Category Archives: Whiskey

2013 Wrap-Up and Gift Guide

It’s been a weird 2013. Sku said it better than I could. In brief: American whiskey is getting ridiculous; Scotch has completely lost connection with reality and Japan is going to balloon up to the stratosphere next. I reviewed the 30 year old closed distilleries, had some of my grail whiskeys, made fun of a wine critic’s bad research and fell out of love with the culture emerging in whiskey-dom this year.

I have no idea what’s going on and care little about sorting it out. Despite the fact that everyone with a brain in their skull knows that this stuff is subjective, the economic backdrop seems to have induced some previously lucid people to act like jabbering fools, holding up certain absolute truths on things. (After all, that whisky can’t be any good, Serge only gave it an 85…) If everyone has decided to take leave of their senses, I’m not going to push it.

While pondering this and trying to figure out what I was going to do for the end of the year here, I received an email from a PR contact trying to back their way into suggesting that I cover some random bottle of booze. At first, I thought it was the most laughable yet offensive insinuation – you think you can buy my integrity for a few free bottles of booze a link to some press-ready product JPGs?

Then I realized this was the prime opportunity to unveil the 2014 direction for Scotch & Ice Cream while delivering a wholly commercial (though utterly uncompensated) gift guide and retrospective on 2013. After all, this year is nothing but a triumph of marketing style of product substance.

Best Gin That A PR Person Suggested I Recommend To You
This award indirectly suggested by (though not compensated) a fine PR firm. 
Beefeater Gin. I don’t really drink the stuff (I’m more of a Hendrick’s guy, and I think St. George’s makes a fine couple gins), but they offered to send me some JPGs of the bottle. Since my integrity is totally for sale for a few JPGs, I’m ready to suggest that you buy Beefeater like crazy. Buy it by the case. Hell, go to Costco and get a whole pallet of the stuff. It apparently is great for any cocktail enthusiast. None of these claims have been tested for accuracy, and certainly do not represent my opinion since I don’t really have what you’d call a strong opinion on gin. But I’m sure the fine folks at Beefeater do. And they’ve got bills to pay and mouths to feed. So, Beefeater.

Most Limitedest Opportunity:
This award was not suggested by anyone.
Oh, I’m sure you though this would be a dogpile on K&L, but I have no desire to retread. Heck, I like David Driscoll and we have deep heart-to-heart conversations from time to time. (His eyes are kind of dreamy even though he’s not my type)
Nope, you should probably go to The Whisky Shop in the UK and buy the most expensive thing they’ve got in stock. Currently it’s a 1919 Springbank selling for £50K but when that sells out you should probably buy that 1964 Dalmore that costs £20K and was finished in a cask containing stale Raisin Bran. Don’t have five figures to throw at whisky (you poor, pathetic plebe)? They’ve no doubt got an overpriced investment-ready Glenlivet with your name on it.

Most ‘Murican Whiskey:
U! S! A! U! S! A! U! S! A!
Without a doubt, you’re still looking for Pappy Van Winkle. You’re not even a serious bourbon fan without it. I don’t have any but, hey, let’s gin up some excitement here (Speaking of gin: Beefeater!).
I mean, this isn’t where it needs to be until we get stories about beatings and whatnot in pursuit of a bottle. Some serious Black Friday stuff. A simple heist isn’t good enough: that’s just shrinkage in the sales channel.

Best Idea For A Substandard Canadian Whiskey That I Just Came Up With

Awards are about mutual back-scratching. I am scratching my own back.
Maybe our fruited plain will have some of the more storied whiskeys from the Great White North, but until then, sup thee upon some amazing though currently fictional whisky: Trebek’s Treat. 40% and with a blandly sweet glow. Quietly knowledgeable but compassionate with you even when you make a complete idiot of yourself in view of others – at home or on national TV.

Best Pancakes I’ve Had In The Greater LA Region This Year
You have any idea how hard it is to do a quasi-relaxing breakfast with a hyperactive toddler?
Hands down this one goes to Du-Par’s at the Farmer’s Market on 3rd. You can only eat two, maybe three if you haven’t eaten in a week, but they’ve got something unique going on. It’s probably a bunch of cake flour and maybe a dash of vodka for a high-rising cake with very little gluten development, but the things are like crack. Do it.

Things You Ought To Get That Whiskey Lover That Don’t Necessarily Make Them Look Like A Raging Alcoholic, Even If They Are

1. A better shave. This one is primarily directed at the fellas, but ladies certainly can benefit. Tired of chewing your face up on some electric razor? Only hitting the Mach 22 every six weeks to help preserve your $14,000 investment in three blades? Maybe it’s time to take a look at a straight razor. Yeah, there’s a learning curve; I nearly sheared my upper lip off, but it’s a hell of a close shave if you’ve got steady hands. For those of you who have claimed I’m a hipster idiot, add this to your quiver. For those still on board though, you might want to consider Thiers-Issard for a touch of luxury and Dovo or Boker for a good, no-fuss blade. You can get into this for less than the price of a higher-end single cask scotch.

2. Relief from aching feet. I was a firm Chucks guy for the longest time (still love ‘em), eschewing nicer shoes because I thought the random pairs I bought for $80-100 were equivalent in comfort to more upmarket options. Wrong city. Swing by a Bloomingdale’s or Nordstrom’s (to start), find something that tickles your fancy and try on the options. I found a pair of John Varvatos that rocked my world and changed everything. They’re no John Lobbs (or even Crockett & Jones), but it’s like walking around in slippers. Well holy hell: the women in our lives were onto something with the shoe obsessions.

