way of a subtly yeasty note to the midpalate, where it again becomes chalky and drying. Again, the finish is a disappearing act, with serious concentration focusing the mouth’s attention on the most watery residual flavor of green pears.

Conclusions

Presuming effort and price are correlated, it seems like the harder Mr. Beveridge tries, the less flavor he’s able to coax out of these. Another one that would be innocuous at best if sold for a fractional price relative to what you’re asked to pay. Another point docked.

Score: 4/10

And now, the main event. “[I]nspired by Alexander Walker’s 1867 Old Highland Whisky,” according to the website, “Johnnie Walker Blue Label is created using a selection of rare casks from the Speyside and Highland distilleries – including delicate Cardhu and Clynelish, warm, rounded Benrinnes, as well as Islay malts for our signature smokiness.” Again, bottled at 40%. This goes for $180, £150 at the Whisky Exchange, just £129.95 at Amazon and Master of Malt. I’m almost terrified to try this, expecting it to taste like pure tap water given the progression heretofore.

Johnnie Walker Blue Label – Review

Color: Same pale gold.

On the nose: More orchard fruit. Pear hard candies, the type they used to sell in a little round tin. A gentle overlay of vanilla. I’m trying very, very hard to come up with more descriptors, but I’m not being given anything to work with. It’s like having a conversation with a monosyllabic respondent.

In the mouth: Tastes like… nothing. Seriously, this may be the weakest of the bunch by far, and it’s got some lily-livered competition. If I give this a really aggressive swirl and swish it through my teeth, there’s an impossibly vague roasty-smokiness here. The palate almost has some discernible flavor at the tip of the tongue but, then again… nope. Oh, wait, there’s the musty funkiness of a shop full of old books for, like, a second. And there it goes. It’s gone.

Conclusions

As the old ad went, “This is a travesty and a sham and a mockery. It’s a traveshamockery!” I can’t believe this sells for $18, much less $180. The epitome of the triumph of style over substance. The marketing folks at Diageo must be geniuses; seriously, Johnnie Walker must have raided the M.I.T. physics department to find people clever enough to convince people to pay this much for this little. It’s fine, it doesn’t make me want to throw up, but… damn. $180?!? Docked double points for the preposterous asking price.

Score: 3/10

Well, that went south very quickly. I don’t know whether to be enraged or relieved. On the one hand, Johnnie Walker is ripping off anyone who pays up with the expectation of superior raw materials or craftsmanship, as the finished products bear no traces of either. But, to put a positive spin on this Hindenburg Zeppelin of a vertical tasting: if you’ve only ever tasted Johnnie Walker Black, you’re not missing anything. As in, not a consarned thing. The emperor has no clothes; he doesn’t even have chest hair.

Fools and knaves may brag about their top-shelf bottles, but now you know the secret: spend $30 and you can enjoy the best that Johnnie Walker has to offer. And, if you find yourself tempted by any of the more “prestigious” offerings sampled here, you’d best make like Johnnie and walk on.

There are commission links within this article but as you can see, they don’t affect our judgement. Images from the Whisky Exchange.

It feels like only yesterday, when I wrote about the latest clutch of releases from the devilish pickers of casks up at Dornoch distillery. Ok, in reality it was July 27th, which confirms how quickly time flies when you’re having whisky fun and looking after a new born. Either way, we have 2 of their latest bottlings to strip down and give the final verdict on.

Having written so recently about their antics, allows me an open season perspective on this article. I’d like to talk about the naysayers and those ready to lambast the Scottish whisky industry for some of its output today. None more so than the irascible terroir zealots we’re seeing.

The fact is that most of the whisky drinkers out there don’t care about terroir, the crop, or whatever the farmer is doing today. A visit to the Waterford Instagram page and the number of followers will confirm this stark reality. Sponsored adverts, pictures of crops and farms will only really gain you traction amongst BBC Countryfile enthusiasts. Words, like photographs, only go so far. Even inviting out influencers can only go so far, as many of those who believe in terroir, or have an idea of what it represents, don’t follow the influencer brigade, or those that do; mostly don’t care.

Neither of these releases today proclaims anything about terroir. Nor should they. In fact, the blend is a total mystery and we can only guess the component distilleries and original source of the vatted cask itself. This could be deemed anti-terroir, but ultimately, who cares? The taste test and the lingering aromas are what captivates us all, as whisky drinkers. Whether that’s from a state-of-the-art factory in Ireland, or a decaying distillery on Speyside. I just don’t care, because you pay your money and you want an enjoyable experience.

