watercolourwhisky

[watercolourwhisky]

The Lagavulin 2015 Feis Ile (24 Year Old, Bottle #122)

The Lagavulin 2015 (Feis Ile 24 Year Old, Bottle #122) is the greatest whisky I've ever had. If I were to try and describe the sensory experience (which is kind of the point of these reviews), it's like being wrapped in a blanket by a campfire on a beach while drinking the blackest espresso and smoking a cigar dipped in maple syrup. Oh, and your blanket is on fire.

So. Wow. How did we get here?

Harken back with me, if you will, to the magical summer of June 2015. As a second time new British migrant*, I inaugurated my return** to Great Britland by attending Feis Ile, AKA The Islay Festival, AKA the run on the various Islay Co-Ops’ deodorant supplies. It's the time of year when hordes of whisky nerds (and me, who is obviously a whisky jock***, even though 2/5ths of my reviews contain Star Wars references) descend on the tiny Western Scottish island of Islay, home to some of the world's most renowned distilleries; when the island's population swells from 3,000 to 14,000, and each day holds a festival at one of the island's eight distilleries****.

Every year for the past decadish, each distillery on the island has released a special limited edition Feis Ile bottling, which are notorious for being a) expensive, and then b) doubling in price on auction sites the next day.You may recall I reviewed the Caol Ile's 2015 Feis Ile limited release last year, which was a spritely 17 year old.Here we are again, but this time we're looking at Lagavulin's Feis Ile bottling, AKA the greatest whisky in the world.

So. I went to Lagavulin. It was neat.

I bought the Lagavulin 2015 Feis Ile (24 Year Old).To throw some numbers at you, the 3500 bottles of Lagavulin Feis Ile 2015 (24 year old) sold for £128 each. It recently went for £440 at auction. That's now £20 a dram, cost. Then again, the 8,000 200th anniversary Lagavulin 25 year old bottles, released this year, retailed at £799.95. Though I own many fine whiskies and I've tasted some finer ones still, I've never personally opened a bottle that's worth more than £80. If you're going to beat a personal best, you may as well do it five times over.

Now, I formally arrived on this planet on June 24, and kind of consider base two numbers my jam. As such, I figured my 32nd birthday was a suitable occasion to crack open this bad boy/girl/biologicaldeterminismisrubbish.

You can see me here on the morning of my 32nd birthday, quite enjoying myself, with an Aberdeen Angus steak bap and a Lagavulin 24 year old for breakfast.

It was a good day.

Over the next six months, this bottle went on many adventures. I took it up on a whirlwind tour of Scotland, painting it on the train ride up.

At one point, it even went to Australia.

Now, being a 32-and-a-half-year-old-cynical-atheist who nonetheless enjoys the poetic symbolism of numerology, I thought it would be fitting to finish off this glorious 24 year old whisky, opened on 24/6/16, six months later, on 24/12/16 . So here we are, on Christmas Eve 2016, finishing a bottle of the nicest whisky I've ever tasted.

So, after perhaps the longest winded intro I've ever embarked on, how do we begin to approach this leviathan-slash-titan of a single malt, whose majesty spans from the loftiest heavens to the greatest oceans' depths?

How ‘bout the nose?

Well. 

Let me tell you, friend: whapp your schnoz into a glass of the Lagavulin Feis Ile 2015 (24 Year Old) and you're taking a hit. The alcoholic notes smash you: a dazzling burst of starlight; an arctic blast of alcohol that overpowers all (59.9%, baby!). It takes a second for your nose to adjust to this new world order, before you begin to regain your senses. Complex plastic polymers emerge: synthetic carpet laid down a long corridor; the enticing aroma of a new car. It's part futuristic, but these chemical pings are equalled in part by fragrances meatier and more natural. There's the call of the sea; a campfire on the beach next to a shipwreck. Newly tanned leathers beckon. Rotting books. The experience, however, is not musty and stale, but vibrant.

A third, surprising body of notes rounds out this complex nose. You uncover fresh cereals: wet barley, hay. Each of these three groupings dance a complex dance (once the alcohol has taken out the weaker receptors.) It's complex, it's dynamic, and it's beautiful.

What you notice, as you mull it over, is that the heat and smoke is mostly absent from the nose. It's not particularly peaty.

Ha.

Ahahahaahahahahahah.

Time for the taste.

PHWOAR! Phucking phwoar. 

Remember that moment in El Viaje Misterioso de Nuestro Jomer (The Mysterious Voyage of Homer)*** where homeboy's tongue touches the Guatemalan Insanity Pepper?

That.

Fire. 

Burning. Roaring, aggressive. A thousand hornet stings. The taste kicks off with a riotous burst of heat. It's hard to get a handle on much else - the more it settles, counterintuitively, the stronger it gets. For a few seconds, your senses are overwhelmed. There's a taunt of sweetness, a suggestion of complexity, but then BAM! All you can do is strap yourself in and ride it out.

Once you do, however…

Wow.

You're seeing amorphous blobs of light, which gradually begin to coalesce back into stars. You start to remember details. Your name. What year it is. That time Buffy whapped out a rocket launcher to defeat The Judge. The important things.

From there, you get to savour the complex, delicate, shifting, orchestral finish of the Lagavulin Feis Ile 2015. 

And what melody does it play?

Well, characteristically, it's like other Lagavulins - deep and lingering, but not oily or heavy. It's the Muhammad Ali of the single malt whisky world, with the butterflies, and the bees*****.

On the finish there's tar, and chewing tobacco. There's the deepest roasted coffee, and lamb fat that's been left in the pan and charred to a crisp. It's a chocolate darker than any you've ever had. 

There's an undeniable sweetness - honeycomb, but it's so deep. It's chewy, burnt caramel embers.

This is a whisky you're chewing and savouring. Where some of the nicest whiskies I've mulled over provided a finish that stayed with me for 40, 50 seconds. This one has a finish measured in minutes. This is a lingering memory, and not one you're soon likely to forget…

So.

That was… pleasant. Where to from here?

Well, I guess you could fork out £800 for the 25 Year Old. But then, when the revolution comes, we're totes eating you, you rich, capitalistic fuck. £800 is an idiotic amount to spend on a whisky, and this younger sibling, despite it having erotically assaulted my tastebuds, is not worth the equivalent of a return flight to Australia. I think, if this were genuinely available for £200, I'd consider another bottle. But it's not. £130 was a great price to pay for this wonder. I'm kicking myself that when I went back to the distillery the next day, and they still had bottles available, and I didn't get extra. Alas, now that I've finished this magnificent bottle... I've only got one bottle left. I think I'll save it for my 48th. Merry Christmas, y'all, and happy 32nd-and-a-half birthday to me.

- McBetts

Try it if you like: whisky, all that is good in the world

Avoid it if you dislike: N/A

*Having migrated the first time, all too temporarily, to Glasgow. **Yes, you can inaugurate a return. Your English means nothing here in... England. ***Am I inadvertently invoking some sort of horiffic sectarian/racist honorific with the phrase “whisky jock”? ****And Jura. Poor Jura. But that’s a story for another time. #Corryvreckan #TruthToPower *****It would be much less weird if butterflies and bees had sex, rather than bees and birds.

