A Quantum of Single Malt

A new bottle, Schrodinger’s cat

The lips, the event horizon

The possibilities lie

Beyond the singularity.

The cat, now Cheshire.

A friend raised this question, soberly may I add! It was something that questioned the very foundation of why Single Malts are not just drunk, but discussed, compared, analysed and written so much about; and why enthusiasts place it on a reverential pedestal that is so seldom accorded to other things they enjoy. Simply put, he said, “Do you think we’d be as enthusiastic about Single Malts if it were non alcoholic?”. Well, there are other alcoholic drinks we consume and enjoy; there are even other Scotch Whisky (blended, grain) and Whisky from around the world that we snobbishly pass in favor of The Single Malt Scotch. So, it seemed prima facie at least that though the alcohol might be a factor, it wasn’t all of what drew us partially to Single Malts. What then?

Well, the explanation to why a few of us are so enamoured by Single Malts (of all other types of Whiskies) might on the outset lie in drawing parallels from why certain people follow a particular sport so religiously or form absolute allegiances with certain football clubs and the sort. Though the comparison mirrors subjective reasoning that makes people like certain things, the explanation for which cannot be contained in a completely rational reasoning, there are quite evidently socio-psychological threads at work when we speak of sports and teams - the need to belong, drawing out a sense of identity for the self through association (not too unlike nationalism), or even enhancing self esteem and pride based on team performances and laurels. There may be a bit of brand association at work, but there are blended Scotch Whiskies and Bourbons that are better marketed, are bigger brands and consumed more at scale across the globe. Cultural triggers and availability can explain the Single Malt enthusiasm in Scotland, but what of tourists in excess of a million (according to VisitScotland.com) who pour in annually and fuel the Scotch Whisky tourism industry?

Single Malt Scotch is not alone in this regard - there are the Wine sommeliers, the Tea & Coffee aficionados, Cured Meat charcuteries, Cheese Affineurs et al. So, pursuing the fundamental question with Single Malts as a candidate can in a way be viewed as an introspection of all these various ‘obsessions’ in general.

Whisky in general is more or less considered a social drink, though Stephen King famously said he doesn’t understand social drinking of Whisky and even likened it to kissing one’s own sister, and there may be others who feel that way, but, imagining several drams around a raging bonfire with stories and laughter in the air is naturally associative and easy. William Faulkner famously said ‘Civilization began with Distillation’, and while it may be more of a romantic notion than something to be burdened with the necessity of correlation or proof, Distillation (specially of oil) has for sure been the crux of modern history. Enormous wealth has been spawned through it, national identities have been forged, boundaries drawn and redrawn, wars fought and the post imperialist world as we know it defined as such. It may have been the domestication of fermentation that actually marked our social strides 10,000 years ago and coincided with the dawn of civilizations, but it was the uncanny marriage of fermentation and distillation that signalled the intent of humanity to get to the heart of the matter. To think of selectively discarding and retaining chemical compounds and the ability to do so was no mean feat. It spoke of a deeper understanding of the behaviour of organics and of an ability to control and modify its nature at will within the boundaries of natural possibilities. And then, to play alchemy with the resulting spirit and wood, letting esters and hemicellulase and the like develop to produce aged Whisky (and the sort) seem not to have been just a happy accident. The weather, the economic viability & sense in making good use of abundant raw material for Whisky making, the effect and relief of its consumption to alleviate the trudge of hard labour may all have played a part in making Whisky a ubiquitous social and cultural presence in Scotland, but it is not for any of these reasons that it is produced or drank today.

Single Malt Whisky today is produced more than ever before, and is yet struggling to meet up to global demands of consumers and blenders alike. And for enthusiasts, pouring out a dram and holding it up to the nose is both a moment of stillness and of dance. But what is the dram? Is it what lies in the glass, or what it effusively conveys on the drinker through the process of sipping it? Even without pondering much on the dichotomy of reality and experience, it is the experience of the Whisky that captivates us, and in different ways. The phenols, esters, aldehydes, lactones and other compounds in the Whisky evoke different associations with each one among us depending on our life and experiences - a recall of cherry for one and of raisins for another; orange peel for one, lemongrass for another. But most often than not, around the table, one calls ‘honey’ and the others take a sip, contemplate and nod. On one level, this is just group confirmation bias that is injected by suggestion. But, there is neither honey, or raisin, or any of the million other things we cry out while sipping the dram. What is is a broad set of potentials that can lead to perceived actualities of a quantum reality. A reality created by conscious observation. A reality that starts off with an increasing number of parallel possibilities and converges onto one plane of reality for each of us. And the innocent Whisky gleams on in the glass as quarks pulsating on the potential to create a universe for each. I suppose this is what captivates us.

