#watercolourwhisky

[leewallick]

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[watercolourwhisky]

Glenmorangie 10 Years Old

When the Glenmorangie 10 Years Old, a frumpy, unfashionable, bespectacled Highland ingénue, ditched the glasses, combed outthe hair, and slipped into some slinky new packaging, a sparkling transformation occurred. Finally, the radiant, beautiful, desirable beingwithin was reflected in the glamorous vision without.

Such, I imagine, was the intent at luxury behemoth Moët Hennessy - Louis Vuitton (or 'LMVH' if you’re in the right circles,) when Glenmorangie was added to the portfolio in the mid-2000s. Bottles were reshaped, labels were redesigned, names were exotified. The extreme brand makeover that ensued transformed the humble best-selling single malt in Scotland from something your da hit up heavily when he was laid off his blue collar job, into a Baz Lurhmann wet dream. This new packaging was slinky, Frenchy, art-deco-y, and not skimpy on the metallic ink. Elegance. Sophistication. Luxury.

In four letters? LMVH.

Hilariously, at least to my mind, is the fact that under the shapely dress and well layered haircut, the Glenmorangie 10 remains the same frumpy, unfashionable, daggy spirit that was beloved by a country of frumpy, daggy, unfashionable people*.

For all its sleek sophisticated packaging, the Glenmorangie 10 remains thoroughly eighties to me, both the decade, and the demographic. Oh sure, the nose has a nice, delicate, floral aroma, but you know what it shares that with? Your gran's front yard.

And to grandma's house we go on the taste - a strong sweet coconut hit with dried apricot and brandy. We're in slice territory here, and… it's lovely. It's mild on the tongue without being shy - a little bit of heat, like a comfortable knit sweater.

The flavours build on the finish, with a chocolatey heft of rum-and-raisin, lovingly crafted perhaps into a rum ball, yesteryear's height of dessert-time sophistication**.

There's an ever so subtle tartness that lingers high on the palette, but overall, it's sweet and mild, with a medium-length linger.

If I'm perfectly honest, it took me a while to truly appreciate this drop for what it was. In the peat-fuelled haze of my jock-like whisky youth, the Glenmorangie 10 was a bit of a joke. Now, as a worldly grey-haired*** man of some experience, I see that, despite the flashiness of its packaging, it's actually a really lovely, light whisky, with a bit of character to it.

Glamourous? No. Elegant? In a way. Charming? Absolutely.

The Glenmorangie 10 is a great introductory whisky, and an old friend to return to whenever the mood takes you. Despite its luxurious overtures, it remains a (relatively) cheap whisky, regularly discounted at the lower end of the price range. If you're just starting out on your journey, consider adding this to your early rotation. Like me, you might find it ends up with a permanent home on your shelf.

- McBetts

P.S. If anyone can get one of the old bottles to me I'd love to paint it. I've already painted the 'Quinta Ruban', née, Port Wood, and would love to do a full range side-by-side comparison.

Drink it if you superficially enjoy: Lurhmann's Great Gatsby/Red Curtain Trilogy (ignore Australia: nobody liked Australia), the golden-bronze decadence of Ancient Egyptian artefacts, being seen drinking whisky but not actually liking whisky

Drink it if you enjoy: gentle introductory whiskies, 80's week on Masterchef (is that a thing? I assume that's a thing), Still Game, sweets from your gran named Mavis or Gwenda

* www.youtube.com/watch?v=tbNlMtqrYS0

**Back when coconut carried a touch of the exotic, people thought 'pistachio' was an Italian renaissance artist and caramel was the poor man's 'any other dessert'.

***In fairness I had grey hair when I started drinking whisky, like everything else I did after my 16th birthday. Thanks, Grandad****.

****No seriously, thanks. My hair is baller.

[watercolourwhisky]

Balvenie Triple Cask 12 Year Old (Travel Retail exclusive)

The Balvenie Triple Cask 12 Year Old (Travel Retail exclusive) is like Christmas in Australia. All the signs and symbols are there, it ‘seems’ Christmassy, but you can’t shake the feeling that something’s missing.