[watercolourwhisky]

Glenmorangie - A Midwinter Night's Dram

Today we're talking about Glenmorangie's A Midwinter Night's Dram, a limited UK release that came out during Christmas last year, though bottles are still available. It's an OK dram, rich and bright, though to my pallet bears a strong line of male entitlement and bitter man tears.

Before we taste it, lo, I hear you cry! McBetts, what's with the weird name? Glenmo loves their fancy premium Frenchy Gaelic titles for their non-age statement finishes. What's going on here? Also, why not just wait six months for summer, and call it a Midsummer Night's Dram, which would feel a lot less forced?

Look, I'll square with you. I dunno. Perhaps an LMVH marketing exec got super excited when they realised 'dram' was one letter short of 'dream', and just couldn't wait to share the hilarity (even though there was already a US rye whisky with the same name.) Maybe they thought whisky novices were more likely to gift a bottle with a fun name instead of one that sounded like an operatic composition? The packaging is gorgeous, and it simply screams "buy me as a fun Christmas gift for my dad, who I'm not really close with and for whom I never know what to get." So there's probably that.

At any rate, A Midwinter Night's Dram is a pun on the title of the famous 1999 film starring Kevin Kline and Calista Flockhart.

For a little dramatic panache I'm reviewing this whisky on the actual pagan Midwinter's Night, the winter solstice*: shortest night of the year, which, as you might imagine, is a good day on which to drink whisky**.

To kick off the review, it may shock and alarm you to discover that, despite some truly lovely marketing copy, I don't think Glenmorangie's A Midwinter Night's Dram is a particularly wintery dram. In fact, throughout I pick up some distinctly bright, sharp notes, more of a spring ensemble than a winter complexion.

The nose has a bright fresh line, a little green, like unripened apple and cut grass. In fairness, it is underwritten by some mild to middle sweetness which tempers the exuberance - honey, mandarin and liquorice giving it a more balanced body. It's finished in a sherry cask, and while there are some suggestions of fortified wine, they're fairly faint.

The pallet is rich, although bitter: orange peel and candied wine gums, grapefruit topped off with cinnamon. Some sherry flavours flirt, although the cinnamon spice is dominant, and you'll find it's not the gentlest or smoothest whisky to savour.

Rather than subsiding, the sharpness becomes more prominent over the finish, oak and copper with white wine, nectarine and orange peel dominating. These flavours sit fairly high, and it's more of a tangy finish than a deep lingering sweetness you might expect (or hope for). There is a slight, pleasant chewiness, but the flavours don't hang around.

All in all, Glenmorangie's A Midwinter Night's Dram is… ok? As a one-off, it's almost a ride, though there's no chance it would make it into my regular rotation. Try it because it looks fun, and because it won't be around forever. Like love.

- McBetts

PS. What's that? The male entitlement and bitter man tears? Oh. Once upon a time I fell in love with a producer I worked with on an amateur uni production of A Midsummer Night's Dream. We dated for a bit and then she broke it off. My handling of it was not… super classy. I felt it necessary to express my feelings by staging an original musical set in the Star Wars universe, in a thinly veiled facsimile of our whirlwind romance (but set in a brothel, natch.) It turns out that when you write a tragic doomed romance in the bitter white hot sting of rejection, stunned in the adolescent realization that it is in fact possible that you're not everybody's dream beau, it can get a little… angsty. Like, "I hate sand" angsty. At least there were lightsabers.

Over the intervening years I've been hit by waves of horror at my behaviour, and formally apologised (twice) for my dickishness. Though my Star Wars/Moulin Rouge/Cruel Intentions styled musical was actually… kind of neat, whenever I think of A Midsummer Night's Dream, my very poor handling of the situation has left a powerful imprint. So for a third time, publicly: sorry, producer ex!

To be fair, Glenmo's marketing peeps probably weren't aware of this tragic tale when they named it. But they should have been.

Try it if you like: bitterness, very pretty packaging, conveniently timed generic Christmas gifts

Avoid it if you dislike: remembering the time you behaved like a total twat at the end of relationship that bloomed over a staging of Shakespeare's most famous comedy.

* By some reckonings, the winter solstice actually marks the start of winter. However, the pagan festival of midwinter traditionally kicked off around December 21. I've obviously spent too much time today Googling this.

** In fairness, any day is a good whisky day. Unless you're operating heavy machinery.

[watercolourwhisky]

BenRiach 16 Year Old

The BenRiach 16 Year Old is an old cottage in the German wilderness - a page out of a Brothers Grimm fairytale. Predominantly sweet with honey and ripe fruit, there's a dark undercurrent, rich and moody, slightly ominous.

I'd not really had a lot of BenRiach. For a long time it had been an independently owned distillery, with a smaller profile, distribution coverage and marketing presence. To address this, I purchased a bottle of the BenRiach 16 for a writing group I belonged to, basing my selection on interest, price, and some favourable reviews. I remember being pleased with the choice the first time I tried it, and, like many things I become enthusiastic about the more booze I drink, that opinion has become more entrenched the more I've had*.  

Throughout its journey the BenRiach 16 is characterised by a low, rich sweetness, distinct from the lighter, brighter lolly scents you might find in airier whiskies. There's a continued presence of honey and ripe fruit, with an organic, musty complexity that evolves into a dark chocolate bitter edge.

On the nose, the BenRiach 16 has a dominant line of honey, with floral notes of rose, heather and wildflowers. These are tempered by organic notes of freshly cut grass, musty books, moss, and a cold stone cellar*. Overall the nose is mildly interesting, but it's faint; pleasant, but not particularly spectacular.

The true character emerges on the palate: dark chocolate, honey, plum brandy and spicy cinnamon. The flavours combine like a Black Forest gâteau, rich and heady, complex and eventful. There's a heaviness to it: the whisky is light in texture, but deep in flavour.

On the finish, ripe blackberry sweetness morphs into something darker: licquorice and orange peel, cloves and peppery nasturtium. It has a faint saltiness, a woodsy pine, and a very strong ginger vibe - gingerbread, ginger wine. It's falling autumn leaves, a rustling wind, overcast skies.

I'm impressed by my first foray into BenRiach, and look forward to trying some of their other ones. You may see more of their bottlings, since the distillery was purchased in June by Brown-Forman (along with similar indie stablemates GlenDronach and Glenglassaugh). Brown-Forman are best known for their somewhat recognisable brand, Jack Daniels. They've recently announced a batch of twelve(!) single cask BenRiach bottlings, so I might sample one of those.

As for the BenRiach 16 Year Old, if can still get it for around £40, I recommend you give it a twirl.

- McBetts

Ps. If every distillery could just make their labels dark image/text on a white background like the BenRiach 16 that would make my life a lot easier.

Try it if you like: Any story that begins with 'Once upon a time', desserts from the 1970s, fruit brandy

Avoid it if you dislike: poltergeists, doppelgängers, limited expressions of Germanic folklore

* Sorry Thesis Thursdayers, I owe you a third of a bottle of whisky that was nobly sacrificed to produce this review.

** Not a Stone Cold seller like Steve Austin's autobiography, The Stone Cold Truth, available now on Amazon (4.5 stars) 

[watercolourwhisky]

Spirit of Scotland - Rome Whisky Festival - Part III

Almost two millennia ago, a bunch of Romans built a wall to protect their civilization and keep out the barbarians from up north. Now, their descendants invite them back to the base camp with open arms (and wallets). This is Part III of a III part series of paintings and write-ups I produced as an honourable artist-in-residence (AIR) at the 2016 Spirit of Scotland - Rome Whisky Festival back in March.