I’ve had my issues with the Scotch whisky industry, as do many that linger on this site do as well. The lack of information, poor cask management, where did you get your crops from and the list goes on. The SWA sheltering behind EU legislation (Brexit will be interesting) and all manner of other criticisms. Then, you have the rise of the other countries who’ve turned a hand to distilling this fine spirit. Some with more success than others. Even the Japanese are capable of dropping a clanger at times and have some very grey areas of legislation regarding bottling of foreign whiskies. Going so far as to then be able to passing it off as Japanese in origin. I’ve had two bad European whiskies for every good one I’ve tried recently.

Whisky is not a pure science and nor is the outcome guaranteed. Sometimes there will be pitfalls and stumbles. I’d like to think of each knock and blemish as character building. These will be valuable lessons for any incoming distillery – regardless of where it is located – and should be heeded. Many are trying to gallop before they can crawl nowadays. If only it was that simple and if you become boastful and over-confident, then people will be waiting for the moment when you fall flat on your face.

All of this, revives memories of a wonderful interview I read recently with Martine Lafitte in the debut issue of Distilled magazine. A candid and forthright Armagnac producer, the article underlined many of the pressures these traditional producers face. I found it a remarkable piece for its honesty and intelligence. Many of her concerns around bureaucracy, bad practices, external economic pressures and loss of tradition can be easily placed into the Scotch whisky industry. So many memorable quotes, but this one did shine through:

‘when we say 1975 we refer to the year we harvested the grapes. We work the land for eleven months, and then we have four months to distil. They’re making whisky in Scotland all year long! It’s an industrial endeavour, don’t talk to me about vintages or terroir.’

Somehow, I believe that Martine would also pour scorn on the industrial scale of Waterford and other producers that showcase the terroir route today like Hillrock and Springbank to a lesser degree. Yet Scotland does have its own answer, one that Martine may appreciate in Daftmill, which adopts a similar seasonality approach and distils in the offseason when the fields don’t require as much commitment.

What Daftmill produces is very impressive and modest, without showboating or shenanigans. A refreshing change in today’s climate. Similarly, while Dornoch don’t grow their own crops, they do place emphasis on what’s going into the cask and packing it full of flavour prior to the wood interaction. They also go about their business in a modest fashion and independent releases such as these help keep revenues rolling until the right moment to bottle arrives. I’ve been fortunate to taste maturing Dornoch and it is impressive, which doesn’t come as a surprise when you’ve tried their new make. I’m also able to say it is more flavoursome than the 2 Waterford new makes I tried in 2017, simple as that. The dudes at Dornoch are confident enough in their efforts to let you purchase their new make. We await that final test; only when the inagural whiskies are released. Personally, we’re all winners if the whisky is good, regardless of the origins or methodology.

And what of today’s 2 distilleries? Ardmore is a survivor and has always delivered a tinge of highland peat as its signature. Until recently it stuck with many traditions before joining the modern age of production. Personally, it still represents a worthwhile destination for whisky and especially so of the independent sector, with this release costing £130. The dignified presence of a 38-year-old blend is to be respected, but its origins are unknown. If I were a betting man, which I’m not, considering where blended casks of this age have appeared in recent years via the independents, then I’d be quietly confident in its origins. It’ll cost you £200 and will be available later this month.

Thompson Bros. Ardmore 1998 – review

Color: light gold.

On the nose: joyous with time, as the peat and coastal vibes come through. Hazelnuts, a sweet sugary earthy syrup, black peppercorns and waxed apples. A lovely balance due to the patient maturation. Sweet tobacco smoke, celeriac, mace, rock candy and lemon oil.

In the mouth: A waxy texture, dunking for apples and lemon peel. A light marmalade, honey and earthy, with a burnt crust. Ripe pears, green mangoes, kumquat and juicy goodness. More pepper, black tea, melon and a dirty vanilla.

Score: 8/10

Thompson Bros. 1980 Blend 38 year old – review

Color: copper.

On the nose: honeycomb, walnuts and a sense of age! Raspberries, resin, rice cakes, liquorice and bourbon-vanilla. A sense of quality. Danish oil, dried oranges, eucalpytus, tar-like and a wonderful complexity in the glass. Beeswax, fudge and cinnamon round off quite a trip.