My exposure to Travel Retail (AKA Duty Free) releases tends to reflect this feeling: they’re marketed/designed for a more casual whisky drinker, and tend to be a much lighter experience suitable for an introduction, rather than a savouring (that is, where they’re not abominations against man and god – I’m looking at you, Old Pulteney Noss Head – review pending.)

For a whisky that’s been matured in an Oloroso sherry cask, then a first fill bourbon, then a refill (the eponymous triple casks), they seem to have been more holiday flings than enduring marriages.

And so, we have all of the outward appearances of a hearty winter Christmas, with little of the follow-through. The nose suggests pudding, with sultanas and sherry coupling with sweet notes of marzipan and rosy, floral notes. It’s light, though, barely more than a suggestion.

The taste continues the theme, with flavours of spiced rum and nutmeg imparting a sugary, pleasant taste that would be easy drink by the glassful (in a way that leads to photocopying one's arse at the end of year party/getting fired.)

But then it’s over before it began.

The whisky faints away on the finish, lighter than daylight savings AEST. It just disappears. It’s Santa in fur-trimmed shorts and thongs (flip flops.) Almost, but not quite.

All up, the Balvenie Triple Cask 12 Year Old is pleasant, but it’s lacking, especially compared to the brilliance of some of the other Balvenies. This is no curling up by the fireplace as the snow blankets the streets outside, and alas, it’s poorer for it. It’s enjoyable, it's quaffable, but it's nothing to write home about - let alone depart from/fly back to.

- McBetts

Drink if you enjoy: the idea of spending large amounts on Johnnie Walker Blue or Chivas Regal 18 but don’t have the coin; cold lagers that go warm too quickly; sweat and sunburn with your spiced wine, Doublewood Lite™

Don’t drink if you enjoy: depth, roaring fireplaces, Game of Thrones.

[watercolourwhisky]

Longrow Peated (No Age Statement)

I suspect this is largely informed by my current progression through the Wheel of Time series*, but the Longrow Peated (NAS) reminds me of a youthful farmboy who yearns for big adventure. Our story begins on a quaint little coastal farm with puffing chimney, where honest labour yields honest rewards…

The opening aromas are all about utility: fresh cut grass, haybales and livestock; leathery tannins, curing salts, and peated fires. These are damp, heavy smells, though all things considered, the nose itself is fainter than you might imagine – like a heavy spring rain?

The taste carries on in this vein – at first it’s subtle – a light peat, more prominent salted peanuts and a suggestion of sugar-coated almonds. It’s pleasant, if a little anaemic, and in the quiet, there’s the feeling that there’s probably something more than this...

And so as the seconds tick by, all of a sudden the Longrow Peated ignites in a fit of youthful exuberance! Heat and smoke radiate out from the tip of the tongue, sending a blast of peat over the tastebuds. That evolves richly: peanut brittle and salty dark fudge, which gives way to a somewhat lingering black sausage finish – a taste of salt and iron, with a smouldering, smokey, earthy sensation.

Surprisingly though, despite its appearance of heft, the Longrow Peated is not a heavy-oily whisky. Throughout its journey it mostly sits at the front of the mouth on the tip of the tongue, rather than the back. Whereas other heavily peated whiskies travel all the way down your throat and radiate out from your chest, this one, peculiarly, never really ventures beyond your tonsils.  The result is a surprisingly fresh, youthful show of strength, a bold and energetic peat, unlike some of its more grounded island cousins.

I think this is a gem of a whisky. Like other Campbeltowners, it’s a little harder to come by than some, but it’s not too expensive, and it’s interesting, dagnabbit. If I could get my hands on this more readily, I could very easily see it sitting on my shelf in regular rotation.