Part I

Part II

Rome. The Eternal City. The place all roads lead to. My friend Tobi describes Rome as the city you'd get if a city was designed by Kanye - towering marble, gilded everything, absurdly over the top. Not the first place you think of for Scotch whisky, but it kind of makes sense. After all, ‘over the top’ describes the design aesthetic many single malt brands use in their courtship of the luxury consumer goods market; it feels appropriate to sup whiskies that have spent 21 years maturing in a city with 2,000 year old buildings; and ‘the angels' share’ is obviously a Vatican conspiracy.

This article is different from my usual reviews, in that I've included a few extra photos and thoughts on the city (hi Mum.) If you want to just skip ahead to the review, feel free to do so. Particularly if you're hungry.

Look, I took a lot of photos of pizza OK?

With anticipation I ventured forth to Rome, thrilled to be invited to paint live during the Spirit of Scotland - Rome Whisky Festival. In some ways it felt like my whole life had been leading to this moment. You see, Rome and I have history (heh). I thought that with two years of primary school Italian as an eight year old*, four years of Latin in high school**, and hundreds of hours playing Caesar III, I was pretty well prepared for my visit. I was not. The scale and history present in the city is mind-boggling. 

The first thing I noticed when I arrived was that Rome is not London. I'd forgotten the sky was capable of looking this colour:

As the honourable Artist-In-Residence (AIR), I was fortunate enough to be picked up from the airport in this Bitchin' Sweet™ Spirit of Scotland - Rome Whisky Festival Jaguar:

My chauffer Lorenzo was not in fact a professional driver, but a flair bartender friend of Andrea's (the organiser/Italian man of impeccable taste™). During the ride into town, Lorenzo made excellent use of the Jag's capabilities, and, as a flair bartender, called on his dexterity, timing, co-ordination and daring sense of showmanship to navigate through traffic. 

I was terrified. 

Rome is a city where cars rule, but it's a kind of dystopian, rule-by-combat form of governance. Fortunately Lorenzo proved to be a skilled road warrior and I arrived safely at my hotel, which had a view fairly nondescript for Rome. Which is to say, it was absolutely stunning, full of buildings centuries older than the modern country I come from.

One of the most charming things I discovered about Rome is that just about every cliché is true:

Old buildings

Vespas

Old buildings and Vespas

The most wonderfully true cliché of all is that you can't walk a street block without passing at least two pizzerias. Following in the footsteps of my favourite Renaissance Ninja Turtles, over two and a half days I consumed no less than four pizzas. I don’t do regrets, but if I did, the only thing I’d regret would be that I didn’t eat more.    

Looking back over this is making me emotional

Zucchini (courgette) flowers and tomato base, two of my five a day. Dough and beer are made from plants, and life became easier when I declared cheese a vegetable, so bam - the full five

Phantom pizza: like a phantom limb, but when you can actually feel the crunch and chew of the base in your mouth

During bouts of being at a whisky festival and drinking whisky and painting bottles of whisky, I managed to catch a few of the local attractions:

You can actually still visit the set from Jumper!

The Spanish Steps are apparently more of a metaphor than functioning architecture at this point

RIP Raphael***. Shredder finally got the best of you

One of the highlights was discovering the Assassins' base from Assassin’s Creed: Brotherhood:    

Ezio was 'ere

Ha, the number of Borgia scum I've disposed of into this river. Good times

In 1503 I climbed down the Pantheon ceiling and performed an aerial assasination on the guard captain Luigi Torcelli. Or at least, I remember doing that?

On the Saturday night of the festival I went out with some of the festival folk. One of my new friends, Frederika, was half-Roman, half-Irish. Her English had a heavy Italian accent, but would go full Irish every time she said "Dobblin". On Frederika's insistence I spent my Saturday night in Rome in an Irish pub, because of course that's what you do when you're an Australian in Italy via England for a Scottish festival.

There's something slightly surreal about an Italian folk band singing traditional Irish pub songs at 1am in Rome

The most amazing sight of all though were the salumerie on every street. In one particular shop I tried (ineffectually) to use words to communicate, and ultimately ended up flashing €10 while waving my hand across the display. For the shopkeeper’s part he saw an unhinged, tearfully wide-eyed gibbering weirdo drooling from the side of his mouth, but I somehow managed to walk out with packets of prosciutto and cheese that brought further tears to my eyes - like I'd seen and eaten the face of God.

When I die, I want to be cremated and have my ashes scattered in this shop. I'd go beautifully with the smoked scarmorza

It was an incredible trip in an intense city, and I even managed to step foot in St Peter's Basilica without bursting into flames. I can't wait to go back, and am very grateful to Andrea and the Spirit of Rome - Scotch Whisky Festival for the opportunity.

Oh yeah, the whisky.

The 3rd Spirit of Scotland - Rome Whisky Festival (Littlemill 21 Year Old) is something fairly special. You may not have heard of Littlemill as it's no longer in operation. There’s a long sad history of distilleries that have gone to the great beyond, many of which were mothballed during the dark years that were the eighties and early nineties****. Fortunately there are some good news stories in which shuttered distilleries, like Ardbeg, reopened, rising to phoenix-like glory over the 2000s. Not Littlemill. The lowlands distillery was closed in 1984, reopened briefly in 1989, was closed again in 1994. It was then dismantled in 1997, and, to ensure it was truly dead, buried, and cremated, the site burnt down in 2004. So unless the distillery literally rises phoenix-like from the ashes, we'll never see its likes again. 

Vale, Littlemill.

It's bittersweet then that the Littlemill 21 Year Old is like a spending a bright sunny afternoon on a café perch, there's a florist next door, and probably a harpsichordist, and life is good, and, despair, because we're never going back to those blissfully untroubled times again.

The nose is sweet and floral; pollen from wildflowers and a strong line of melon produce an inviting aroma.

On the palate the whisky is rich and heady: honey sweetness heavy on the vanilla, with a light hint of toffee providing a slightly burnt undertone.

Through the finish there's coffee and sweet biscotti, hazelnut, milk, and a touch of dark chocolate, which gives it a gentle bitter counterbalance that imparts a nice complexity. The taste is not particularly deep but it lingers, warm and inviting. It's truly lovely, but alas, you can never go back. You. Can. Never. Go. Back. :(

Not like Rome, though. That's still there. The Eternal City hopefully always will be.   

- McBetts

Try it if you enjoy: nostalgia, picturesque urban living, coffee, the faded hopes of yesteryear  Avoid if you enjoy: not being reminded that entropy is a universal constant

*Caught in a proxy war between my mother and the teacher, in which my mother refused to fork out for an Italian dictionary for a one-hour-a-fortnight class, I was constantly made to suffer. I don't remember much actual Italian, other than the words to 'Heads, shoulders knees and toes'*****, and the Italian lyrics to The Addams Family, which my teacher made me write out for 10 pages as a punishment. Signora coglione. **Caecilius Metellam entrat, eheheh. ***Continuing my stories of school-aged deviance, as a seven year old, my teacher paused, mid-story time, to wander off on some wild tangent. Me, summoning my best Rafael, an influential role model at the time, I raised my hand and uttered the (quite reasonable) words "can we just get on with the story?" Suffice to say I did not find out how that story resolved from my banishment to the hallway. ****The dark years were also characterised by lots of fluoro and sequins. Truly, truly dark times. *****"Testa spalla ginocchia e piedi"  

Rome is kind of old

In another 40,000 years the Imperial Eagle will grow a second head

This is actually a real place you can go to, and not just something imagined in a watercolour painting

Oh, what's through this doorway? Just another damn courtyard with a gorgeous marble statue

"If I pushed you in, they wouldn't find your body for weeks…"

Sigh

These foods are really Roman

Like, super Roman

The Romanest

Look Mum, no flames!

