Whiskysponge Glen Moray Thirtysomething

These days Glen Moray probably has a rather better reputation than it had a decade or two ago, thanks to the tireless work of Distillery Manager Alumnus Graham Coull, so it's a wee bit harsh of the Sponge to label this bottle with an admittedly funny, but definitely backward looking, label.

Then again, the Sponge is cursed to know whisky-that-was better than pretty much everybody, to remember and lament the Heroic age of drams, so we should probably forgive him/her/it for referencing the time when Glen Moray was the unloved third child of the suitcase-vending owners of Ardbeg and Glenmorangie.

(And besides, who among us does not love a bargain? If, in 2005, you had the choice between some dubious United Spirits blend for £15 or a single malt with an age statement, no matter how overtly Chardonoid, for £18, of course you would buy the Glen Moray. Probably two bottles.)

All of this prefatory material is to prepare you to be disappointed, or at the very least, jaded. So that, should you be lucky enough to actually taste the whisky, your joy will be all the purer and more unalloyed.

I should explain, by the by, that this tasting note is a joint effort between myself and the Whisky Wuman. We tasted this Glen Moray courtesy of a sample from the Whisky Sponge, and discussed it as we were taking notes, thus simultaneously illuminating and polluting each other's thoughts.

So, throats having been cleared, and positions having been established, I have to say that this whisky is absolutely fabulous. It has aged beautifully in a none too active cask, it shows a marvellous progression from the ester-heavy youth of good Glen Moray to a mature, oxidised, yet still fruity, concentrated dram, a waxy, umami-laden delight which references Clynelish and the best of Knockdhu.

It's remarkably clean for a thirty-seven year old dram, with not even a hint of dunnage character (and it's worth remarking than dunnage character is highly desirable, so this bottling is all the better for being so very tasty without relying on that crutch).

If I had to euphemise it, SMWS-style, it would be, "Spiced Grilled Peaches In A Dusty Hessian Sack". The non-commercial five word tasting note, per Peynaud, is, "Waxy fruit. Waxy brown fruit". And the score, for those of you who like numbers, is (on a scale of 0-5): 6+.

A D Rattray Samples

Balblair 2011, 59.7%
A bourbon barrel that's been PX finished. I didn't enjoy this at all (but then, as The Dandy says, Balblair doesn't really come into its own until its mid teens). The nose is painfully nippy, with an odd mixture of raw wood and brown sugar. The palate is sweet, peppery, and raw. Sandpaper and sawdust. Ouch. Poor

Strathmill 2006, 58.1%
Another bourbon barrel. It seems rather quiet in comparison to the whiskies around it. It's not unpleasant, but having recently had a couple of lovely crisp, malty Strathmills, this is merely humdrum. There's little to fault here, but no fireworks either. Sort of Good

Balmenach 2010, 57%
Another sherry finish, although I didn't note what kind of sherry. There's a pleasant cooked note, as if one were in a kitchen where boiled sweets are being boiled. It's not at all spirity. To taste it is in fact rather on the hot side, but the flavours are really interesting. Savoury, with some beery malt, a hint of sulphur, and a very pleasant finish. Very Good

Macduff 2009, 57%
From a bourbon barrel. The classic Macduff nose of creamline toffee, fudge, or toffee pennies (depending on which of those your family favoured when you were growing up). The palate follows
through with exactly the same notes. The thick oily texture and its simple sweet nature make this a lovely comforting dram. Good

Tamnavulin 2009, 59.4%
From a bourbon barrel. At the start of the year I had a young Tamnavulin-Glenlivet from the Seventies, and this rather reminds me of that. The modern one isn't nearly as fruity of course, but there's a floral elegance to it which is delightful. Pea blossom and greenery - it's fascinating. The palate is soft and sweet, a kind of flowery toffee. The only thing which keeps this from being an outstanding whisky is a slight bitterness in the finish. Excellent

Glenrothes 1996, 51.9%
Unusually for Glenrothes, this is a bourbon barrel. It still somehow has that cello seriousness which a lot of Glenrothes exhibits.

I realise that's not very helpful, so let me explain. Glenrothes, like Mortlach, takes very well to sherry barrels, but unlike Mortlach, which seems to come from bourbon barrels fairly often, pretty much all the Glenrotheses (Glenrothi?) that are ever released are sherry barrel matured. Mortlach, from a bourbon cask, tends to go to a bright, lively pizzicato violin fruitiness. This Glenrothes hasn't done that, hence the comparison to the cello.