3. Experiences and not necessarily stuff. If you’re of the age and economic status that you’re able to indulge a high end whiskey habit, you probably don’t have a lot in the way of material possessions that you really want for (beyond the crazy if-I-won-the-lotto stuff). That nice bottle of malt might be a great dinner out with family or (if it’s especially costly and what isn’t) a pleasant extended weekend getaway. If you’re chasing ever-more-exotic whiskeys for the experience, you’re clearly an experiences kinda person, so indulge that. Drive out of town and check out the stars. Do whatever.

Things You Might Get That Whiskey Lover That They Can’t Enjoy While Driving

1. Beefeater Gin. Again, I’m not compensated, but they asked, so why the hell not. Remember, by the pallet.

2. A whiskey that’s on their bar. I can’t tell you what this would be: I’m just looking at a composition screen here, not their bar.

3. No ideas? Well, I like Four Roses Single Barrel, Yamazaki 12, Masterson’s, Laphroaig 10, Old Weller Antique, and Port Ellen among others. That’s probably not super helpful. I don’t know that I’ve ever really been much on the helpful side though.

2014
Expect some Banffs next year, a bunch of non-whiskey writing and other silliness. Remember how I claim repeatedly to be little more than a court jester and that I write this mainly for my own enjoyment? The proof will be in the pudding. If you’re along for the ride, great; if not, vaya con dios. Whiskey isn’t gone from here, but it’s definitely going to play a reduced role. I have less than ever and I really can’t stretch the blogging meta-criticism out longer.

I’m sure someone will cover you with a piece on their strongly-held opinions about ratings soon though, right after the next Survey Of Why Dalmore Isn’t Even A Good Punchline Anymore or whatever.

This post was in no way sponsored or underwritten by the people associated with Beefeater Gin. I just decided to have fun with their PR person’s offer. Sorry I didn’t display any luxe bottle photos. Imagine a clear bottle with a glass and ice and shit near it I guess. I think it’s got a red cap too.

Developing Your Palate, Redux; Courage In Your Convictions

Two years ago I wrote a general take on developing your palate. Based on some personal conversations and some internet silliness that continues to persist, it seems as good a time as any to revisit the subject in more depth. The old post is fine; if you’re curious about the basics of glass selection and so forth, it’s as good a place to start as anywhere.

Anyone Can Taste

Consider it a mark of fatherhood; the first thing that comes to mind for me these days on the subject of tasting is Disney/Pixar’s Ratatouille and Gastineau’s cookbook, Anyone Can Cook. It’s a point of contention and a matter of interpretation in the movie. I’m not sure I agree entirely with the movie’s resolution of the debate, as given voice by the character of Anton Ego. I truly believe that anyone, given the inclination to try, the curiosity to learn and the willingness to be wrong and make mistakes can be a solid taster – certainly on par with any who blog about spirits. I’ve shared drinks with many and we all bring our own experiences to the table. This may manifest in different ways, but I can’t think of a time when I’ve gotten up and thought to myself, “that person has no clue what they’re talking about”.

The first and most important thing I would urge to anyone trying to taste is to resist the impulse to edit or discard. Just write what comes to mind. You’re going to start with a limited vocabulary. Accept it and don’t worry about it – the exercise is more important than the results for some time. As you build up a body of experience, you’ll taste things that make for slight variations on themes you recognize. Finding a familiar taste presented more prominently in a different drink may help you realize you’re tasting the influence of oloroso sherry, or perhaps unaged spirit (showing a lack of wood influence, for instance). Don’t worry what anyone else says about what you’ve tasted.

Second, it’s important to frequently live outside your comfort zone. When your experiences  are constrained to one narrow thing, you’re going to have a narrower set of references to draw from. Try other spirits – if you’re a scotch drinker, you’d do well to have some bourbons of various ages and mashbills; trying sherry will help you understand what it might impart. You probably would do well to try wines like port and sauternes which frequently shows up in stunt-casking. Keep your eyes on what things are finished in and make a note to try them. The variety isn’t huge.

Beyond that, try other drinks categories altogether. I can think of one particularly questionable whisky I had this year that could have passed itself off as a gin. I can think of one gin that drinks more like a whiskey. There are whiskeys that have notes in common with beer (in higher concentrations). And who knows – you might find something you like. I certainly didn’t miss whiskey this summer.

But that’s incomplete. You should be paying attention to what you eat and drink over the course of your days. You could take notes on it if you want, but paying attention is the important part. You can’t always be on, but for new things – or for very familiar things – it can help provide a little more dimension to the experience.

You Need To Go Deeper

I’ve seen some people toss aside the idea of critical tasting, as if it’s all made up. This is usually pursued along one of two lines. First, most commonly leveled at someone like Dave Broom, either a statement that “no one knows what xyz tastes like” or that “you can only discern so many tastes at once.” These are statements that are two sides of the same coin, a belief that someone takes a sip, gets some nondescript impression (e.g., “this tastes like whiskey”) and then makes up a bunch of adjectives that make for good copy.

I’m willing to concede to science which says people are only able to distinguish a handful of aromas and flavors. However, that doesn’t mean you can’t analyze those components for more clarity. If you taste apples, what kind of apple? Is it ripe? Is it a bit young? Explain it more. What about “wood”? It’s a common tasting note. Do you think of an old study? Does it taste like wet wood? Does it smell like freshly sawn lumber? Dry pencil shavings or something else? Going down this avenue of exploring the first level tastes in more detail lends additional detail. You shouldn’t be afraid of inspecting your first impressions closer.