Sigh

[watercolourwhisky]

Spirit of Scotland - Rome Whisky Festival - Part II

Almost two millennia ago, a bunch of Romans built a wall to protect their civilization and keep out the barbarians from up north. Now, their descendants invite them back to the base camp with open arms (and wallets). This is Part II of a III part series of paintings and write-ups I produced as an honourable artist-in-residence (AIR) at the 2016 Spirit of Scotland - Rome Whisky Festival back in March. 

READ PART I HERE

Festival tradeshows are wonderful. Wending your way from stall to stall, sampling your way across Scotland from Orkney to Campbelltown, and beyond - they're a chance to try a lot of different whiskies, have a bit of banter, and definitely not throw up in the taxi back home, Adrian. The Spirit of Rome - Scotch Whisky Festival offered all of those delights, with the added grandeur of being held in the palatial Salone delle Fontane*. As you can see, it was a far cry from your standard outer-urban hotel conference room.

Columns, bitchez.

The foyer looked like the tower infiltration scene from The Matrix had sex with the Merovingeon's mansion stairwell from The Matrix Reloaded.

To up the level of what people unironically called "swag" back in 2014, the Spirit of Scotland - Rome Whisky festival also featured a super classy artist-in-residence. That was me.

Super classy. And… super angry?

Preparing the defences.

An inverted barbarian invasion.

I arrived to the event on Saturday morning, just before the doors opened to the filthy unwashed masses**. My studio for the most part was a corner right by the entrance, consisting of an utterly gorgeous desk I spent the better part of two days trying to figure out (unsuccessfully) how to steal and smuggle back to the UK.

I attempted to find out the term for "furniture fetish", but the closest I could find was "forniphilia", which Wikipedia informs me is a "form of bondage and sexual objectification in which a person's body is incorporated into a chair, table, cabinet or other pieces of furniture." Despite nearly two decades of internet exposure, the full panalopy of human sexuality still manages to surprise me. Then again, I literally just referred to the sex lives of movie sets in the previous photo.

Over the course of the weekend I painted, I supped, and I chatted with a steady stream of punters that wandered too close. I assume most wanted to marvel at the very appealing desk I was working at, only to have me block their view and initiate a conversation. These conversations would invariably begin with my overconfident "ciao!"; I'd get a reply in Italian; and then I'd wince in embarrassment, suggesting that despite two years of study as an eight year old, my fluency in Italian extends to "ciao", and a rousing rendition of Heads, Shoulders, Knees and Toes ("testa, spalle, ginocchia, e piedi!") At this point we'd either chat about what I was doing (in my very apologetic English), or if they looked as confused as I did, I'd thrust my portfolio in their hands with the universal gesture for "this is a portfolio of my paintings, have a flip through and conceal your disappointment as you realise that I don't have any actual whisky for you."

This cycle repeated through to Sunday evening, at which point I decamped to the main stall facing the entrance to hang with some new friends and generally feel imperious.

From now on I think I should do all of my painting on top of aged oak casks. Seems much more dramatic.

The event appeared to be a great success, and it was a truly surreal honour to be a part of it as an honourable AIR. Despite knocking back a not insignificant number of drams throughout the process, I think the paintings turned out pretty nice. So with that, I present my second painting and review - the legacy festival bottling from the 2nd Spirit of Scotland - Rome Whisky Festival: a Benrinnes 14 Year Old.

You generally won't find Benrinnes on the shelves - it's one of the many Diageo distilleries, and presumably most of it goes into blends (and supposedly, the bastard bottling Stronachie.) Nonetheless, you can usually pick up an independent bottling of this Speyside malt, and one was selected a few years ago to mark the festival in Rome.

Sticking with a theme, the 2nd Spirit of Scotland - Rome Whisky Festival (Benrinnes 14 Year Old) is an old Chinese fishing village, and maybe your lao lao was born there, and she's wondering why you're not married yet?

The nose on the Benrinnes is rich and sweet, fruit notes of plum and fig with tapioca offset by musty sandalwood, maple and sawdust. A bright flash of copper gives it a slight edge, but in general it's full bodied and heady.

The sweetness forks on the palate, the subtle vanilla flavours of rice pudding coast above depths of sherry, overripe strawberry and cherry. It's accompanied by a notably salty sea kick, paring back some of the intensity of the sweetness and giving it a new line of complexity.

These flavours continue on the finish, macerated fruits mellowed out with salt and savoury lobster, red bean paste, and a dash of pepper.

Overall, it's not a subtle dram, but a rich, full bodied whisky that invokes flavours from the East. Also, now I'm really hungry and want Chinese.

- McBetts

Try it if you like: Chinese restaurants from the 1980s with very westernised menus like "Chicken and Cashew", that boat from the original 1995 Mortal Kombat live action movie, cooking with sherry

Avoid if you like: enjoying a bottle and wanting to buy another one, modernism, Thai fusion because Chinese is so last whatever

*I'm not sure of the significance of the name, but it sure does sound impressive. **Ok, freshly bathed, lightly scented, elegant masses

[watercolourwhisky]

2016 Spirit of Scotland - Rome Whisky Festival - Part I

Try it if you like: lazy butterflies, cheesecloth, gesturing emphatically, lazy stereotypes Avoid if you like: enjoying a bottle and wanting to buy another one, fascist architecture, fascism generally I guess

Earlier this week I visited a Francis Towne retrospective at the British Museum. Towne was an 18th Century English artist who went to Rome and painted a bunch of watercolours. I mention this because: a) I want you to know that I'm the type of person who visits museums for fun*, and b) it was actually really lovely and if you find yourself in London while it's on you should go* and c) like Towne, I too set out from England, to Rome*, to paint its ancient glories**.

Like Towne, I'm also likely to be denied admission to the Royal Academy 11 times and be largely forgotten on my death.

The occasion of my travels was the 2016 Spirit of Rome - Scotch Whisky Festival, a festival featuring the glorious aqua vitae (or uisge beatha) from distilleries across Scotland (and a few other locations), as well as live music, tasting events, cocktails, and a super classy artist-in-residence. That would be me*.

I'd met the organizer, Andrea, an Italian man of impeccable taste, while painting in situ at the Scotch Malt Whisky Society (remember the SMWS 53.223, AKA ’Angels and Demons’?) As an Italian man of impeccable taste, Andrea recognised in me whatever the Italian version of je ne sais quoi is. He wondered: would I be interested in coming to Rome to paint, live, at a Scotch whisky festival, while the good burghers of Roma supped on Scotland's finest***? Funnily enough, I was.

So, like Towne before me, I packed my brushes and ventured forth to the Eternal City with the intention of doing art. Unlike Towne, whose paintings of Rome's fallen monuments served as a subdued warning to British society about the complacency that follows the path luxury and decadence, I painted bottles of Scotch whisky, because… fuck yeah, luxury and decadence!