The palate is all soft rounded sweet toffee. Very Good

The Royal Brackla Appreciation Society

Royal Brackla is never going to be a star of Scotch. The style of malt it produces—which these days is very sweet, like toffee pennies—whilst delightfully easy to drink, lacks the complexity of the truly great whiskies.

And the current owners, Bacardi, despite their supposed intention to raise the profile of their distilleries, seem to be somewhat indolent in their approach. They took over the "Last Five Great Malts" at least a decade ago, and the relaunch staggered on through 2015 and 2016, which pace is never going to set the heather on fire.

Despite these grumblings, I am a member of a small whisky club¹ , the Royal Brackla Appreciation Society. The society was founded one night after we had a dram of the old 10 Year Old, and found in it a surprising—and surprisingly delicious—herbal/earthy/dirty note which we couldn't recall having encountered previously in a malt whisky. It was such an intriguing flavour that we were moved to try other Bracklas, but alas!, as yet we haven't found it again.

Last night's fine Bracklas did include one which hinted at the stink we are always looking for, and we also discovered a new whisky aroma note, as well as gaining a useful insight into how the Scotch Malt Whisky Society names its bottles.

We started off with a sample of 16 Year Old Brackla drawn in 2014 and intended for the US market, presumably in the run up to the launch of the range. This was pure toffee pennies, sweet, smooth, supremely easy to drink. If it were fruity too, then it's be easy to mistake it for VSOP Cognac, and I should think it's probably aimed at the same market; Christmas presents for clients, once a year whisky drinkers. For us, it was a nice wee palate warmer.

Next up was the most interesting dram of the night, a mini of whisky distilled in 1974 (and, according to the interwebs, bottled in 1990). It was much maltier than 90s/2000s distillate; maltier in a very toasty, flapjack, roasted malt fashion. And after a while, a hint of the elusive stink started to emerge - if only we'd had a bigger sample.

(We did a quick search, and full bottles are going for £200-£300, which is rather more than we care to spend. We like Brackla, but come on, it's not worth that money. And that's why we don't just purchase endless bottles of the old 10 Year Old at auction. Prices are silly.)

Third dram was another Gordon & Macphail Connoisseurs Choice bottling, from 1997. Very much in the modern style of soft, sweet toffee, but we also found, after we'd tried the next one, that the 1997 had acquired a sweaty note.

Whisky number four was a Scotch Malt Whisky Society bottling, numbered 55.22 and named Backstage at a Burlesque. It had the toffee pennies—half a crown's worth at least—but it also had a distinct hairspray note, and an equally distinct note of sweat. And as I say, after trying this one we went back to the 1997 only to discover that it too was sweaty.

You do have to applaud the SMWS for their cunning. Finding hairspray and sweat and accurately, if slightly disingenuously, reporting it as Backstage at a Burlesque.

We finished off with another SMWS bottling, In the Shade of the Fruit Tree. Which certainly lived up to its name, but was somehow unexciting.

All told, an interesting and varied set of Bracklas. I suspect that the reason I liked the last one least was down to it being the cleanest. It's generally the case that I like my whiskies slightly dirty, and I'd say that counts double for Royal Brackla. The search continues.

1. When I say, "a small whisky club", I mean that I comprise a third of the membership.

Bottle o' Ridge!

When I was starting out as a booze merchant sixteen years ago, Ridge was a popular 'fine wine' choice with punters who had learned wine via such gems as the Penfold's range of affordable, full-bodied, fruit-forward Australian wines, and who preferred their soft jamminess to the dryer, more restrained style of the Bordeaux Crus Classé . The junior expressions were affordable enough that some of our more affluent customers could float in of a Friday evening and casually utter—what had become something of a staff catch phrase or in joke—"bottle o' Ridge please".

So even though my tastes lean more towards the European classics, I have a soft spot for Ridge. Turn to whisky and matters become more complicated. Red wine finishes are most definitely not to everybody's taste. Fortunately, I do like them, and am therefore the ideal person to review this one.

What we have here is the Glenrothes Wine Merchant's Collection 1992 24 Year Old Ridge Wine Finish Cask #08, which retails for £200. It is bottled at a natural strength of 55.1%, and has been finished (for six months? A year? Who knows?) in a Zinfandel cask, although we're not told which vineyard. Yes, it very likely wouldn't make much difference to the flavour of the whisky, but I'd probably look more fondly on it knowing it was Geyserville rather than Lytton Springs.