On the flip side, there’s the impressionistic tasting note. Sometimes there’s an overall feeling you get from things that doesn’t map cleanly to a single set of descriptors. I remember Octomore Orpheus to me was the “Beach cookout at PCH”. Another scotch was “a rainy driveway with the car running”, and another was “beef barley stew cooking in the winter”. Sometimes it’s that Ratatouille thing: you take a bite, and analysis be damned, you’re transported to a different time or place, and no words suffice to paint the picture that is evoked in your head. Maybe you can hammer it out, but sometimes it’s best to leave room for the imagination of your audience.

The other avenue for disagreement is usually the, “I don’t know about all that, it just tastes like whiskey to me” response. This is a willfully ignorant stance to take. If it’s one you want to take, that’s fine. It’s the equivalent of saying “all apples taste the same” (how about Fuji vs Red Delicious vs Granny Smith?). Certainly there’s a rough bounding box that lets you say, “this is whiskey”, but  even “bourbon” is an awfully broad category for taste. It’s worth a willingness to go beyond the simple answer.

Don’t Forget To Live

There’s a boring achievement-driven, fear of missing out mindset that plagues a lot of discussion of food and drink. Take this practice of taking notes too far, and you’re the guy at the bar with friends who has to find a drink he’s never had, pitch a small fit about the way it’s served, and embarrass everyone by whipping out a notebook and writing down stuff. All the while, that guy expects the world to go on hold while you determine if he’s getting more diastatic malt powder or fresh barley on that independent Bunnahabhain.

I’ve been this guy. It’s nothing to be proud of. You have to ask yourself what you’re chasing? What happens when you have the notes for that Brora you’ve been hunting for? Does anything really change? Can you enjoy a moment anymore without quantifying it?

At the last few LAWS meetings I was at and in get-togethers this summer, I’ve made a conscious effort to be less notes-driven. I went three months without taking a single tasting note, and it was great. I’m able to be present, reflect on other things and connect with the people I’m with. Certainly we might discuss things related to the drink (Stone’s Enjoy By IPA has been a favorite; our consensus was that it’s continued to lean more malty and the hopping has gotten a little less floral), but there’s not a desperate analytical need to track down every trace of seville orange, mustard seed, and chewings fescue that might exist.

That’s not to say “I go back on everything I just said”, but to advocate for balance. If it’s a casual, fun encounter, then just go with a known quantity. Odds are that Scott’s Selection Lochside will be there next weekend. The strange, competitive undercurrent to gather the most tasting notes is really bizarre race. What motivates it? Why count it? As far as I know, there’s not a lifetime achievement for tasting the most whiskey.

Stand By Your… Notes

We are the sum of our experiences through the filter of what our bodies can perceive. Due to genetics, culture, our innate preferences and so on, our perceptions are different. Some people hate cilantro; others barely taste it. Some people hate bourbon, others consider it the only legitimate form of bourbon. These are individual preference. Trying to tease an absolute truth out of subjective opinion is a fool’s errand. Some people want to explain away differences in critical opinion by some scientifically quantifiable factor – a bad bottle, unclean glassware, a tainted sample container, light exposure, et cetera. It’s possible that these factors come into play in some cases, but at the same time, maybe one person simply doesn’t like an aspect of the flavor. Maybe it reminds them of something they ate once and hated. Maybe… it just tastes bad to them. It’s just the way they perceive things.

Needing to normalize humanity out of the equation is about as obsessive and ill-advised as the need to note absolutely every beverage that passes your lips.

Because of this subjectivity, it’s important to realize we all paint from a slightly different palette when describing our experiences. Taking the time to write down your impressions on your own will help you develop your facility to discuss them. It’s painful to see someone talk about something and then slip into long-established, “known” tasting notes. Some stereotypes exist for a reason, but I bet there are a fair amount of people who have tasted Bowmore and reflexively used “parma violets” because that’s just how people describe it.

The most painful example I’ve ever seen, and I almost cringed reading it, was when a person wrote their notes on a whiskey and described it in relatively unflattering terms, highlighting a relatively thin and estery profile. When they were informed it was a grain, they immediately backtracked and started talking about the vanilla and so forth – as if they were going from The Standard Book Of Grain Whisky Tasting Notes. An unpalatable drink suddenly became great just because of a person’s lack of conviction in what they said, and their apparent need to get the “right” notes for something.

It’s OK to like something no one else likes or hate things that people love. I thought K&L’s ’72 Glenfarclas was too woody and concentrated. People told me I was insane. I, like many in LAWS, have a deep fondness for Charbay Release I and Release II. I’ve heard tons of people say they can’t stand it. Who’s right?

By extension, it’s OK to have your own impressions because your body and mind are distinct from everyone else’s. Believe in what you say. And if you don’t know or are not sure, it’s fine to say “I don’t know” or “what’s that taste”?

In short: Practice and build your experience. Give yourself a wide variety of opportunities to learn from. Dig deeper beyond your first impressions. Don’t be afraid to struggle in finding the “right” words – sometimes a feeling says more than words could. Believe in yourself and your preferences.

If you want to improve your skills, you can, unless you tell yourself you can’t. The only dishonest approach is to use other people’s words and beliefs as your own.

 

Greed, Gear, Grails

Rumors of my blogging demise are greatly exaggerated.

Over the summer I’ve had a host of conversations with people at various levels on the whisky enthusiasm scale – from self-doubting newbie to well-known names to whisky lovers. It’s been an interesting few months withdrawn from the active, frequently self-referential and repetitive online discussions. While I’ve drawn a distance that I’ll likely maintain from that (stick a needle in my eye if I do a twitter tasting, please), I’ve found some more interesting things to mine in general. I think there’s only so many times you can say “prices are up, quality is down”.

The interesting thing I’ve seen against the backdrop of rising prices is a sense of paralysis in the face of things you own suddenly being “worth” more. As I’ve detailed in the past, my mindset continues to be one of reducing my footprint and owning less. Thus, the few offers I’ve gotten I’ve been predisposed to take.