Over the course of the weekend I painted a series of festival bottlings: the 2016 release (a Glen Keith 20 Year Old), and two from the archives. I thus have three paintings and reviews to share with you, which are accompanied by a series of travelogues. Following on from this introduction, in the next instalment I'll talk a little more about my festival adventures. In the third, I'll talk about my thoughts on Rome, because obviously that's what people are looking for in a good whisky blog.

So with that, on to the festival bottling. As you may know, many whisky festivals will release a limited edition commemorative bottling, which is usually drawn from a single cask of something special. Now in general single casks can be hit or miss, particularly when they've been purchased before maturation, but since festival bottles are usually selected from mature samples, they're usually pretty good. This was a case in point.

The 5th Spirit of Scotland - Rome Whisky Festival (Glen Keith 20 Year Old) has the rustic charm of a little villa in the countryside, and maybe a nonna lives there, and she's wondering why you're not married yet? The nose is bright, with dominant apple, floral and citrus notes. That's tempered by a slightly wistful hint of something aged, like old lace, or a couch from the 1980s that doesn't need to be replaced because it's still 'perfectly good'.

The taste has a deep lolly sweetness of honey and dried fruits, apricot and fig, with the faintest suggestion of coconut.

The finish comes with a burst of warmth, a chewy fruit brandy richness with apricots, wine gums, and a base of oak and pie crust. It's rustic and a bit creaky, but it glows with late afternoon sun.

I thought the 5th Spirit of Scotland (Glen Keith 20 Year Old) was a real charmer full of character. Alas, it's extremely limited, and once it's gone, its gone. The good news is that unlike charming rustic villas in the Italian countryside, nobody will be upset if you are rich and buy it and only maybe visit it once or twice a year despite what that does to the economy and lives of the locals****.

Ooh, political twist. 

- McBetts

*Please like me. **Specifically, a 12 years, a 14 years, and a practically neolithic 20 years. ***The fact that we were at a whisky bar and he had been generously supping on Scotland's finest when the idea came to him had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he thought I was a talented painter and this was a good idea. It's because he is an Italian man of impeccable taste. ****I did my best to visit it as often as I could during the production of this painting.

[watercolourwhisky]

Arran 14 Year Old

The Arran 14 Year Old is San Francisco in the late 1960s: at its peak it’s vibrant, sweet and herbaceous, but it finishes on a slightly bitter note.

To begin, the Arran 14 offers caramel sweet and mildly floral notes, with a hint of cinnamon and a suggestion of sandalwood. I thought I caught a whiff of the ol’ Mary Jane*, but it turns out that was coming from under my neighbour’s door**. Quite unlike the notoriously pungent hippy movement, the nose of the Arran 14 is rather mellow, and to be honest a bit underwhelming.

On the taste, a brief seduction of vanilla and almond suddenly flares up into a bonfire of rich, spicy flavours, a veritable chai mix while the drum circle reaches crescendo.  Heavy lashings of cardamom and anise pepper the sweetness, with an earthy oak underneath. Mere moments later they’re joined by cinnamon bark, coriander seed and orange peel, imparting a rich, complex profile that simmers through to a mid-length finish. There’s a lingering, muddied sweetness, toffee tempered with patchouli and menthol.

All up, the Arran 14 is intriguing and slightly elusive. I’m now 2/3 of the way through the bottle***, and I still can’t quite pin it down. It’s challenging, complex, and at times disorienting - I can’t think of any other whiskies that are this sweet, tempered with this much spice. To be honest, I’m still struggling to decide whether I love it or not, which is an unusual situation for me to be in. That ambiguity alone is reason enough for me to recommend you try this rich and complex whisky, from one of my favourite distilleries.  

Peace out.

- McBetts

Disclosure 1: I used to own a purple lava lamp, but it was the late 1990s.

Disclosure 2: Arran is one of my favourite distilleries. Morag lives there…

*I’m basing this on a description I once read on the internet, Mum.

**Seriously, Christian, 8am? I’m trying to drink whisky here.

***Over several sessions, obviously. It’s only 8am, after all.

[watercolourwhisky]

anCnoc Vintage 2000

Try it if you like: heady raisin and chardonnay; vintage leather; what Lindsay Lohan was going to be; what Emma Stone is now*

Avoid it if you like: subtle and delicate whiskies; cold shiny hard plastic; trying to make ‘fetch’ happen

The anCnoc Vintage 2000 is like Cady from Mean Girls. It starts out grounded-yet-optimistic with bright complex flavours, takes a somewhat aggressive walk on the wild side, and comes through the experience a little bit tenderised, a little bit older, but a lot more mature. Also, it’s got a weird spelling.

Before I begin the review proper, just a quick note to say anCnoc (pronounced 'a-nock’) has one of the most frustrating, typo-like names in whisky, and it always takes me at least two attempts to get it right. It’s distilled at the Knockdu distillery up in Aberdeenshire, ye olde Banffshire, and used to bear the name 'Knockdu’, but legend has it they renamed the product 'anCnoc’ to avoid confusing it with Knockando, a nearby distillery. Yes, one of the most confusing names in whisky was explicitly given its name to avoid confusion. Amazing! However, on the plus side it has a swank label design that I’m rather fond of, and, you know, actually, it’s Gaelic, so we cool.

anCnoc do a range of regular aged expressions, and an ongoing series of limited edition Vintage releases bearing the year of distillation and the month of bottling. The anCnoc Vintage 2000 may sound like the name of a robot sent from the future to destroy our spelling and capitalisation conventions, but it is, more prosaically, a 13-14 year old whisky matured in ex-bourbon and ex-sherry casks.

Like a young, Lindsay Lohan’d Cady Heron, the anCnoc 2000 starts out as a bright, amber-hued, earthy ingénue. The nose is sweet, high notes of a sharp, fresh, slightly unripe pear and green apple, on top of grounded tones of leather and clay. Between them are richer flavours of coffee, toasted caramel and raisins, with a chocolately hint - not unlike a certain Swedish protein bar used for rapid weight gain? It’s complex, it’s rich, and it’s something whose acquaintance you’d be happy to make.

The taste builds on these flavours, but there’s an edge to it. On the palate the anCnoc 2000 takes on a sharp woodsy pine and oak. The sweetness is, oxymoronically, headier yet deeper, fresh green apple giving way to vanilla, prunes and fermented fruit. The palate here has an aggressiveness, a slightly tart acidity (it’s bottled at 46%). I wouldn’t call it a 'bad apple’, but it flirts with danger, and you could see this spiralling out of control.

Fortunately it pulls it in for the finish. The peaks level out, and it settles into a more mature chardonnay, raisin and wine gum sweetness. A hint of edge remains as the alcohols burns away, the stemminess and fermented fruits linger, rich, spiced with cinnamon and clove.

The anCnoc 2000 is not a cake made of rainbows and smiles, but an entertaining dram with a hint of edge. It’s a bit pricey for what you get, but worth it if you get a chance to try. And, you know: vintage, so adorable.

- McBetts

Ps. The little splashes of colour in my paintings are usually reflections of something behind the bottle. This was my friend Nina’s bottle, and it turned out she’d unintentionally co-ordinated her window cushions with her whisky. Good work, Nina!