As I understand it, Glenrothes' reputation stands higher in Europe and America than in the UK, but nevertheless £200 seems quite expensive to me, even allowing for the expense of the fancy-schmancy barrel. With that grumble set to one side, here are my notes.

Nose: Vinous, but also rather spirity. Berries (generic berries. Or perhaps I mean Genericberries). Not malty. Adding a little water makes it more spirity (as is often the case), and brings out oak top notes. More water reveals dry, earthy notes, and leaf litter (sous bois if you want to indulge in the sort of Wine Spectator vocabulary that wines like Ridge seem to provoke). There's definitely something of mushrooms and wine cellars going on.

Palate: Thick and sweet, fruity, ripe, and red. Rather port-like, but with a faint bitter note in the finish. Water brings out more red fruits, and an earth or mushroom note which wine barrels often give. After a while a lovely almond pastry flavour develops.

Yet more water makes it very soft and easy to drink, and brings out high toned, perfumed, oak spices, along with a faint reminder of Edinburgh rock. It's fortunate that this whisky takes water so well; after twenty-four years and at natural strength of 55.1%, I do think it ought to be a tad less spirity.

Conclusion: This is an excellent 'sweetie' of a dram, with the proviso that you have to like red wine finishes. Glenrothes produces spirit of a very fruity character which in this case works well with the wine influence.

Zinfandel often has a character akin to Port, and that, I think is a useful comparison if you're not a wine drinker, but have tasted Port-finished whiskies. If you like such malts, then this one's for you.

Benromach 1973

It can be difficult to let go of one's prejudices, and this is doubly the case when one is tasting (that's why blind tasting is such a useful tool).

Alas!, when I first tasted this wee sample at the end of last year, I let my mental picture of pre-Gordon & Macphail Benromach interfere with my perception of what I was actually tasting, so that it seemed, if not humdrum, then perhaps pedestrian, not worth it's £1400 price tag.

So I was pleasantly—nay, delightfully—surprised when I polished off the last of the sample tonight. Why? In a word, rancio. This is such a rare thing to find in a Scotch, and it's such a delicious flavour. Especially when it's combined with maltiness rather than the fiery fruit of brandy.

Now, I've described rancio as a flavour, but it's perhaps more accurate to say flavour modifier. In very old brandies of good quality, the fruitiness will sometimes take a turn to the dark side, with suggestions of over-ripeness or a faint hint of hothouse rot.

By contrast Scotch, perhaps because of the cold climate in which it matures, is more likely to acquire a slight fust, something which speaks of the damp, earthy warehouses and old oak casks in which it has aged.

So as I say, it was a delightful surprise to taste a malt with rancio. Aside from that, there was some of the fust that old whisky takes on, as well as the faintly grimy, garden-shed-and-old-engine-oil character that I only ever find in Springbank, Benromach, and some other whiskies distilled in the Seventies or earlier. It wasn't a very intense dram, but oh! such lovely flavours.

(Thank you to Benromach and to Steve Rush of the Whisky Wire for the sample)

Tasting Note: Miltonduff 21 Year Old

Miltonduff doesn't really figure in any list of distillery greats. There's hardly an official bottling to be had, seeing as Chivas Bros. main use for it is to blend into Ballantine's (alongside the blessed Glenburgie).

So it was a real pleasure to taste and enjoy this bottling by Morrison & Mackay, the Perthshire firm to whom the Scotch whisky industry turns when in need of a whisky liqueur (they also bottle some cracking malts).

It's a dram which is both light in colour and light of body, although far from lacking in flavour. In fact, it manages that special trick of keeping several different flavours going at once in the back of the mouth. There's a waxy yellow fruit note, and a tangy Edinburgh rock thing, plus the corresponding chalkiness (which doesn't always happen, by the way). There is also a fizzy, sherbet-y lightness.

The cask flavours are very much in the background and integrated with everything else which is going on, allowing the distillate character to shine through.

Of course, this is a bottling from just two hogsheads, so it's probably all been drunk by now. So what? There's always another whisky to find. There's probably another Miltonduff out there, just waiting for you. Go get it!

About Miltonduff

Built in 1824 near Elgin, Miltonduff has seen several changes of ownership; since 2005 it has been run by Chivas Bros. It was one of a handful of distilleries to be fitted with Lomond stills, making a whisky called Mosstowie. Nowadays it is most important as a component of the Ballantine's blend.