In the mouth: lacking a touch of power on the palate but you can feel a dignified presence. Sherry wood notes come as no surprise, but beyond the walnuts, toffee and leather are glazed cherries, rusty nails, a touch of smoke and bashed conkers. Returning, provides comfort with dark chocolate and the edges of a well-fired ginger loaf.

Score: 8/10

Conclusions

These are 2 excellent cask choices from Dornoch that remind us that not all Scotch is bad, or even average. I do think we can lament the current state of whisky and wallow in the mire. Admittedly, there are a great deal of inept casks, rushed fermentations, youthful whiskies and bland distillates being bottled and shoved out into a rampant market. Complete at ridiculous prices, with marketing camouflage and lavish packaging. Terroir doesn’t necessarily mean a worthwhile, better or enjoyable whisky. Traceability means you are better informed and hopefully – fingers crossed – a better dram at the end of the day, but nothing is guaranteed, as we’ll no doubt see.

I suspect, it’ll be many years before we see anything approaching the standard that we have here. Both of these whiskies have been given an adequate period to develop and build a sustainable character. There is no silver bullet for time. You can use more forceful wood. Keep casks in a more controlled environment and make all sorts of proclamations. Whisky shouldn’t be rushed and the end result will be drams to saviour like this Ardmore and mystery blend.

It goes without saying these samples and images were kindly provided by the Thompson Bros. but as you can see and history shows, they don’t affect our judgement.

It’s been a good long while since I’ve tasted anything from the SWMS. The reason? Well, there isn’t one. Life, too much whisky choice, the usual. Things slip in and out of my focus and, the more new producers that are out there, the more new bottlers that crop up, then the less time there seems to be to return to certain brands.

First of all, my interest will always, always, be with people who make whisky, not who bottle it. Blenders and the likes I find are not as interesting these days. They don’t do the hard work, that’s for sure, which is to say growing barley, mashing, fermenting, distilling it, and maturing it all themselves, at great cost to themselves. I’ll not apologise for putting these people first.

But what of the bottlers? There is clearly a need for bottlers today to make something of a name for themselves. Actually, no: there’s a cultural desire to do something different. It’s a brand mentality: you have to stand out etc. In a way, it goes completely against the whisky culture of yore. Indeed, traditionalists, puritans – in which I will lump the likes of Jason – yearn for literally nothing to happen once a spirit is in a barrel. No finishing or double maturation at all. (And, in fact, many of these traditionalists mistakenly yearn after just pure ex-bourbon casks, despite this not being the sort that whisky was necessarily matured in, in any great volume, a century ago.)

The old guard have resistance to finishing whiskies (I don’t consider myself among their ranks, as I always quite liked what finishing might achieve when done diligently). Back in the day, they viewed it with a suspicion they’ve not quite let go of. Granted, for 80% of the time – an abstract number, don’t take this as gospel – finishes are used to remediate god-awful casks, poor maturation; to roll that metaphorical whisky turd, which couldn’t be polished, in glitter.

But finishing – or rather, tinkering with all sorts of wood – has become that differentiator of late. Which is to say, it’s a quick way of doing two things: giving some sort of pseudo ownership over one tiny aspect of whisky production, but perhaps more importantly as a shorthand way of saying that our whisky is different. Both, in my mind, are mistakenly filed under innovation.

We will see increasingly more of this sort of thing. More whisky is being churned out than ever before and more whisky startups are appearing in liquid gold-rush towns (the most famous of which have been set up around the great Highland Park whisky tsunami). To differentiate themselves, these new brands will put their ‘signature’ on the whisky in the form of finishing. So it’s no longer really about the whisky having lived in terrible casks all its life (a sign the producer didn’t really care about making top-class spirit in the first place), but is about brands trying to stand out. To create a few headlines for jaded PR personnel to hurl into our collective inbox, god help them.

But it is to an old brand we return today: SMWS. And they, too, are looking to do something a bit different. To give us a story set in the final stage of whisky production. They partnered with Tempest Brew Co, shipped over a batch of ex-bourbon casks into which went the company’s Rye Double IPA. After the beer was used up, SMWS popped in a blend of single malts that had previously been in first-fill hogsheads (which is interesting, as presumably, these were good casks and not shagged-old third-fill that usually gets lined up for finishing). 14 months later it’s bottled at 50% ABV.

You can see the brand-led story there, which is what I mean about companies using finishing to create a hook. And it looks like a pretty eccentric label change too.

SMWS Old Fashioned – Dora’s Review

Colour: apple juice from concentrate.