*I’m not a religious person, but the one piece of evidence that almost convinced me the universe has some sort of divine plan is what happened after Li-Lo’s tragic downfall. Following Mean Girls she was poised to take over the world, but then it’s like the galactic record skipped its cosmic groove***, and that potential was lost. Then, magically, the universe willed another funny feisty beautiful red-head out of the aether, we’re back on track, and all is right in the world**.

**Ok, most is right with the world. Imagine if Lindsay got her act together, and then, there was, like, two of them. It would be like when Buffy *spoiler* died but *spoiler* came back to life and then there were two slayers. Totally rad! Make that happen, universe.

***If 'cosmic groove’ isn’t a pre-existing music genre, it should be.

[watercolourwhisky]

Ardbeg 10 Year Old

Try it if you like: the night markets of Hong Kong, creaky old boats lashed to docks in stormy weather, institutionally legitimised markers of distinction

Avoid it if you dislike: wankers who won’t stop talking about how great Ardbeg is, strongly peated whiskies, the subtle taint of desparation that invokes eating worms in the schoolyard for attention

***

The Ardbeg 10 Year Old is one of the best whiskies in the world. This isn't just my opinion, but a title bestowed repeatedly by some of the most prominent whisky writers, international trade shows and industry awards over the past decade. 

There's something about Ardbeg that inspires a mild insanity amongst otherwise rational men and women. Casual drinkers turn to crazed acolytes, proselytising the joys of the Islay malt with foam-flecked spittle, ponying up increasingly substantial wads of cash for the latest gimmicky release. The whisky club that shaped my outlook was a veritable cult of Ardbeg, and, though my wallet would prefer I be deprogrammed, I am still, tragically, a card-carrying* member**.

I mention the reverence with which Ardbeg is held because there's something somewhat disjarring about the company's marketing strategies. Over the past few years the company has grown increasingly obsessed with PR gimmicks, to the point where raised eyebrows are often as not accompanied by eye-rolls. A few years ago they sent whisky into space with the scientific goal of seeing if click-bait news organizations would write about it (they would). This year they've released Ardbeg Haar, a device which uses sound waves to create a whisky vapour, for a new ‘molecular experience’.

Sound familiar? It should. It was literally the punchline from a Parks & Recreation gag.

Don't get me wrong, those kinds of attention-seeking disruptions and stunts can be effective if you're a new upstart distillery, or you're not very well known, or even not very good. Ardbeg is none of those things. It's one of the most highly-regarded, well-respected labels on the market. If it really wants it can call itself a whacky, zany, frivolous young thing, living on the edge and partying until the sun comes up. But do you really want to be the punchline from a show that annointed Lagavulin’s credibility to an entire generation of millenials?

Call me a traditionalist, but this review of the Ardbeg 10 Year Old is based on its less exciteable liquid form***, where it’s a slightly gnarly old stalwart full of richness and complexity. In that form, the Ardbeg 10 is like a potent stir-fry; it has a complex mix of flavours, with the lisp-adverse, sibilantly sound combination of salty, sweet, savoury, and smokey. At each stage of the tasting the dominance of these flavours shift, rising, subsiding and returning as the profile evolves.

The nose begins with a rich sweetness, starting from classic toffee apple and vanilla notes, but layered with a more savoury, proteiny complexity, like an oyster sauce, or beef and black bean, with hints of wet leather and mild antiseptic.

The sweetness of the taste comes on stronger and deeper, Chinese pork sausage with prominent salt, hints of sweet chilli, and of course a huge smoke emerging to coat the whole mouth. The taste is wet, not as thick and oily as some of the other Islay whiskies, but not as dry a char. 

These flavours swell to a big finish, the smoke and salt rising with a warming, briney, lingering finish that radiates from tongue to chest. It’s lapsang souchong with salty fermented soy beans peppering the tongue as the embers die down. 

Overally, the Ardbeg 10 Year Old is a big, sweet stir-fry of bold flavours that nonetheless come together for a distinct, complex, and satisfying finish.

It’s this strength and complexity that makes the Ardbeg 10 stand out, and earns it a regular place on my shelf. Despite my and others’ praise, however, it’s not a whisky for everyone; nor is it one for all occasions****. I wouldn’t recommend choosing this whisky to introduce friends to the sensual worlds of single malts - unless you want them forever associating whisky with bilge water. Nor would I recommend it if you’re after a light, casual dram (in addition to the strength of the profile it’s bottled at 46%.) However, when you feel like something strong, something that makes a statement while retaining subtlety and complexity, the Ardbeg 10 Year Old is an impressive choice.

- McBetts

*Mailing list subscriber.

**I own Ardbeg branded overalls. Ardbeg branded overalls. What even...?

***Why yes, that was a physics pun, thanks for noticing.

****This particular bottle filled a hip flask for a friend’s wedding. So it’s good for the occasion of wallowing in self-pity while everyone else around you finds happiness with their life-partner.

[watercolourwhisky]

SMWS 53.223 - Angels and Demons (23 Year Old)

Nb: This review is part of a look at Islay whiskies, following on from Feis Ile.

The SMWS 53.223, AKA 'Angels and Demons', is like a Thai full moon party - sweet, fiery, and possibly ending in a dodgy tattoo.

Wait, let's back up for a second. What, by Odin's beard, is a SMWS 53.223? Is it some sort of geospatial co-ordinate? A world record for Slalom Men's Water-Skiing?

No, friend. The Scotch Malt Whisky Society, or SMWS to the space-constrained/lazy, is a member-based (not very) secret society that releases individual cask bottlings sourced from loads* of distilleries. Instead of identifying the source of their whiskies by name, the SMWS looks deep within the souls of their partner distilleries and assigns them a number based on the order in which they join. Each whisky they release thus has a code comprised of a distillery number (this is distillery #53, whose name I cleverly discerned by asking them about it directly**), and a cask number (this is the 223rd cask released from that secretish distillery). Each release is non-chill filtered at cask strength (this one is at the not-insubstantial 56.5%), and limited to however many bottles can be filled from a cask - around 200ish, depending on age. Over the course of three decades they've released thousands upon thousands of expressions, bottling a mammoth 20 or so casks per month.  

At Feis Ile this year I met John, the enigmatic and powerful SMWS Keeper of the Flame (or, in their cryptic parlance, 'Brand Ambassador for Southern England & London'), who invited me down to the London Member's Room for a dram or two. In some respects the SMWS and Watercolour Whisky make for an unlikely pairing. The Society has an ascetic, quasi-militaristic approach to bottle design in which the shape, colours and labelling are reproduced across their thousands of expressions, with only the text differing on rank after rank of releases. I, on the other hand, take ostentatious delight in exploring design, market branding and gimmickry. We're yin and yang, oil and water. Whisky and ice.

EXCEPT! Except. We share a similar philosophy when it comes to what's under the label. The SMWS produces a review to accompany each release that has a slight tendency towards the absurd, occasionally bordering on sublime. In some ways their reviews are more Watercolour Whisky than my own, a kind of Ur-Watercolour Whisky (they society is older than me too by a year). The releases have wonderfully descriptive names: Pink Wafers in a Lady's Hat Shop; Comfortable in Chesterfield; and Sweet Seduction in a Car-Wash three notable ones from their current line-up. Along with some Very Serious Notes, there's also recognition of something just a little bit ridiculous about obsessing over whisky, spending hours and small fortunes exploring the depth and variety that world has to offer. At the end of the day, it is just a drink. But, by gum, it's a nice drink, and it's a fun drink. And while I really like what's on the bottle, I, like the SMWS, really really like what's in the bottle.