And the human need for personal connect makes us drive on from one Distillery to another, knowing very well that we’re going to experience the same chain of malt, wort, wash, jo, feints, heart, hoggies, butts and bottles. But what we carry with us as we drive on to the next are stories, anecdotes, smells and images that we subconsciously evoke the next time we pour out a measure of that Distillery’s produce in the warmth of our homes or in the pub and recount those memories. While we’re busy with that, the actual ‘why’ of Whisky making - why a particular Distillery produces the kind of Whisky it produces, why the same set of parameters lead to a totally different spirit elsewhere, why we’re unable to say with any confidence of how Whisky from a new Distillery may taste like until its first outturn - still smiles in a mirth of mystery. Much like the explanation of our own reality and the universe we dwell in. That too, I suppose, is what draws us in.

As they say, there is no bad Whisky. To each, our own. Let the cat out. Let the grin prevail.

The SMWS Tastings - Part 1

It was a cold February afternoon as the three of us found a couch in a warm corner of the Scotch Malt Whisky Society in Leith. Jackets, gloves and scarves were dumped on one of the chairs, the notepad and pen were set on the pinewood table, hands were wrung and the cold air from outside let out in a chorus of sighs before the uncorking of the question -

“Right, what are we drinking?”

“Whisky?”

Talking was useless, there was nothing to squabble about. It only took eye contact before the number sprung up - 29. Like time leftover from the annual approximation of the earth’s arduous 93 million mile orbit around the sun adding up to the magical 29th day of February in a leap year such as this, it seemed an obvious answer. 29 - The atomic number of copper, an element so integral in shaping the character of Whisky; the number of bones in the human skull, encasing the brain and all the sensory translators within that allows the complex nature of Whisky to be analysed, savoured and debated upon - which was one of the prime objectives of our trip to the Society (or was just an elaborate excuse to be festooned upon our excuse to drink Whisky).

For the uninitiated, the Scotch Malt Whisky Society (or just ‘The Society’ for us Whisky believers) is a member’s club that offers a wide range of rare single cask single malts devoid of the distillery labels. Each bottle is identified by a number - the Society code for the source distillery and the identifier for the cask the Whisky matured in, separated either side of a decimal point. This is aimed to detach the Whisky samplers (saying drinkers doesn’t have the same ring) from the prejudices they may hold of the expressions of Whisky carrying their traditional distillery labels. And 29 happens to be the Society code for Laphroaig.

“29? I wouldn’t mind that at all.”

“Which expressions from 29?”

“How about all of them?”

Nods. And grins.

We had been debating sampling strategies on our way to the Society - covering the expressions from the mothballed and closed down distilleries, exploring the expressions from the newest distilleries et al. I was backing these strategies up with a week of homework that involved collating and cross referencing Society codes against distillery names, the year they opened, their current status, etc. We decided to chuck it all out in favour of sticking to the expressions of 29 to begin with, before slowly making our way across Islay later. If the other Whisky producing regions are divided by beinns and abhainns, the Island malts divide as distinctly and literally as they are divided from the Mainland; and none as dramatically dividing as the Islay. The Sounds of Mull and Jura, the Irish Sea and where it meets the Atlantic forming the mighty Corryvrecken can all be felt in the character of the Islay malts that polarises Single Malt appreciators as apart as the referendum on Scottish independence did! And within the Islay, though there are tribes of believers who swear by a particular Distillery, everybody more or less backs off on squabbling over the big three on the south coast of ‘the Queen of the Hebrides’ - Ardbeg, Lagavulin and Laphroaig (written alphabetically to avoid controversy over the order).

Anyway, we huddled at the bar for sizing up, and we had eight 29s to get through, a few 10s (Bunnahabhain) and 3s (Bowmore) on offer and nothing from the other five Islay distilleries today. Probably better, we wouldn’t be challenging ourselves too much in order to claim to have knocked down all the Islay that was on offer (if we got through them as we planned)!

Comparing similar Whiskies - lighter ones with other lighter ones and the bolder with other bolder ones - is both easy and difficult by the same measure as comparing dissimilar Malts. Both induce a sense of awe- the latter with the range in variation of expressions across the Whisky producing regions, the former with the surprising subtleties achieved within a seemingly similar brolly of styles. If comparing Islay malts to one another is indeed apple to apple, what we were embarking on was an even more specific Bramley to Bramley comparison. The foregone conclusion in unanimity even before we had begun was that while each of the 29s would probably be singular in themselves, the indulgent diligence would be in singling out the most striking expression. This conclusion was not driven by our prejudice towards Islay in general or Laphroaig in particular, but merely because of our own experience and confidence with the Society expressions- themselves never being inconspicuous on their own, but could only potentially pale in comparison with other Society expressions.