I was asked about someone who saw a bottle they owned being sold for $1400 in a liquor store back east. They’d bought the bottle years back at a small fraction of that, and here it was – worth $1400! What to do?

The truth is not so simple. Here’s some basic facts to remember. First, if something is on the shelf at a price that seems staggeringly high (and it’s rare), it’s likely to note that it isn’t generally believed to be worth that price, or else it’d be long gone from the shelf. That’s an asking price. Similarly, I have a 90 year old rare snare drum I restored. It’s not for sale unless someone was willing to pony up $25,000 today. Does that mean it’s actually worth 25 grand? No, it’s just my “go away” price unless someone is desperate to own one, in which case I won’t be totally ridiculous.

Second, it’s not worth getting wrapped around the axle of how much something is perceived to be worth unless you have an offer for cash in hand. If you have no intention of ever selling, then why even worry about what other people are getting for it?

Finally on this point, don’t let those high prices spoil your enjoyment. Let’s say you’re the proud owner of a bottle that you paid $100 for. You find out it’s worth $1400 right before you open it, and you’re now in the throes of indecision and feeling unworthy. If you wouldn’t take $600-700 for that bottle, then don’t worry about it. Just drink it, and pat yourself on the back for having found a bottle that time has smiled upon. The worst thing is to just lock it away and promise yourself to have it “one day”. Odds are you’ll deem yourself unworthy. Enjoy it. Things are meant to be used.

I have a camera that has appreciated in value by almost 40% in the last five years. When I sold off my camera gear, it was the last one standing, with the intention of using the hell out of it. Just because the market agrees with my choice years ago that something is high quality doesn’t mean I should suddenly feel like I shouldn’t use it and should lock it away, unseen, untouched and unused. What good is owning something that you’ll never use and never sell, and in essence never see a benefit from? It’s a curious materialistic quirk of the concept of ownership to take this view.

This leads me to the “gear” issue. As a musician, it’s all too easy to get wrapped up in everything but the music. Entire forums are dedicated to just talking about the mechanical working of certain pieces of equipment, or pseudoscientific analysis of marketing claims. There are times when there’s an appropriate level of attention paid – researching a new purchase to address a genuine need, or dealing with defects or ideas for improvement. But when a musician gets tied up in getting the next must-have piece of gear, they stop paying attention to the music. You really don’t want to buy an album of someone just describing in exhaustive detail the construction of their instrument and the marketing speak that explains why it’s so much better than anything else that’s ever been created.

Whisky culture is dangerously close to mimicking that equipment-obsessed gearslut mindset. Part of the current hype is fueled is fueled by a weekly score of new “exclusive” and “limited” releases. It’s so hard to single one out – mystery bottles from Glenlivet; hashtagged Aberfeldys; Glenfarclases for wealthy Poles; Dalmores for wealthy people whose decisions otherwise must be made by power of attorney to avoid harming themselves;anything from LVMH. Throw something in a nonstandard cask, spin a submoronic story, toss a few samples to a couple bloggers and everyone goes crazy trying to obtain a sample. There’s no sense of perspective and all discussion centers around the new-release production line. It’s been the equivalent of seeing a new article online and just being the mouth breather who has to first-post it.

That’s not to say we shouldn’t seek out things we’re interested, but a degree of discrimination is useful. There’s a difference between “Boy, I’d like to try a 70s Ardbeg because I’ve heard so much good stuff about it” and “I’VE GOT TO TRY THE BOAT-ENCASED HIGHLAND PARK BECAUSE REASONS!” You want to try a Macallan distilled in your birth year? Have at it (bring your wallet!). But take some time to form your opinions and learn about your tastes at a more affordable level. 90% of the exclusives out there are just carnival huckster level ploys: This will be gone and never again available, act fast (…and if it sells well, we’ll start finishing more barrels this way and extend the line)! PT Barnum would be proud.

Having had some of my grails though, I will say the experience rarely lives up to the hype. I think in the last two years the only two that met my expectations were Tun 1401/3 and Lagavulin 21 (2007). Meanwhile I had Brorageddon, PLOWED Ellen, a host of old bourbons and ryes and scotches galore in that same time. Don’t get so caught up in the hunt for the rare and exclusive that you lose sight of the bounty available every day. As I said to Sku at lunch yesterday, “if you told me the only bourbon I could have was the standard off-the-shelf 100 proof Four Roses Single Barrel, I’d be totally fine with that”. Find your everyday drinkers.

As a proof of the “unholy grail”, here was one of my momentary pursuits. Glen Flagler was a distillery-in-a-distillery (a la Glencraig) – in this case located inside the Moffat grain distillery. A few years back I found an official 30yo bottling from a 1973 distillation. Why did I care about this one? Because it’s closed and rare! Of course, I should have learned the lesson that “closed and rare” does not necessarily equate with “good”. Here’s the play-by-play.

The nose starts somewhat predictably, with a relatively gentle honey sweetness and some nice barley notes. It gets a little more grassy and is also gently floral. It’s fairly standard stuff for a lighter-profile older whisky, with an overall feeling of a meadow that’s overdue for a visit from a few hummingbirds.

The palate leads with some grassiness and then gets woody. There’s a low-level oakiness underneath everything, it’s got some moderate but zippy white pepper notes and some barley sweetness. It’s also a touch musty.

The finish leads with pepper, followed by bitter greens and woodiness. It retains heat but dries expectedly to bitter greens and oak.

It’s fairly textbook overoaked lighter-bodied whisky. It’s got a nice presence on the nose but the spirit can’t stand up to the rough handling that 30 years in oak gave it. And here we go, another check in the “unremarkable closed distillery” column.