So I guess you could say we're… kindred spirits.

With that, I took up John's generous offer, and stopped by the Member's Room for a day of painting, dramming and whisky chat. So what did I think of the SMWS 53.223?

Like I said, a Thai full moon party.

Expecting an Islay single malt, the nose was surprisingly sweet and floral; vanilla orchids, rose water, with some heavier organic compounds, like wet towels dumped in a pile by the door.

On the initial taste there's a brief salty-sweet depth with a hint of smoke, skewered peanut-satay prawns grilled on the BBQ. Where there's smoke, there's fire, and a second later the SMWS 53.223 erupts in an explosion of fireworks, tiny rockets pinging the tongue with smoke and char. It's manic dancing to a rapid beat, tingling charcoal that coats the mouth and throat (though doesn’t travel all the way down to the chest.)

It subsides to a mild smoulder, embers in a spent fire-pit, salt from gently lapping waves, leftover peanut brittle.

It's a fascinating expression, and worth having a taste if the opportunity presents itself. However, like all SMWS releases, with only a few hundred bottles ever made it's a strictly limited experience. Once it's gone, it's gone. That's the beauty and the tragedy of the single cask, though. Fueled by a bucket of vodka and Red Bull, it may have seemed like that Canadian backpacker you pulled on the beaches of Ko Pha Ngang was a love destined to last the ages. However, as the sun climbs higher in the east and reality begins to kick in, you realise the romance was, and could only ever have been, for a limited time only.

- McBetts

Try it if you like: The thrill of key parties; The Beach by Danny Boyle, because really, it wasn't that bad a film, it looked beautiful except for that shitty video game sequence, the soundtrack was awesome, and Tilda Swinton is cosmic radiation taken temporary human form. Avoid if you dislike: fires in your mouth and everyone's invited; getting really attached to limited edition crisp flavours and then having them be discontinued

PS. After I'd come up with the Thai Full Moon Party theme for my review, I saw this on the official one:

"Drinking tip: The peat-smoke might be too much for some – but just what you need when you‘ve been skinny dipping off a misty beach and got chased ashore by a great white shark."

Clearly we were at the same party in September 2009. You might like to read the rest of the SMWS’s own review of Angels and Demons.

*Technical term indicating a positive integer falling somewhere in the range of 131.9 and 132.1 **PARTIAL SPOILER - In keeping with the anonymity, let's just call it Caol I.

[watercolourwhisky]

Caol Ila Feis Ile 2015

The Caol Ila 2015 Feis Ile (17 Year Old, Triple Matured) festival bottle is like standing in your kitchen, looking out through the window at a chilly autumn afternoon. Also your house backs on to a forest, obviously.

For this special festival release, Caol Ila have aged their whisky first in American oak, then in Moscatel casks, and finally in old oak puncheons (big casks made with old, nearly spent staves, for a gentle finish.)

Consequently, woodsy flavours feature heavily in this Feis Ile special. The nose has a herbaceous, slightly medicinal quality - something like a bouquet garni, and a mustiness, with a hint of wet leaves.

The taste brings out Caol Ila's classic smoke, and some accompanying sweetness. However, oak takes centre stage as the dominant flavour. At 57.3% it has a reasonable kick, which adds to the medicinal vibe.

As wood continues through the finish, there's a sharp, surprising burst of Champagne tartness, a final toast to summer gone and the winter to come. Lingering smoke plays out over a mild, slow burn.

Moody and complex, it's worth a try if you can score a dram.

PS. If you feel I'm overstating the autumn chill and musty gloom, it's because I wrote this review in the Caol Ila warehouse on Islay, and it was fucking freezing. It’s meant to be spring here, but it’s... not.

- McBetts

Try it if you enjoy: Leaves turning gold and red, wood-fired stoves, expensive limited edition festival releases Don't try it if you enjoy: skipping in the sunshine, being able to replenish your stocks after you've finished the bottle

[watercolourwhisky]

The Ileach - Peated Islay Malt

This review is the first in a special series of Feis Ile (the Islay Festival) reviews, focusing on Islay malts.

As I prepare to hussy my way around the distilleries of Islay, what better place to begin than with The Ileach (meaning a person or thing from Islay) Peated Islay Malt, a mystery distillery malt which bills itself as both the "true taste of Islay" and "a true man from Islay". This of course means the true taste of Islay is man-flesh, and The Ileach is a zombie.

Before I go on, have you actually heard of The Ileach? There's a good chance you haven't as it's a smaller 'bastard' malt* - an independent single malt bottling (ie. from a single distillery) that does not bear the name of the distillery that produced it**. It's released by the Highlands and Islands Scotch Whisky Co., who have just a handful of releases to their name.

As a salty, flesh-eating, radgey-but-entertaining bastard - The Ileach is quite evidently the Zombie Pirate LeChuck from Monkey Island 2: LeChuck's Revenge.

The nose, like any good zombie pirate, has an earthy, peaty quality - like freshly turned, wet clods of dirt (the technical term is 'mud'.) There are some light organic, cereal notes, and a heavier, salty gravy - a taste of things to come.

On the mouth there's initially a powerful sweetness, a treacly, syrupy flavour. Pepper begins to creep in, and then whoosh, it's arrived, and the sweetness is overpowered. The whisky is only 40% but it's rather brash, with a flash that warms the mouth (but not the chest.)

The peppery-finish-with-traces-of-smoke subsides fairly quickly, and from it emerges the saltiest finish I've ever experienced in a whisky. It starts as pork crackling, but ends up like my gran's vegetables - their origins unrecognisable beneath half an upturned shaker of salt.

The Ileach is a bit of fun. Cheaply priced (typical of bastard malts), excitable, and with a bit of character, it certainly has a place. It would be ideal, for instance, as a substitute for more expensive malts in Islay-based sauces or cocktails***. It would also go alright in a hip flask, or be good for a cheapish session. It probably won't take pride of place on anyone's shelves, but it's worth trying out for an inexpensive change.

- McBetts

Drink it if you like: brash whiskies, cheap whiskies, Islay whiskies, zombies, voodoo, Governor Elaine Marley Don't drink it if you like: well-groomed poodles, sophisticated whiskies, guys selling these fine leather jackets…

* One of my favourite whisky authorities, Malt Madness, has a great write-up on their deal - http://www.maltmadness.com/spirits/bastard-malt-whisky.html ** Internet rumour suggests The Ileach is actually a Lagavulin, but it would be irresponsible to merely recirculate internet rumour, so I won’t. ***I once had an amazing cocktail with Laphroaig, ginger beer, pineapple and other ingredients, called a "Tiki As Fuck". True story.

[watercolourwhisky]

Ardbeg Blasda

The Ardbeg Blasda is like a farmers' market in Notting Hill. OK, more specifically, the Ardbeg Blasda is like that farmers' market scene in Notting Hill where he walks through the markets (and the seasons change because he is sad but time has passed). The Blasda's got a range of flavours, textures and colours, but it's also one very slick enterprise, and perhaps feels a little clean and self-consciously showy*.