Our first roundup were three 16 year olds distilled in 1999 and matured in refill ex-bourbon casks. They varied mostly only in the size of the barrel and the strength.

Expression	Year Distilled	Age	Maturation	Strength (ABV)	Outturn
29.175 - "The Day's Catch"	1999	16	Refill Bourbon	52.60%	289
29.176 - "Splashing about in rockpools"	1999	16	Refill Bourbon	58.50%	228
29.177 - "Mind-wandering"	1999	16	Refill Bourbon	57.80%	180

The ‘Mind-wandering’, assumably from a smaller cask, was notably the mellower despite the ABV being slightly towards the higher side. The nose had smoking peat bogs in a distance, bandages and wet grass, and the body had charred wood, aromas of damp leather and wet mud, with a hint of syrup, and a shortish finish of fresh peaty water from a burn with a sweet touch of honey. ‘The Day’s Catch’ on the other hand, with whiffs of salty sea breeze bringing in all the familiar smells of the seas on the nose, had a more bold palate that is so characteristic of Laphroaig. The fresh bandages and smoked leather were accompanied by cured tobacco. A mostly tannin and iodic finish, not too long, and similar to that of a dry white wine. The middle of the spectrum- “Splashing about in rockpools”- was the unanimous winner of the round.There was definitely the scent of the sea on the nose, but the sweet heathery and candy notes gave a refreshing lift. The body was a complex mix of bitters, salt, citrus and sweet notes that would immediately pull you to the edge of the chair. Just as you grapple with all the notes that bloomed in the mouth, a very refreshing peppermint breezes over the long finish of charred wood, smoke and sea salt. A perfectly contemplative Malt worth all the attention it demands.

(More to follow)

Glen Garioch - "The Geery"

At the heart of Old Meldrum, a windless sunny day looms over an inch of snow, trying its best to persuade the thin white carpet to melt into its colorless alter-ego. We are in the middle of the length of King Street, or all that is left of it before it bends once more to end in a dead end. It is the last week of February and we’re nearer to Spring than to when this mild winter began a couple of months ago, that nonetheless left these areas scarred with floods and devastation of an extent unseen in the last couple of decades. Change is in the air and around us as a metallic lifesize stag welcomes us as at the entrance of the Glen Garioch distillery. There’s a blotch of snow precariously on its face and I feel an urge to will the stag on to shake it off.

A whisky which sits a number of years in, say, a bourbon cask and is transferred to mature further or finish in a sherry or wine cask goes on to lend itself to its new dwelling and acquires a better expression, which would be a representation of both its stints. I wonder at times if there is a meta-chemical struggle within the Whisky to resist, to refuse to infuse further (however futile it may be), or about the whole transition itself. Though mindful of the fact that such musings do nothing but serve the purpose of a romantic poetic allegory, the thought came quite naturally standing on the grounds of a farm-like distillery still housed in its original buildings of the 19th century, yet having to its account such a rich history of change, and was yet again delicately poised at the cusp of a new era in its incredibly rich story.

I looked curiously around inside the Doric entity that has had to lend itself to Japanese and American owners in recent times. The difficulties and excitement of such changes were evident to me as an Expat myself. Over the years of change, the Stag that had been integral to their branding was relinquished; bottling, malting and cooperage that were on site were discontinued in favour of operational optimization, more health and safety emphasis that comes with being a part of a large organization was evident all around, but an unmistakable rustic earthiness and an organic texture to the Whisky making and the Whisky itself that is so characteristic to these parts of Scotland was hard to miss. In its heart, the ‘Geery’ is still a small distillery which dearly loves and proudly lives on not just for the sake of what it produces, but also for what it represents in the cultural context of these lands. More than half a dozen distilleries shut down in the Eastern Highlands during the 1980s and 90s due to problems with the supply of water and barley.

The Kiln

The Geery, which was known for its peatiness back then was itself shut down briefly for the same reasons, but the discovery of a new water source revived it, albeit in a new non-peaty avatar. The peat from the last fire 21 years ago still stoically stares out of the hearth in the Kiln Room. The barley it dried would’ve made a fine malt if one were to go by the taste of the Whisky the Geery currently produces, but I could probably never know given how lucky and out of pocket I would have to be to find and sample the erstwhile peaty malt on the auctions.