At a glance:

Glen Flagler 1973 (30y OB) 46% ABV
Nose:  Honey sweetness with some nice barley as well. Grassy; gently floral. 
Palate:  Grassy at first; moderately woody, a low level oakiness underneath some moderate and zippy white pepper. Some barley sweetness; faintly musty.
Finish: 
Pepper leading, followed by a mix of a little bitter greens, and some woodiness. Stays fairly hot, but dries a touch bitter and oaky.
Comment:  Nice sweetness and gentleness, but marred by a little too much out of balance oak and the grassiness doesn’t sit right for me. 
Rating: C+

Bunker-Busting And Broadening Horizons

In the United States, it’s Labor Day weekend, which is one of the early signals that the fall exclusive season is about to begin. If you’re inclined to follow whisky blogs or twitter personalities, you’ve no doubt seen rumors of this year’s crop of highly-priced, limited edition releases. Even Reddit is starting to show signs of the fall, with an ever-increasing hype around BTAC and Van Winkle.

As with last year, I’m largely sitting this year out. I managed to happen across a bottle of Stagg last year, which I picked up to share with some friends, but I spent no effort trying to stay on top of the annual release craze. This year, I’m not going after anything – even if I see a bottle, I’ll pass it up.

Over the last few months, it seems that the whisky community – especially bourbon – has been whipped into a frenzy and are buying like the asteroid is going to come and wipe us all out before the new year. The usual cockamamie schemes to land an extra bottle are being crafted and set in motion, as if most places don’t have waiting lists longer than a troubled star’s rap sheet. The community is turning towards itself and now everyone is trying to pull a fast one and make a quick buck off each other on the Facebook exchanges.

The odd thing is that most people involved have enough bourbon to give the entire population of Manhattan acute alcohol poisoning. It seems like whiskey hoarding has hit an all-time high.

And, of course, speaking of making a quick buck, the questionable players who are trying to flog their “whisky investment” business are pointing to rising prices and dropping quality as the surest sign that you need to buy in now.

A few month back, I tapped out of buying much in the way of new releases. The unceasing hype, the rising prices and the real and very clear drop in quality really started to put me off. As I coasted on my old supply, I began to do the math and realize I had far more on hand than I ever thought. As a variety-is-the-spice-of-life kind of guy, the thought of sequentially plowing through a bunch of duplicate bottles (or coming back to them regularly) didn’t grab me. Nor did plowing through a host of questionable middle-aged second- and third- tier independent bottlings that seem to have been released just for the purpose of saying “exclusive single-barrel offering”.

It became a feedback loop, and the less I had, the more the supply stretched on to infinity.

It started simply: chucking those bottles I’d swore I was going to “come back to”: bottles you open, have a glass or two of, and silently vow you’re not going to give samples of. After all, who needs to know you were dumb enough to buy that really iffy too-young Ardmore? Yeah, that bottler had a decent record, but even they are picking the really questionable barrels. That single-barrel bourbon? It didn’t even have the refinement of the standard lower-tier bottle.

Then I started giving bottles as gifts. It was a great way to clear out some of the middle-of-the-road offerings that were decent but I had no real intention to get around. Balvenie’s 15 year old single barrel is great, but I have no idea why I owned a couple unopened ones. I also had so much Old Weller Antique that it seemed fair to pass some along.

And then, when picking up something for a friend, a store owner led with, “you’re a regular bourbon buyer – what do you think about Pappy Van Winkle?” Push came to shove, and I was made an offer I couldn’t refuse – anywhere from 5 to 8 times the original retail price I paid. Is it wanton profiteering? Sure, if you want to call it that. If you were a whisky investor, you’d note this was a sane, considered opportunity to take some profits and diversify. I left the store with enough money in hand to put a substantial payment down on a new car, if I’d been so inclined (I wasn’t). I left thinking perhaps I owed Robert Parker something of an apology, if not a commission check.

All of this, and the obsessive tracking of value (in a cash sense) brings me to the point personally of having an eye to, er, liquidate a fair amount of my collection. Some as gifts, some sold if someone is interested, and certainly some retained for my own pleasure - no way am I selling my 1401/3′s!

This summer, I’ve talked whiskey with a lot of people. The moment where it all clicked for me was at a backyard cookout. A friend said, “I really haven’t had many expensive whiskeys, I can’t imagine what they taste like.” My mouth started before my brain connected, and I heard myself say, “Past a certain point, you’re frequently paying for a certain degree of novelty – extra age, stylistic extremes or attempts to innovate that sometimes work and sometimes don’t. The reality is that I would be satisfied with most average middle of the road offerings.” And after thinking about it, I didn’t feel the need to clarify or walk any statements back. Scotch is perhaps going the way of the dodo for me with $50 NAS releases becoming ever more common; it’s clear the Japanese releases are being kept at a low price for now (how much longer?); and there’s a fair enough selection of enjoyable bourbon at a reasonable price.

It’s an odd time. I didn’t have the inclination to follow the armagnac craze; my tastes in rum are relatively pedestrian and I’m happy to stick with Hendrick’s and St. George’s for gin. Beer provides a much better bang for the buck, but beyond all that, I’m finding that sleeping and waking with a clear head these past few months is even more enjoyable. Plus, with the LA summer heat, I’m not really in the mood for a big sherried scotch or a peat monster, to say nothing of a big oaky bourbon.

When I started this blog, I was going to have a broader scope. I fell into a trap of pure whiskey obsession and really didn’t focus on much beyond it. It’s not to say that all whiskey reviews are done, but I’m certainly not feeling any pressure to stay in the pack of whiskey bloggers anymore (if, indeed, I was even in such a pack).