- McBetts

Drink if you like: The Wheel of Time, Raymond E. Feist, Middle Earth, Belgarion…

Avoid if you like: age statements, iDevices, Warhammer 40:000 – Eldar

*Substitute with just about any fantasy novel series

[watercolourwhisky]

Talisker 10 Year Old

Sometimes it’s hard to know how much packaging influences the experience of drinking whisky. Remove a blue-capped bottle from a navy box adorned with nautical design elements*, talk of hills and island shores; pour yourself a glass; and BAM! You’re drinking the spirit of the ocean, baby, a single malt “like no other”! Why, if you hold a glass of Talisker 10 Year Old up to your ear**, you can practically hear the waves emanating from the flagship drink from the Isle of Skye’s only distillery, lapping against the cliffside…

Never mind of course that if you hold any glass up to your ear you can hear the ocean; nor that it’s Scotland: there’s a 50/50 chance any distillery is going to sit next to a large body of salt water and a 99/100 chance it lies beneath the shadow of some sort of hill. The Talisker 10 wants to make it abundantly clear that it’s unique, it’s island, and it does the sea.

And that’s cool. Even in a blind tasting, it wouldn’t be too difficult to figure out there’s something Poseideny going on here. And it certainly is distinctive.

When it’s not actually splashing up your nose**, the notes wafting off the Talisker 10 have a curious mix of old and new. Most prominent are the musty smells that are by no means a refreshing crisp sea spray: they’re the dank, crusty salts of seaweed; wet hair of the dog (literal hair from a literal dog, mind); sea-soaked rope and leather. However, there are also some unusual industrial notes that provide a sharp counterpoint: a metallic edge, a piercing soap and a faint burnt rubber. These contradictions make it less ye olde creaking galley, more WWII aircraft carrier. The juxtaposed threads are a little jarring sitting side-by-side, but create a most interesting result.

There is also, buried underneath these strong scents, a suggestion of something sweeter - but that doesn’t really emerge until the taste. On sipping, much of the nose’s mustiness is washed away, revealing a rich-yet-bitter sweetness - a heavy, slightly salted, slightly burnt caramel, like the lid on a crème brûlée. This is quickly followed up by a strong wave of menthol, pushing that sweetness back down as the 45.8% crashes in with bitter pith** and orange seeds,  temporarily drowning out all else. Fisherman's Friend indeed.

As the menthol wave recedes, the sweetness begins to return on the finish, and something curious happens once again. As the flavour settles, sweet, subtle crustacean flavours take form:  prawn, langoustine, and if I could afford it, what I imagine lobster tastes like. The longer you wait the more they emerge – after the alcohol evaporates, these subtle flavours remain, like a delicate yet pronounced bisque.

Overall, the Talisker 10 may not be the prettiest whisky at the ball, but by the sea-god’s trident it’s an interesting whisky, and it certainly lives up to its declaration of uniqueness. It’s also relatively cheap and often on sale, so I usually have a bottle of it in various stages of consumption. The Talisker 10 Year Old is not going to be everyone’s cup of tea dram of whisky, but, just like the delicious, noble prawn that rounds out its finish, there’s a lot to love if you put in the effort and get past its shell.

- McBetts

Try it if you enjoy: Top Gun; those sea-creature shaped chocolates - especially the sea horse; taking the 21-footer out for a sail on the harbour but still no-body will sleep with you

Don't try it if you enjoy: Traditional cottage gardening, deserts, trying to ease in new whisky drinker with friendly drams

*Including handy maps and latitude and longitude readings for when you’re floating in the Atlantic and fancy stopping by for a dram.

**Or in my case, hold your glass up to take a deep whiff and tip it too far so that it goes up your nose. Spend the next three minutes crying salty tears, which I guess was appropriate?

***’Bitter Pith’ will be the name of my autobiography.

[watercolourwhisky]

Glenkinchie 12 Year Old

The Glenkinchie 12 Year Old is not so much about the ‘birds and the bees’ as it is the ‘bears and the bees’. It’s got an A. A. Milne ‘springtime meadow on the edge of the woods’ vibe to it.