Tasting Note: Kininvie 23 Year Old Batch 3

I'm sure we all have a personal list of whiskies we're desperate to try. Indeed, such lists almost have their own publishing category. For me, it's a rather fuzzy list, entitled "A malt from every distillery which didn't close before 1980". Very arbitrary, I know, but somewhat practical, from a financial point of view.

Today, I was rather excited to tick Kinivie off my list. It's a distillery I've  visited (or at least, pressed my nose against the windows), without ever experiencing the malt itself. Quite frankly, it was a big disappointment.

The nose is sharply spiritous, youthful, unevolved. There was a very good clean oak spice, and a nougat nuttiness, but also that raw oak character which always makes me think of gluey porridge. As Puddleglum put it, far more eloquently than I could, "it smells of modern cask management".

The palate is rather sharp. It's a light bodied whisky, sweet and nutty (like flapjacks, the sweetness is syrup rather than honey). The second sip is better, with a pleasant maltiness. Rather short, however.

In all, it's merely a decent whisky. The price is just silly. I would speculate that it has been set so high to increase the desirability of the whisky in the face of its ordinary flavour. As Smiley says in Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy, "The more you pay for it the less you are inclined to doubt it".

About Kininvie
Kininvie was built in 1990 to provide malt for William Grant's blends. It is also one of the three malts in Monkey Shoulder. Tucked away in the grounds of Balvenie, it's actually just a still house - mashing and fermenting is done using Balvenie's mash tun and washbacks.

Tucked Away Amongst the Trees - Kininvie

Closed For A Reason

Closed For A Reason

My tasting note for this dram - admittedly written after a long afternoon of tasting big Australian red wines - reads in full:

A good ordinary dram. Decent malt, light fruitiness. The initial nose was like a whisky smell from childhood.

I've tasted only a handful of whiskies from Convalmore, and none of my notes really get any more enthusiastic than the one above. Hence the title of this post.

In 1985, Convalmore was one of five distilleries to close. In 1983, eleven had shut down. The Scotch slump of the eighties meant that producers had to face some hard choices. I'd hazard a guess that it was probably easier to choose to close a distillery which didn't produce a particularly outstanding whisky.

About Convalmore
You can still see the distillery buildings, although these days they are just used for storage by William Grant & Sons (Glenfiddich and Balvenie are neighbours to Convalmore). There's plenty of detail over on Malt Madness.

Comparison: Càrn Mòr Strictly Limited Mortlach 1998 vs Wemyss Pastille Bouquet Mortlach 1998

Wherein I make invidious comparisons between similar whiskies from different bottlers, and indulge in a moan about pricing.

Càrn Mòr is the brand of a family run Perthshire based bottler of malt whisky. Wemyss Malts is Fife based, but similarly a family affair.

Càrn Mòr's packaging is, to be kind, cheap and cheerful, while Wemyss is rather more classy, with a retro bottle shape, pastel coloured labels, and poetic names (or, if you want to be unkind, word salad).

I tasted Càrn Mòr's Strictly Limited Mortlach 1998, which is a bottling from two ex bourbon hoggies, versus Wemyss Malts Pastille Bouquet Mortlach 1998, from a single hoggie. Both are bottled at 46% ABV. There was a great deal in common between the two, with plentiful confected fruit flavours tending to the yellow and red parts of the flavour rainbow (or map or wheel or mandala or whatever it is these days) in both bottlings. Both also showed an elegance, and had a rounded and long finish.

But, whereas the Càrn Mòr whisky had well integrated wood notes, which added to the overall complexity of the dram, the Wemyss bottling seemed rather dryer, and the oak tannin was slightly aggressive in the finish. Only in the direct comparison, mind you. Having previously tasted both these whiskies separately (or rather, against other malts, not other Mortlachs), I would have struggled to describe the differences.

It seems to me that Càrn Mòr obtained the better casks, or were able to produce a better whisky by selecting two casks of contrasting character. So it's probably about right that the Wemyss is a fiver cheaper (£53.50).

Both of them, however, seem cheap when one contemplates the forthcoming new official Mortlach releases. On commercial grounds Diageo can't be faulted for their decision to reposition Mortlach as a luxury brand, competing in the same segment as Macallan and Dalmore. But in going from £55 for 70cl of 16 year old malt to  50cl of no-age-statement malt for the same price they're really taking the piss underlining the arbitrary nature of whisky pricing. Their costs haven't suddenly jumped up (although I suppose that bottle design doesn't come cheap)

To me, a whisky drinker with a long memory (and an obsessive note taker), the current steep upward trajectory of malt prices, despite rising demand, looks awfully like greed and short-termism. Here's hoping it doesn't precipitate another crash and a wave of closures. Caol Ila as the Port Ellen of 2050, anyone?