And seriously, if you’re a whiskey investor, it’s time to SELL. Especially the Van Winkles. Holy cow.

Four Roses Yellow Label; Time To Breathe

Do you wanna hear something sick? 
We are but victims of desire
Pearl Jam, “Gonna See My Friend”

About two week ago, Google took Reader offline. I’d made peace with their decision; it was a service I’d used every day, but it was clear their decision was irrevocable. Coming from the technology world, this wasn’t entirely surprising. At some point, you have to cut your business to what matters.

When D-day came, the remaining handful of whisky blogs I was following vanished from my daily survey of new content. Suddenly, where there was noise, where there was inadequacy and insufficiency, there was just silence.

Of course, that was only a few days ago. I’ve been enjoying some silence on the blog front for a while now. I’ve apparently missed new heights (depths?) of venality on Facebook with various whiskey “Exchanges”. Prices are apparently high for moderate to moderately good whiskey, with a premium on older stuff. I’ve got no doubt that rare & old whiskey will start to be forged soon – obviously the technology exists to knock out a pretty convincing one. With the prices available, if you think you could get away, why wouldn’t you (ethics aside)?

Let the rats eat themselves, I say. Maybe I’m a sap but I’m avoiding the secondary market. Then again, I’m avoiding the primary market as well, as the values are just off kilter. There’s good whiskey to be found, but one needs to be more selective – the $100+ tier is a minefield of questionable whiskey these days.

The last bottle I bought was a humble bottle of Four Roses Yellow Label. I’ve discussed Jack, Jim, and Evan; I figured it was time to revisit this value-priced stalwart. Unfortunately, in Los Angeles (on the west side, at least), Four Roses has suddenly gotten a little bit scarce. Maybe it’s the local landscape catering to an “enlightened” post-Parker consumer, maybe it’s spiked demand; I don’t know. Whatever it is, it’s depressing that it’s suddenly so hard to find.

While many of my friends have picked up the torch over the last few months of odd tastings and unusual whiskeys, I’ve been content to take it easy. I checked off a lot of “must have” whiskeys this spring and realized they can be as questionable and variable as  anything else in any price tier. That, coupled with an acknowledgement that I’m pretty happy with the average Four Roses Single Barrel OBSV/OBSK, hasn’t really spurred a desire to spend a lot of money on new, questionable bottles.

Well, that and the on-again, off-again heat in Los Angeles.

Four Roses seemed to be the right one to match my casual mood of late. All too often, things get wrapped up in unfortunate idealism and blindly accepted normative statements. Between blog-overload, questionable whiskey overload, the heat, and a focus of interest elsewhere, finding and noting some sort of “challenging” whisky and casting its place in the larger world was the least interesting exercise I could imagine.

Four Roses Yellow Label is an undisclosed blend of their five yeast strains split across two mashbills. In theory, it’s the accessible pop hit of the Four Roses discography. In practice, well…

The nose is nice and gently earthy, with some wet clay and a light spice. There’s some black pepper and a dab of cinnamon; caramel and easygoing wood. There’s plenty of corn evident, but a little subtly astringent black cherry in the back.

The palate leads with “E” mashbill sweetness – corn upfront with caramel and cherry. There’s wood, cinnamon, and the more distinctive heat of white pepper.

The finish is generally tannic – black tea and wood, cherry, a softer oak influence, and some faint tobacco.

It’s actually a pretty clean representation of everything Four Roses has to offer, in a somewhat condensed format. The “E” bill sweetness is balanced by the “B” bill spice. I actually enjoyed it quite a lot, especially considering this is a 40% ABV entry-level whiskey. It’s a touch thin in the ideal world; at 45% or even 50% it could be fantastic. In my opinion it’s easily the best 40% ABV standard offering on shelves.

At a glance:

Four Roses Yellow Label, 40% ABV
Nose:
Nice gentle earthy, wet clay influence with some light spicing – a hint of black pepper, a faint dab of cinnamon. Some caramel, easygoing wood influence, plenty of corn sweetness balanced by a bit of slightly astringent black cherry.
Palate: Corn sweetness upfront with some caramel and a touch of cherry. A little bit of wood, some cinnamon and a little dab of white pepper.
Finish: Leads with some tannins; a touch of black tea and some wood; a touch of cherry, a little oak, a faint hint of tobacco;
Comment: My only complaint is that it’s a touch thin at 40%. At 45% or 50% this would be fantastic. It’s easily the best 40% ABV standard offering on shelves today though.
Rating: B

Postscript

Please take the opportunity afforded by the Google Reader shutdown to take a breath, unfollow the blogs that only provide noise (including mine), and make sure you’re getting enough real-people-time. I met with a bunch of whiskey friends and bloggers over the last month, and that was far more interesting than reading message boards, facebook groups, and getting in twitter arguments about mundane points of booze.

Obviously this is a “stop liking things I don’t like” sort of non-directive; I am just drawn to say it because the odd undercurrent I noticed in a bunch of discussions was how many lives this hobby and interest has negatively affected. It’s OK to step back; it’s OK to stop jumping just because a merchant or a brand ambassador or a blogger says something is the best whiskey ever.

The 1983 Tasting Series #10: Port Ellen

I almost hate putting “Port Ellen” in the title of a blog post; it’s the cheapest trick available to whiskey bloggers. Some twitter bot will retweet your link-tweet; people will click because – OH MY GOD, IT’S PORT ELLEN.

Not to say it’s not great stuff. Of all of the 1983s, it’s one of the most consistently enjoyable distilleries. In my experience, Port Ellen doesn’t pack a lot of surprises, but it does what it does so well. In fact, the only Port Ellen I’ve had that I didn’t like was the PLOWED society bottling.