The whisky is one of the relatively less common lowlanders (the lowlands have just three functioning distilleries at present, though there are more in the offing), and a bit of an uncommon sight in non-specialist bars and shops (despite it being global drinks giant Diageo’s lowland ‘Classic Malt’.) That’s a shame, because it’s really quite pleasant.

The nose of the Glenkinchie* 12 begins with a healthy dollop of Pooh’s honey and a squeeze of fresh zingy lemon, mixed with floral heather and spring blossoms. It’s bright, yet languid – the work of fat bumblebees rather than their more frenetic European cousins.

The honey carries over to the taste, beginning quite sweet with a slice of cucumber freshness, but morphing into a dramatically more herbal, woodsy profile. Peppery nasturtiums, marjoram and chamomile help transform the whisky into something resembling a very dry white wine, underpinned by strong oak flavours.

The finish sees those heavier wooden flavours come to the forefront, laced with a stronger peppery herb such as tarragon. As that recedes, some of the sweetness returns, leaving a lovely medicinal, herbal residue.

I quite like the Glenkinchie 12. I could see it making it into my rotation if it was just a tad cheaper. As you can tell from these descriptions though, it falls a bit shy of ‘love’, which, at its price point, is a problem. I think it’s an above-average whisky, but for me it’s not quite exceptional, and so it doesn't achieve the status of ‘fixture’ on my shelf.

The Glenkinchie 12 is probably the kind of folksy home-remedy perpetually bummed Eeyore whiles away the lonely nights with. It will cure neither the common cold nor clinical depression, but it may, just may, make the world of world-weary sad-asses seem that little bit brighter. Would recommend.

- McBetts

Try it if you enjoy: butterflies, sad donkeys, treating medical conditions with honey and lemon in hot water, treating existential conditions with alcohol

Don’t try it if you like: industrialisation, economic rationalism

* Every time I read or hear the name ‘Glenkinchie’, I hear Homer’s voice yelling “Mr Pinchy!”

[watercolourwhisky]

Lagavulin 16 Year Old

It’s a curious thing, sudden popularity. When the fickle, capricious fates grace (curse) something by anointing it as ‘in’, sometimes there’s not even enough time to ask ‘why’ before it’s all over: out the door; in front of the velvet rope; lying face down in the gutter with a busted lip; and everyone’s all like ‘hey - remember when <transitory artefact of fad worship> was a thing?”

Well, there are some who say single malt whisky’s in that place right now*. You can’t knock on a basement door down a dark alley these days without accidentally stumbling upon a small funky bar boasting an “impressive selection of single malt Scotch whiskies” (at exorbitant prices of course.) New distilleries are opening and massively increasing production, literally, by the still-load.

And that’s cool because, wooooooop! More whisky! More availability! More people to impress annoy by being all “I was totally drinking the stuff before it was a thing.”

But it’s also weird. Because, today, in 2014, something that’s 198 years old is, in repudiation of the 1980s and 1990s, totally a thing. That something is Lagavulin, and their standard 16 Year Old expression.

The Lagavulin 16 is one of a handful of whiskies that currently operate as a conspicuous shorthand for ‘hey – I’m serious about my whisky**.’ It ticks all the boxes – pricey (but not prohibitively), Islay, heavily smoked/peated, and, in a remarkable (and I’m naïve enough to believe genuine) marketing coup, has the strongest, most unabashed endorsement from Parks and Recreation’s Ron Swanson. Oh, and it tastes absolutely lovely (but I’ll get to that).

+ Parks and Rec tangent, including Season 6 spoiler. Feel free to skip +

At present, I can't talk about Lagavulin without referencing the character of Ron Swanson, the cantankerous, moustachio’d, hyper-masculine elephant in the room***. Despite me being a fan and having visited Lagavulin some time before Swanson and the Lagavulin 16 ever shared the screen**** (let alone Season 6 where he also literally visits the distillery - not a Chris Traeger ‘literally’ - a literal ‘literally’), a recent bout of binge watching means I can’t approach the whisky in its own right without thinking about the character.