On the nose: sweet with red berries and caramel sauce masking the scent of stewed apples. It is resinous with motor oil and drying with white pepper infused sawdust. Seems quite viscous from the nose with a scent of rubber and hot chillies. It has a sour mashiness giving it a high fermenting cereal note. Vinegar is present with that tangy harshness, alongside sugared pineapples and mangoes drowned in cloudy apple juice

In the mouth:I found this quite harsh to begin with but that gives way to a bittersweet note that remains quite dominant. It is spicy hot with chillies and freshly ground white and black pepper. There is sensation similar to drinking mulled wine at a Christmas market; spices from cinnamon and cloves, ginger and nutmeg come through. It is a spicy affair! It then turns more woody and drying. Something floral like lavender honey comes out along with traditional Český chleba; Czeck brown rye bread peppered with herbaceous caraway seeds. Bitter rinds from the likes of grapefruit and tangerines. Hints of rubber are present and the whisky becomes slightly tannic. The finish is medium with a drying bitterness. It remains hot and spicy with a toffee’ed sweetness. The tongue becomes numb with the tannins and that peppery burn, with a floral powderiness which remains to the end.

Conclusions

This was a nice whisky to savour but I found the sweet chilli spice and woodiness quite strong for late summer. However, I think this would be ideal for a winter dram in front of a roaring fire, wrapped up in a thick blanket in the snug. It was surprisingly floral, something that I don’t usually like but this was quite tasty. This seems to be another good value blend as an alternative to many increasingly pricey single malts. I would be happy to have another dram and if you’re looking for something a little bit different, I would recommend it.

Score: 6/10

SMWS Old Fashioned – Jason’s Review

Colour: apricot.

On the nose: woody and marmalade, rubbed brass, barley drops, Old Spice original aftershave (yes!) and vanilla custard. Coconut ice, sauternes, brown sugar and ginger snaps. Water reveals syrup, Terry’s Chocolate Orange, more vanilla and a spent firework.

In the mouth: more wood, bitter and youthful. Uncouth to a certain extent and drying. Apricot jam, coconut, rubber-ish with a used band, chilli flakes and a touch of sweetness. Cloying with raspberries, water showcases more sweetness, orange pips and balsa wood.

Conclusions

Ever tried to fit something square into a round hole? That’s what this feels like to me. A botched experiment. Something that started life as a beer cask experiment that’s suddenly been forcibly shoved in another direction with the introduction of sherry casks. I appreciate the attempt to experiment, but this is almost verging on liqueur status. Not to my taste and I’ll stick to more traditional Old Fashioned versions.

Score: 4/10

SMWS Old Fashioned – Mark’s Review

Colour: chestnut, oloroso sherry.

On the nose: beer notes do rise up somewhat. Tangerines, straw; milk chocolate (the cheaper stuff). Golden syrup, baked apples. Vanilla, sure; quite pleasant on the whole. Stem ginger. Jasmine and green tea. Orange marmalade spread on toast.

In the mouth: a little bitter and overly spicy at first; it attacks the mouth aggressively. Husky, hoppy, straw-like notes. Candied fruits, malted barley. The spice fades with each sip, and becomes far more pleasant. Milk chocolate. Seville oranges marmalade, a touch of citrus zine. Lots of cereal, freshly baked bread, but lacks a certain diversity of flavours.

Conclusions

I do wonder if beer casks just aren’t for whisky that’s been in bourbon barrels. I would be more interested do see some heady sherry notes mingling among the lighter beer notes; I just feel there’d be more harmony, more parts of the flavour wheel being ticked off. I can appreciate this for what it’s worth: but it did not give me any real enjoyment. This perhaps is because of my intrinsic concern about beer-aged whiskies: popping spirit into something that has contained undistilled booze, whisky in a primitive form. It always feels regressive.

Score: 6/10

We’re all in a club, and at one time, whisky was just a room full of people having a great time—or more than likely, a freezing cold bothy with a stronger farmyard smell than any Brora funk. Nowadays, we’re more segregated; regardless of whether it’s as a result of social media or habit-forming cliques from those with whom we hang around, it’s all too easy to shut ourselves off, bolt the door firmly shut and ignore a different point of view.

That’s the danger of a club or collective. In limiting our exposure, we’re drifting away from what whisky is truly about. Sure, a sense of community and friendship matters, but beyond and at its heart resides that base component: the liquid itself. Whisky is whisky, or whiskey is whiskey, for my American readership. It’s not about who’s got the biggest bottle collection or the largest number of unopened Macallans to shove up their arse. A whisky is the result of nature and human endeavour. Its sole purpose is to be opened and experienced: nothing more, nothing less.