The Scotch Whisky Regulations – Reading Between the Lines

Recently at work we've been debating where to fit AnCnoc whiskies on the shelves. Partly, in truth, because the Highland shelves were over full, but partly also because the whiskies from Knockdhu distillery are fine examples of the classic Speyside flavour profile, even if it does say 'Highland' on the tin.

Now, prompted by some twitter chat regarding what constitutes Speyside, I've been having a read at the Scotch Whisky Regulations 2009 (the SWR), and also the Scotch Whisky Order 1990 (the SWO).

The SWR gives a detailed geographical description of the Highland-Lowland boundary, and also defines the protected localities of Speyside, Islay, and Campbeltown. Speyside and Campbeltown are defined by refering to electoral wards, Islay is defined as the island of Islay.

The SWO is less particular; its definition of Scotch runs to just 175 words and doesn't mention anything at all about regions.

So here's my interpretation of these bits of legalese. It was always (or at least since 1893, with the Sale of Goods Act) the case that the label on a bottle of Scotch had to tell the truth – you couldn't label a bottle of Lowland malt as being from Islay. So it wasn't necessary for the 1990 order to specify regions because other legislation would effectively do the job.

But in order to give the same sort of protection to Scotch that is enjoyed by Parmesan, or Barolo, or Grand Cru Burgundy, it is necessary to follow the kind of geography based definition that's used by those other tasty products (PDOs or PGIs, if you're interested).

Hence the minutely detailed boundaries in the SWR-2009. However, since whisky making isn't like grape growing, the boundaries don't need to follow the line of a valley or a river, and so electoral districts are a handy pre-defined set of units to use.

However, the regulations had to be framed to accommodate existing practice. Macallan chooses to label its own bottlings as Highland, whereas Gordon & Macphail, for example, sell Macallan under the Speymalt name. Glenfarclas calls itself Highland; Tormore, just up the road, is 'The Pearl of Speyside'.

And thus, confusion reigns. It could be worse though. Burgundy is so complicated that people can't even agree on the number of appellations. Is it 300? 500? 700? And of course, there is an entirely separate debate as to whether regionality or terroir even exists in Scotch whisky, but I think I'll leave that one for another day....

Distilllery Visit: Tamdhu

Tamdhu is a Speyside distillery which was built by a cross-industry group of investors in 1897 just as the late Victorian whisky boom was peaking.

The new owners, Ian Macleod Distillers, took over two years ago in 2011. The brand has now been relaunched, and to mark the occasion they invited me to lunch at the distillery (there might have been a few other people there too).

Tamdhu was built to provide malt for blending purposes. Indeed, it wasn't released as a single until 1976. And even in more recent times the previous owners, Edrington, didn't really do much to promote Tamdhu as a malt whisky, which is understandable seeing as they have the distractions of Macallan and Highland park to play with.

They did, however, pursue a policy of filling the spirit into sherry barrels, which means that the newly launched 10 Year Old  is 100% sherry matured, a rare distinction amongst core whisky brands these days.

We are told by Leonard Russell, managing director of Ian Macleod, that as of 2013 there are ten years of sherry cask stock on hand, that the policy of filling exclusively into sherry barrels is to be continued, and that Tamdhu will be repositioning itself upmarket.

It's interesting to note that Tamdhu fills at 69% rather than the industry standard 63.5% - perhaps as a way of economising on the use of ever more expensive sherry barrels.

Not the prettiest distillery in the world

Distillery manager Sandy Coutts explaining how Tamdhu does things

Some of the stills - I couldn't fit them all into the shot!

After the presentation we were shown round the distillery, which isn't open to visitors at the moment. Perhaps as a consequence of that, the place isn't quite as spruced up as, for example, Glenfiddich. To my mind, that's not necessarily a bad thing. Distilleries are busy factories, and if they're sometimes a little worn round the edges, never mind - as long as the whisky tastes good.

At the end of the tour we were led through a tasting of the new ten year old expression, along with a limited edition (how limited I'm not sure. Certainly we won't be able to stock it in the shop).

The Ten Year Old is a good solid example of sherried whisky. The nose has brown sugar, raisins, sherry, and a sweet toffee note. The palate carries on from the nose, adding a generous dose of beery malt to the sherry, raisins, and brown sugar. What I find most interesting is that the sherry character seems qualitatively different to expressions of Highland Park and Macallan I have tasted recently Different, and to my taste, better.