That’s not necessarily a bad thing. In many ways, Ron Swanson is a perfect personification of the Lagavulin 16. 

Is this going to be a lazy analogy? Probably. But let explain.

+ Back to the whisky +

The Lagavulin 16 is a strong whisky. Its nose is a bit like shaving cream. Its unforgettable, lingering finish plays out like smouldering coals. It’s the type of whisky people swear will put hairs on your chest.They’re wrong though. (I’ve counted mine. I only have nine. They have names.) It is, nonetheless, a richly evocative, and unforgettable dram.

Now, it would be idiotic and pointless to gender a whisky as ‘masculine’. In addition to the fact that tastebuds don’t care whose tongue they’re attached to, there’s a lot more going on than broad clichés and stereotypes could ever reveal.

To begin with, though there’s some tobacco present on the nose, you can’t actually get much of the trademark smoke from it. Similarly, there are salted notes and burnt toffee, but they’re light, rather than dominant. Much of the body actually comes from greener scents: grass clippings mixed with the sweetness of apple pie and rockmelon. At this point it’s more Springsteen than Swanson.

On the tongue it’s fresh, menthol, sweet even. One of the interesting things about the Lagavulin 16 is that, like Caol Ila, the physicality of the whisky is so light for what it is - it swishes around your tongue. This stands in marked contrast to the heavy oils in Ardbeg and Laphroaig, which feel much thicker in your mouth. The first instant your tongue touches the Lagavulin all seems normal. With each passing second though you can start to feel what’s coming, as the peat makes its presence known. This, however, is the slightest shadow of what happens when you swallow…

KABOOM!

The finish is pure magic. It begins like someone’s pulled the hood off of a flare, erupting suddenly with a flash of brilliance.

There’s char. There’s wood - sharp oak (ever so slightly sour, like aloe).

The tobacco’s back in a big way, and it’s wet, and it’s chewy. It is in fact the tobaccoiest whisky I’ve come across.

Remarkably, the finish is as steely and consistent as a Ron Swanson stare. It doesn’t fade. It just goes on. After that initial flash, the Lagavulin 16 goes on the slow burn. It sustains the warmth of gently glowing coals, smokey and mellow. Minutes later, when that warmth has subsided, you can still taste it, still feel it. The charcoal has burnt through to white ash, but it’s unmistakable.

And here’s my favourite thing about the Lagavulin, which also makes for a wonderful Ron Swanson analogy. Despite that great flash of ignition, from the nose to the finish, the Lagavulin 16 is a surprisingly graceful whisky. It’s not brash or boisterous. It’s complex, and it’s subtle. If I were to be lazy and call it masculine, it’s the masculinity and strength of a ballet dancer.

The Lagavulin 16, as you may have guessed from this review, is a regular fixture on my shelf. Fortunately, it’s quite often on sale, and you can be lucky enough to pick up a bottle of it for AU $70 (more frequently AU $80) instead of its RRP of $110.

To return to where we started, I don’t think there’s any danger of the Lagavulin falling from grace once the fad has passed. After the fangirls and fanboys have anointed the next trend in libations and ditched their love affair with Islay, the Lagavulin will continue to smoulder, continue to provide warmth. The Ron Swansons of the world will continue to embrace its subtle beauty, and it will continue to be a really lovely whisky.

Ron appreciates the poetry of the Lagavulin. The ultimate irony is that, for the time being, the Lagavulin 16 is much more likely to be enjoyed by a Tom Haverford.

- McBetts

Drink it if you enjoy option a: Cabins in woods, lathes, spit roasts (charred), moustaches

Drink it if you enjoy option b: letting the ladies or gentlemen know you know ‘what’s up’

*Me. I say that.