I’m not going to recap anything about Port Ellen here. It’s been discussed to death elsewhere, even on this blog.

The bottle in the 1983 tasting series was an Old Bothwell release. Old Bothwell doesn’t really exist on this side of the Atlantic. Even then, they don’t seem to be extremely common compared to other bottlers. I don’t really see much mention of them in the usual dens of whisky discussion, and when they are mentioned it seems to be in connection with Port Ellen.

So – the whisky. The nose is unsurprisingly textbook Port Ellen – the familiar, slightly diesel-smelling Port Ellen peat; there’s a little hint of lemon and some malty sweetness. It’s lightly briny, faintly mineral, and a touch floral.

The palate has a nice peated quality to it; slightly rubber with some tar. There’s also black pepper, nice malt and a gentle wood quality to it. It finishes more smoky; rubber and diesel notes on the peat. It picks up a little heat, has a faint lemony kick and then finishes with malt and light woodiness.

I thought this was a super-approachable and nicely done Port Ellen. I enjoyed it a great deal.

The 1983 Tasting Comes To A Close

Now for some reflection and self-criticism.

This is a really boring idea for a tasting.

It’s even more boring to write up.

The thing is, there’s no interesting thing here to hang one’s hat on. It’s a shameless exercise in checking the box of closed distilleries; the least discerning type of vapid whisky  adventurism and the most vulgar form of tourism-as-connoisseurship. While it’s passable as a sort of low-grade “tasting of old malts”, there’s not a lot here to pick apart. With one sample per distillery, bottle choice is everything. Thirty years on, that task is quite demanding. The Glenlochys I’ve tried have been rather similar. I still have no sense of Glenugie (though I have some samples from friends I will try in the future). There’s still a wash of generic character over a bunch of these. Sure, some have distinguished themselves – Port Ellen (as always), Brora (as usual); Brechin retains its title as “distillery most deserving closure”. But there’s a vast middle ground that still is a cipher.

The checkboxes are there, many “hard to find” distilleries have now been enjoyed, but I think as far as an educational exercise or critical analysis, there really was no bedrock to build on in this tasting.

That’s not to say I think the participants of this tasting shouldn’t have enjoyed it if they did. I’d like to be clear on that (if any are reading) – and for whisky tasting in general. I don’t claim to be any sort of authority, or even particularly knowledgeable. I don’t claim my experience is transferrable or more valid than yours or anyone’s. The only validity you have in a subjective experience is what you bring to it and what you take away from it.

Even my more simple exercises – Teacher’s over time; Macallan old verticals and replicas vs modern whiskies have had a very clear basis for comparison and discussion. This is essentially a random grab-bag of distilleries that share a simple coincidence of having been closed. You may as well throw darts at the periodic table of whisky and buy one bottle each from the first ten distilleries you hit and call it a tasting.

That said, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a little bit fun.

At a glance:

Port Ellen 1982 Old Bothwell (#2044) 28y 57.5% ABV
Nose: 
Familiar slightly diesel-tinged Port Ellen peat with a great mix of lemon and malty sweetness. Lightly briny, faintly mineral and a touch floral.
Palate: Nice peat – slightly rubbery; a little tar, some black pepper, some pleasing malt, a little gentle wood.
Finish: Smokier on exit. A little rubber and diesel from the peat; a bit of heat, a lemony touch again and then some malt and light wood.
Comment: Super-approachable and really nicely done Port Ellen.  Everything you’d want.
Rating: A-

Another Visit From An Angel

The hype echoed through the whiskey nerdosphere this spring.

“Angel’s Envy… is releasing a rye!”

For some, the excitement couldn’t be contained. Rye, after all, is the whiskey that has the coolest record collection. Everyone wants to be rye, even if they won’t admit it. MGP has obligingly supplied everyone from Diageo (in the form of George Dickel Rye) to High West to a coterie of small bottlers, each with their own comically overwrought backstory and fanciful label.

In that respect, it wasn’t at all surprising to see the port-finished bourbon being followed by a rye. Slap a classy-looking bottle (it uses more or less the same bottle as previously, with gold type instead of white) in the rye section, and they will come – or so is the hope.

Of course, any half-wit can release a youngish LDI rye and slap a label calling it “Capone’s Cache” or “Boos Myllar’s Best” or something equally underthought. The Angel’s Envy twist was to finish it in Caribbean rum casks. It’s either an inspired choice or the height of idiocy.

I myself was in the uninterested camp – how many mediocre LDI ryes do you have to try before you know you’re going to end up with a mouthful of Pine-Sol, an empty wallet and a conscience gripped with regrets? The compulsion to keep trying sourced ryes is like the manic fury that drives a drunken roulette binge at 3 AM in a dark corner of the MGM Grand. The odds are long and almost crushingly hopeless, but the payoff – when it comes – may silence the doubts enough for you to throw another fifty bucks down at the next opportunity.

Even when the inevitable trophy shots came in from well-connected bloggers, clutching – always clutching – prized sample bottles, I was completely unswayed. Everyone loves free whiskey. I wasn’t going to be goaded into a purchase, no matter how many people I trusted who reviewed it from advance samples. You can forgive a lot of sins when it’s free. I’m remaining firm in my conviction: I don’t care who reviewed it or how good the marks were, I am not going to play the part of Pavlov’s dog when someone shouts “new rye whiskey”!

And then a few average Joes I know purchased bottles. And the whiskey the described was so outside the incredibly narrow expectations I had for this release that I started to pay attention. The notes were all very similar, but they painted a picture of something completely unlike what was on the market. Knowing that the roulette wheel had come up red the last five times I’d tried some LDI-based product, I threw my cash on the table. I knew, as anyone does who has played roulette long enough (gambler’s fallacy be damned!), that simple probability said this spin in rye roulette had to come up black.