This difference in sherry character, I believe, can only be due to Ian Macleod's cask selection criteria, since these barrels were filled by Edrington. To speculate, I'd suggest that since there isn't the same sort of demand for Tamdhu as for Highland Park or Macallan, Ian Macleod are able to reject lower quality barrels which Edrington would be forced to use.

(I'm well aware that I'm comparing apples with oranges here. Nevertheless)

However it came about, I like the sherry character of Tamdhu 10. It's a tasty drop; quite middle of the road, but very well put together in a way that will have wide appeal. And it looks like it's going to be a pretty decent price too - somewhere in the mid to upper thirties I believe.

Well done to Tamdhu for producing this tasty malt, and well done to Ian Macleod for not messing about with it. Long may they continue.

Tasting Note: Glenfarclas 40 Year Old

Glenfarclas are one of Scotland's few family owned distilleries, with the Grant family having been in charge since 1870. It's perhaps because of this family ownership that the distillery has some practices which I believe are unique in Scotch, and also offers a range of aged expressions which no other distillery can equal.

The Family Casks range of bottlings, for example, include vintage whisky for every year back to about 1954. The interesting thing about this range is that the casks on offer run through first, second, third and even fourth fill to what are described as plain casks (Fifth fill? Sixth fill?!)

Now, if you are planning on keeping whisky on the wood well into its fifth or sixth decade, fresh oak is most decidedly your enemy. Whilst it's true that whisky will take most of what it extracts from the cask in the early years of maturation, that extractive process will continue for the entire time that the malt is in the barrel. So for liquid which one intends to bottle after forty years, a fourth-fill cask will produce a much better result than a fresh, first-fill cask. After forty years a first fill cask would most likely be undrinkably tannic. On the other hand, and as is the case with tonight's fine dram, forty years is a useful span of time if you plan on using plain casks.

(I should note that as far as I know, Glenfarclas don't specify the casks used for this vatting as precisely as with the Family Casks range. So I'm speculating, mainly on the basis of how the whisky tastes.)

Appearance: a deep, deep nut brown, much darker than most drams.  Is that natural? I hope so.

Nose: old mellow and woody. There's a very restrained sherry note, but what dominates is the kind of elegant oak perfume I associate with Armagnac, something which reminds of old varnished wood warming in the sun, or of lavender furniture polish.

Palate: Supremely smooth. Sweet and gently sherried, with dried vine fruits, treacle toffee, and the other kind of toffee that has raisins and brazil nuts in it. Again, I'm strongly reminded of old Armagnac - there's not a lot of malt character.

Conclusion: the parallel with Armagnac is very interesting. It's the practice there to age brandy for many many decades in wood, and fifty year old spirits are not uncommon.

This is a very fine dram indeed, and in comparison with more or less everything else on the market at that age, the price tag of £300 seems like something of a bargain.

Macallan 1946 52 Year Old

1946. My dad was still a wee boy. Rationing was still in place. Scottish distilleries were in a bit of a state - in 1943-44 no whisky at all was made, and by 1946-47 output was barely a third what it had been before the war.

1998, the year this whisky was bottled. I was still a Laphroaig bore. Labour were still sticking to the previous government's spending plans. Scotch whisky was flourishing.

2012, at The Macallan distillery for the opening dinner of the Spirit of Speyside festival. The mashman, George, sitting beside me, declared that he didn't like smoky whiskies, so I got an extra measure of this rare gem.

Our table was sending out recce parties to bring back bottles of whisky, and Eddi Reader was giein it laldy in the background, but, nothing daunted, I stuck to my guns and took thorough notes. So how does a £5000 whisky taste?

The nose is smoky, sherried, and powerful. It's a bit spirity, which is surprising in such an old dram. Dried fruits, digestive biscuits. Angelica? Icing sugar. Sweet toffee like a young dram. Lacy smoke like a very old Islay. Sweet cereal notes like a young whisky.

To taste, it is smooth but also has grippy tannins. There is an oily texture, it's sherried, and the smoke comes in at the end.

Retasting, I find maltiness, great finesse, and fresh—zingy—berry fruits; something like raspberry and strawberry fruit ice cream. Then the finish is grippy and woody.

I tasted it alongside the modern 10 Year Old Sherrywood Macallan, and while the older whisky is certainly more complex and has greater finesse, I also found it more powerful. How does that work?