There were three quinnes who would answer to the name of Fiona in the office this fine Saturday morning (and a fourth who we were jokingly assured wouldn’t mind answering to that name). One of the Fionas would be our guide for the next hour and a half, and our tour started with a 10 minute video on the history of the Geery. This is quite a trend now, for distillery visitor areas to have an economically lit corner conducive to the playing of well cinematographed glimpses on the heritage of the place; and one could see the newer ownership of Geery playing catch up on the trend. I wouldn’t personally mind another table or two adorned with Whisky bottles and artefacts in place of the lined up rows of chairs for people to stare at the screen, while the distillery has at its disposal tour guides of such terrific depth of local and Whisky making knowledge as the Geery does. Likewise with the fire safety briefing before embarking on the tour or the safety announcements going up the stair or through low doors. That anyway is beside the point. But the distillery itself seems aptly spread across buildings to all four sides of the village crossroads!

Pipelines (not out of use) to convey Spirit from the Spirit House (right) to the Filling House (left)

The making of Whisky has to be understood in its social context as much as the drinking of Whisky itself, and with it are the stories, anecdotes and history that make up the experience of visiting a distillery that subsequently becomes a part of the consumption of its produce.

The erstwhile Malting Floor

And there were stories- resurrecting the now silent empty malting floor, of how local men would work 12 hours shifts broken into three 4 hour stints of manually turning the barley lain on the floor, with breaks for quick swigs of the new spirit to keep them going. Stories of sooty sweaty  bodies in the kiln room working up a good peaty fire to dry and flavour the barley; three dogs among the crew, preferred over cats to keep the mice away partly because they would lead the staff to the source of the mice.




One of the dogs even featured in the crew photos, among other old photos and Doric inscriptions along the walls housing the Mash Tun and the Washback, which themselves glisten in their modern stainless steel avatars having been upgraded from their old wooden bodies a little over a couple of decades ago for the ease of cleaning and maintenance. Much as the Scottish landscapes appeal with a starkly different kind of beauty when viewed in different seasons, a distillery has its own appeal while operational and not.

Inside the Mash Tun

The Washbacks

One look at the stills are a good reminder of why any scientific correlation between still sizes, lyne arm lengths (and other characteristics of the apparatus that is widely accepted as making the spirit light or hard or smooth to any extent) and the character of the spirit itself has eluded any conclusive inferences over time.

The original spirit still that was used for the erstwhile peated spirit is currently out of use and a newer replica, albeit with a narrower body and neck,  is used instead, aimed at making the spirit that much lighter. The distillery has plans to put the original one in use again, but are hampered by the lone Wash still installation available. All the stills are copper and the distance between the spirit condenser and the Wash still warrants a longer than usual lyne arm connecting the two. These might just be the longest lyne arms in all. The stills are of average height and are steam heated, with their slanted necks straightening horizontally as they join the condenser. The heart of the spirit is maintained at 69% ABV, and this spirit we got to sample later was considerably light and aromatic with hints of spice and was a wee bit oily. 

It is also worthwhile noting here that the granite buildings of the Geery make the interiors quite chilly, and at the same time help keep the angel’s share that much lower.

Scotland through the Nosing Glass

Fàilte!

Of the very many ways of experiencing a country, the one that yields the most is one that cuts through the very many cultural, geographical and historical threads that define the land and her peoples. And so seldom does one thing define and weave through every single and singular aspect of a land in such a way that one may find in its pursuit the very petals of the flower of the land peel back and lead one to the very heart of it. The matter is only complicated if the flower is the prickly Thistle in the land of the Unicorn. But as the pipers draw in a mountain of air and rest their lips on the bagpipes with the mountain air flapping their kilts, a cork is slid off and wafts of the uisge beatha fills the troughs of the melody. The dreich is lit by a hue of amber that is gently swirled in the nosing glass held in a pincer of a thumb and a finger. And it swirls with a show of legs, breathing and inviting the nose to be hovered over, and for the lips to gently draw in. The swirl again in the mouth and the dances on the tongue, there is still a Finish to be savored as you hold it up to your eyes, and it is through the nosing glass that Alba reveals itself. 

As expats living in Scotland these last four years, exploring Whisky - its history and its place in Scottish culture has lent much to our understanding of the land, as much as traveling the country has. The wonderful friendships that have blossomed for us here and allowed us to inspect cultural microcosms have not been without the wee dram bonding us. The wonderful stories and experiences we've picked up from wee crannies of the country have had a thing or two to do with the spirit. Understanding the place of Scotland in Britannia and its relationships within and with the world hinge quite a bit on distillation - of spirit and oil. 

And it is our pursuit of the distilled gist of the land that we hope to pen down here. The posts will focus both on Whiskies, and where they are made. For the Water of Life at its source reveals much of the history of its locale in the past couple of centuries (at least, most often than not), and at the mouth makes it all worthwhile.

Slàinte!