I strolled into my local booze merchant, quietly ignored the suggestions that I should check out a bottle of Booker’s, and grabbed Angel’s Envy. I wouldn’t be a victim of rye roulette this time. My bet would pay off. This had to be the first enjoyable rye in a while.

I grabbed the nearest knife I could and slit at the strip trapping the cork on the bottle. I dumped a pour into my glass and waited. The moment of truth.

Immediately it was clear this was not the average rye. Everything I expected was missing. Instead, I got a big hit of gingerbread on the nose, followed by fruity, cooked (and sugary) pineapple, cinnamon, brown sugar and angel food cake. I could only laugh. “Angel’s Envy” manifest in the nose already. Even at arm’s length, caramel sweetness and the confectioner’s sugar qualities were readily apparent.

I lifted it up to my mouth and was rewarded with a mouthfeel that was unlike most young LDI ryes – this one actually had some weight to it. It didn’t cede its identity wholly to the dessert sweetness; it had some rough and piney rye notes, but they were more of a grounding base for everything else, kind of like a better IPA where the drier hop notes add complexity. Pineapple, angel food cake and cinnamon were abundant; there was a hint of ginger, and it was generally sweet like a dessert with flashes of rye dryness.

The finish started dry, with a touch of bitterness, but was balanced by the cake-like sweetness. Confectioner’s sugar, cinnamon, pineapple and a touch of vanilla rounded out the finish.

If Angel’s Envy Bourbon could be summed up as the speculative fiction of “What if Balvenie made a bourbon?”, then Angel’s Envy Rye would be, “What if Paula Deen was on your rye tasting panel?”

That obviously carries some weight (ha!), but let’s be clear about what is going on. Angel’s Envy Rye is the sweetest tasting rye you’ll probably ever have. It’s pure southern dessert – angel food cake, amped-up caramel and pineapple sweetness, with just a touch of rye to keep it from going off the deep end.

As the bottle gets some air, the more punchy top notes and overt pineapple-and-caramel quality dampens a bit; it’s still a bit syrupy and a little more spicy on the nose. The palate actually starts to get into cognac territory and the rye asserts itself more. Think of a moderately hopped porter – the hops don’t become the focus of attention, but they add more complexity. So is the rye with time in Angel’s Envy Rye. Also, with time and air, this does become a little more minty and mentholated on the finish, tipping its hat a bit to the origin, but I still would never peg this as LDI.

If you don’t like sweet things, just stay away. I can’t stress this enough. If angel food cake drives you into a rage, you really should not buy it. If you want the same boring rye you’ll get in a bottle of Bulleit or Templeton, skip this. This will not be for you. I promise. You’ll miss nothing by skipping.

But on the other hand, if you’ve been burned for a zillion times running and you’re just looking for something different – Angel’s Envy Rye has that in spades. I can’t think of a rye that tastes remotely like this. I can’t think of a whiskey that really tastes quite like this. And because I think it’s so unusual, I’m sure we’ll be seeing copycats in the months and years ahead.

I’m not sure that Angel’s Envy is an everyday sipper, but in a world of bad rye decisions, this is one of the few options that won’t disappoint. I’ve revisited this bottle a few times now and it’s very much the same thing as my first impressions, with a bit more of the rye character making itself known over time. It doesn’t lose that angel food cake and pineapple sweetness though. For my money, while it’s definitely a very particular style, I happen to really enjoy what’s going on with this whiskey. It’s not a daily sipper, but then, you shouldn’t be having a big, sweet desert every day either.

However, while I say it’s not a daily sipper, I can’t deny I’ve come back to this bottle with regularity and am already thinking about picking up another…

At a glance:

Angel’s Envy Rye (95% Rye) – 50% ABV B
Nose: 
A really unusual mix of gingerbread, a touch of pineapple, some cinnamon, angel food cake, brown sugar. Caramel and confectioner’s sugar. With air and time, there’s a little more syrupy quality mixed with some gentle spice, but never losing that angel food cake quality. 
Palate: 
Moderately thick on the palate, the kind of rough and piney rye notes provide a bed; there’s a big pineapple/angel food cake/cinnamon top end, a faint hint of fresh grated ginger. Sweet in a very dessert-like way with flashes of rye dryness. As the whiskey gains more air, the rye asserts itself more directly with some cinnamon, and has a cinnamon/rye/caramelized pineapple tug of war. 
Finish: 
Dry, a touch bitter but against with that soft, cake-like sweetness. Confectioner’s sugar, cinnamon, a little pineapple and vanilla. Air leads this to be drier still, with an almost minty (but not full-tilt minty) or menthol top end, and a little more direct rye and cinnamon. 
Comment: 
The first LDI rye that doesn’t taste like everything else. Very sweet and desserty – indulgent. The elements pop out quite cleanly, but it also reminds me of a hummingbird cake. If you don’t have a sweet tooth (yes, on a rye!), you will not enjoy this. Almost has a cognac-like character at times.
Rating: 
B

Postscript

The bottle has a sticker on it noting the “95% Rye” mashbill. Obviously, this is a clear tip of the hand that it’s LDI rye. However, the fact that this is a sticker raises an interesting question: does Angel’s Envy have casks sourced elsewhere (e.g. Canada) with different mashes (100%? 51%+) waiting for a future release? Only the Hendersons know for sure, but it could be an interesting few years. Taking the whiskey used in WhistlePig or Mastersons and giving it an Angel’s Envy treatment (which seems to be summed up as “March to the beat of your own drummer’) could result in some really interesting choices.