The Blasda was a (relatively) limited expression, in which Arbeg experimented by trading in their peat monster hat for a peat puppy**. Instead of Ardbeg's usual 24 parts per million of peat (ppm), it was bottled at only 8ppm.

The result is still peaty, but it's got a fresh, open sensibility to it.

The nose is a fairly light affair, featuring fruity and organic notes. There's grape and orange mixed with hay and wool, and a sprinkling of salt adds an extra dimension. It's subtle, overall.

The taste moves into a mid-sweetness - peanut brittle and iced coffee. Well, double soy mocha frappé. A line of peat sits underneath that, and on top, there's a slightly metallic edge to it, coppery, like you've licked a coin***.

There's a flash of mouth warmth and char on the finish, but it's all smoke, no fire. It feels like there's something missing at the end - not unlike, perhaps, William Thacker trying to move on with his life, but lacking the reciprocated love of the world's most desirable movie star?

It's a nice whisky, it's an interesting whisky, and one I'm glad I had the opportunity to try. However, just as a single, cleverly orchestrated scene does not a classic rom-com make, a whisky lacking a finish makes not for a lasting single malt. Ardbegs are rightly regarded as some of the best whiskies in the world, but this doesn't quite reach the status of their best feature presentations.

- McBetts

PS. Special thanks to Adrian Gray for lending me his bottle, and for not grumbling too much when I give it back sans a couple o' drams.

///

Try it if you like: Ardbeg, but, like, not how peaty it is (I don't know, does someone like that exist?); sourcing produce that's, like, 'so real', while wearing a cashmere scarf and buying single-origin scented candles.

Don't try it if you like: true love; dreamily sitting on benches while Elvis Costello croons over a lifting crane shot.

///

*Which is great in the movie. I love that scene. I love that movie. All guys love that movie. If a guy tells you he doesn't love that movie, he's either lying to you, or lying to himself. **OMG that sounds adorable! ***What's with the lying? You know you know what a copper coin tastes like. Unless you were born in Australia after 1990 - we got rid of our 1c and 2c coins, and now we're gunning for the 5c. Horrible, useless, infuriating things, those small currencies. Unless you're licking them.

[watercolourwhisky]

(Non-competition) Jameson Irish Whiskey

No review this time (I’ll more or less stick to single malt Scotch whiskies), but a lil’ something I painted on the side.

[watercolourwhisky]

Bruichladdich Laddie Classic

The Bruichladdich Laddie Classic is like a 1950s first aid kit in a log cabin. With a can of Glen20 accidentally thrown in by the props department. Conceptually, it's got a somewhat disjointed, anachronistic, 'marketing by committee' vibe to it. There's an incongruous meshing of ideas that I suppose is to be expected from a self-styled 'Progressive Hebridean Distillery', but it feels a little off the mark.

As should be abundantly clear by now I'm a superficial git who thinks tasting whisky is kind of just a sidenote in the whole whisky enthusiast endeavour, so let's start this review skin-deep.

The first thing you'll notice about the Laddie Classic is the highly unusual bottle - not so much the apothecary-inspired* form shared across the Bruichladdich range, but the opaque, bold, neomodern aquamarine design (the copy includes an underscore - seriously, an underscore on a whisky bottle!)

I've got to say it's… unappealing.

The clash of the old and the new, the ostentatious and the restrained, create a (deliberate) jarring effect. For instance, the self-conscious functionality of the capitalised sans-serif typeface says "I mean business", but the showiness of the bright opaque skin means you can't see how much of your whisky is left.  I'm all for self-conscious showiness, but I'm also a big fan of seeing how low I am in the bottle, so that I can stop drinking it near the end in an almost pathological aversion to finishing anything**.

Also, while The Teals is one of my favourite colour families, solid colours are an absolute bugger to paint with watercolours. Bruichladdich, in future, please be more considerate of my narrow artistic ability.

My other superficial bugbear is this expression's designation as 'Classic'. Now, as a bit of background, Bruichladdich was one of the distilleries that was mothballed in the nineties, and reopened in the early 2000s. Since that time they've been active as a fresher in halls***, pumping out more limited expressions, and trialling more experimental processes, than a back-alley Botox clinic (boom!)

There is a certain logic to clearly promoting your standard, baseline expression. It's particularly important when every second Tuesday you seem to release a new limited run like the 'Bruichladdic Barley-That's-Been-Hand-Picked-by-the-Surviving-1957-Aberdeen Dons-Squad', or the 'Bruichladdich Whisky-That-Was-Exclusively-Matured-in-Pedro-Ximénez-Casks-While-Orange-Juice's-Moderately-Successful-Third-Album-Rip-It-Up-Played-on-Loop-Every-Tuesday' Feis Isle special release.

However, 'Classic'?

Calling this the 'Laddie Classic' reminds me of the oxymoronic phrase 'instant classic', highlighted in this eponymous comic: http:/p/www.instantclassic.net/prologue/index.php?comic=45. There's a certain amount of chutzpah calling your new baby product a 'classic'. What’s that? You’re saying it’s not about the timelessness, but some quintessential characteristic? Then why draw attention to the variability of batches by distinguishing between editions (the bottle I had was 'Edition_1')?

So, it's fair to say the branding of the Laddie Classic doesn't do it for me. Then again, I appreciate the desire to try new things, and new distilleries - even new old distilleries - need to substitute established ranges with whacky experiments (gimmicks) until they (re)build up their stocks. It is what it is.

So I probably should talk about the whisky itself?

Well, like I said, first-aid kit, log cabin, Glen20.

The nose: The Laddie Classic has quite a strong soapy nose to it. There's a mustiness, yet a tartness - a strong whiff of mashed barley, but also fresh soaked bandages with a hint of Dettol. It has a subtle sweetness beneath it, but to my nose it's slightly plastic-y, Glen20 flowers instead of fresh cut. I'm not particularly fond of the nose.

The palette takes a different turn - there's a fiery, peppery hit that's incredibly woodsy, strong oak flavours and a bit of tobacco. Again, a little bit medicinal, a little bit antiseptic, but much more grounded. There's also a sweetness at the back of those dominant flavours, a rich burnt toffee, but it's a second order character.

The transition from palette to finish is a gradual shift, with the burnt toffee emerging much stronger (antiseptic hint remaining slightly). However, as the flavours settle you reach the best part of this whisky - the texture of the finish. The Laddie Classic has a tactile, chewy finish. There's a lingering warmth that coats the back of your throat, and, while it doesn't carry all the way down to warm the chest, I literally found myself chewing it over. A bit unusual, but I really enjoyed the sensation.

All up, while I found myself champing at the finish of the Laddie Classic, I'm not yet champing at the bit for it. Perhaps that will change with Edition_2. I will say that it's a grower, not a show-er, and the more I had, the more I came to enjoy it after a not-so-enthusiastic introduction.

Instant classic? Not quite. It's interesting, though, and that certainly counts for something.

- McBetts

Try it if you like: This years' summer fashions, young and brash whiskies, a calmer sort of Brew Dog marketing.

Avoid if you dislike: oxymorons, the colour aquamarine, the architecture of Frank Gehry.

*Bruichladdich is at the more extreme end of the medicinal/chode bottle family that includes the likes of Kilchoman and Dalwhinnie). **It's not so much an issue with regular expressions that can be replaced, but with limited editions, as long as there's a dram left I can never run out. ***’Freshman in dorm’, ‘first year at college’ etc.

[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.