Yet we find ourselves in these clubs and passageways in-between. Many clubs exist to sell on bottles, with Facebook playing host to entertaining avenues for flippers. These clubs avoid auction fees and the spotlight by offering a one-off price (laughably, plus postage) to someone who is in desperate need of a bottle.

An extreme example concerns the current king of the flipping in Fife’s very own Daftmill distillery. One such seller drove for two hours and waited for four in order to ensure two bottles of the Daftmill Royal Mile Whiskies single cask. There was no intent to open, share or explore. This was simply greed and economics. What can you do, apart from getting up earlier? Or wishing we could set the clock back in central Edinburgh to the medieval ages where, hopefully, urine and other foul waste products were tossed from a great height and landed upon such a despicable person?

A £145 bottle that many tried to get for the right reasons—although I admit it was likely a 50/50 split at least with the flippers—became a £500 bottle within minutes. Speaking to the staff at a couple of the specific retailers with the exclusive casks, they just wanted shot of the releases. The stories they told me about some of the antics from the general public trying to secure a bottle left me extremely disheartened with human nature and what we’ve become. I had the sense that what I love about whisky has been pulled apart, blitzed, smashed and ripped from my heart.

Then I pulled myself together.

There’s very little we can do about the above. Extreme measures can be taken, of course, such as breaking the seal on the counter as you complete the purchase, or numbering bottles along with the buyer’s name. Instead, where I can, I’ll continue to open, share and appreciate what I’m fortunate to have at home.

In saying all of this, there is a degree of influence here at MALT. I’m always concerned a positive review here may fan the flames of the flippers, and therefore, of secondary market prices. We’re not Serge by a long stretch of the imagination, and I’ve been in a shop when a 90+ score of his prompts the phone to ring. However, if a whisky deserves plaudits, then that’s what counts, alongside a fair summary of whether the retail price is fair.

This explains why I’m not going to bother reviewing any of the new Daftmill single casks. I don’t think I’ll have anything to say beyond what’s in this article anyway. For the record, I preferred both the Luvians and Royal Mile Whiskies casks over the heavily sherried Berry Bros & Rudd release, which is clogging up auction sites as I type.

Clubs can exist for good. You may know that a few of us got together for a tasting in Glasgow in February, opened a few bottles and raised £500 for a local homeless charity. We could have sold our bottles as a whole or via samples, but this wasn’t a motivation or desire. The real benefit was the opportunity to sit down in a room full of friends, strangers and Phil, enjoying the whiskies and topics that followed.

All said and done, we have the latest Cadenhead’s Club release. The Cadenhead’s Club has swelled in size due to the attraction of value and receiving the monthly outturn early—a benefit that has been washed away by the number of members, all politely forming a queue to get a bottle. Still, I enjoy my membership and the option to purchase a well-priced release such as this 20-year-old blend for £45. It reminded me that clubs and gatherings can be a force of good, and in these dark times, hope.

This release is an outturn of 500 bottles, bottled at 44.6% and heralding from a sherry butt and a sherry hogshead. Available to club members only, you may see a bottle online somewhere…

Cadenhead’s Club 2019 20 Year Old – Review

Colour: bashed copper.

On the nose: an assortment of dried fruits, lemon peel, liquorice root and ginger nuts. Some homemade marmalade, nutmeg, rubbed brass, toffee, margarine and dark chocolate. There’s a gentle reminder of some grain within, but it’s not forceful. It has a well-rounded nose with a modest sherry influence.

In the mouth: nutty on the palate with walnuts, caramel, nutmeg and clove. Moments of varnish, syrup, cinnamon bark, honey, cherry sauce, orange zest and cracked black pepper emerge towards the finish of dried fruits and a hint of dryness.

Conclusions

The blended element has introduced a lightness, touch of space and breathing room to this Club release. What might have been more of a rich, cloying sherried whisky has instead become delicate and—well, ballet-like, I suppose—for a want of a better expression. The downside is that it’s very much an easy sipper, enough to stimulate and entertain without needing total focus. In addition, you’re waiting for that crescendo and uplift to a higher level, which never arrives.

Overall, I enjoyed the experience, and the price itself is an added bonus. If you’re not a member of this Club, then it’s worth considering, or at least checking out some of the Cadenhead’s Creation range that are more widely available. Just don’t keep that door closed and those virtual barriers in place.

Score: 6/10