**In my world, most conversations follow the format of “hey - <independent clause>”

***Did I just make a Republican pun?!

**** Declaration of authenticity <+4 whisky cred; -10 charisma>

[watercolourwhisky]

Oban 14 Year Old

The Oban 14 Year Old is widely regarded for its strong citrus flavours, and, well… fair play. The flavour profile is like taking an anachronistic sea voyage, in which the passengers remembered to pack appropriate, scurvy-busting rations.

Right from the start, the nose hits you with citrus and orange peel. Underneath those golden twangs there’s a suggestion of heartier, meatier notes: of corned beef, and other salted smallgoods. The citrus is king though – it’s less ‘marmalade-glazed ham’, more ‘bacon bits dropped into a glass of orange & grapefruit juice’. That’s cool. As a firm believer that bacon makes everything better*, I find this rather warm and inviting.

Regardless, any whiff of bacon or corned beef may as well have been a starvation-induced hallucination, because those proteiny, hammy notes evaporate on the taste. Unshackled, it fully embraces its inner jam, a clove-spiced mix of orange and blackberry, with a slightly bitter edge of peel and rosehip.

That bitterness becomes more pronounced on the finish, beginning as a strong, but not overwhelming surge, cresting to a more mellow mid-section, and settling down to a smooth, warm, lingering end.

The Oban 14, or ‘Vitamin C: the whisky’, is a rather decent drop. Unfortunately it’s one of the pricier whiskies in its band, and rarely on sale in Australia, so it doesn’t get to play in my usual rotation. However, if it was on offer, or if I was heading on a 19th Century sea voyage*, I certainly wouldn’t say no.

- McBetts

Drink if you enjoy: Your great aunt’s marmalade, sea shanties

Don’t drink if you enjoy: scurvy

*My family has a history of this happening. One of my ancestors was a convict sentenced to death, whose sentence was commuted to being shipped out to Australia. His crime? Stealing 4lbs of Wiltshire ham. What can I say? It’s genetic.

[watercolourwhisky]

Glenlivet 12 Year Old

The Glenlivet 12 Year Old is the workhorse of the whisky world. Ubiquitous and reliable, it may not be the most glamorous or impressive dram available today, but all whisky collections should be built upon the sturdy foundations of this old faithful.

Though safe and perhaps conservative by today's standards, many moons ago the Glenlivet 12 epitomised sexy, a legend in its time. It reminds me of Chanel #5 - having long since achieved the status of icon, these days it’s more likely to be rocked by septuagenarians*.

It’s fitting then, that the nose conjures up the septuagenarian diet: wine gums and jubes. My gods old people love their lollies.

The taste is toffee apples and marmalade; the slight tartness of orange peel offsetting any overwhelming sweetness, and imparting a delicious complexity.

Liquorice announces its presence for the finish, but leaves without making too much of a scene. It's a faintly theatrical echo, a lingering whisp of a bygone era, a phantom memory - which I guess is a nice way of saying it's pretty weak. It doesn't really matter though - it tastes so agreeable, I find there's not much time spent lingering between sips.

I’ll always have a place in my heart for the Glenlivet 12, and on my shelf. It may not be such a sexy drop these days, but it maintains its charms and hidden quirks. I’d totally still tap that. In fact I do, regularly. It’s my ‘go to’ – when somebody says “whisky”, the Glenlivet 12 is what comes to mind. It’s my baseline by which I compare all other whiskies. 

It's also one of the cheapest single malts available, and absolutely unbeatable value for the price**. You will never not find a bottle of it around my house.

- McBetts

Try it if you enjoy: Labradors, Marilyn, antique clocks

*Not meaning to imply septuagenarians can’t flaunt it. Keep on spritzing, Beryl you naughty minx you! x

**By single malt whisky standards, of course. It ain't cheap bein' classy, but it is often sobering*** to go "is a bottle of this worth three bottles of Glenlivet?"

***Ha, "sobering". Accidental pun!