With
the classic post-holiday obsession with diet, it seems that
alcohol is the first thing to go. The sacrifice of that daily
glass of red wine may cut calories, but it may also make you
so miserable that you end up eating the entire bag of popcorn
at the movie (with butter!), then finish off the evening with
a chocolate bar.
While
moderation is clearly the key – even in dieting –
it’s hard to find the proper role for alcohol. Let me
make a suggestion – just a wee dram of whisky can make
an entire week of dieting more bearable. As something to look
forward to as a reward for a week of proper eating, it warms
the toes and cheers the spirit. A whisky can be lingered over,
preferably in front of a roaring fire.
There
are some fine whiskies made all over the world, but let’s
limit things to the produce of Scotland, with its five hundred
years of experience.
The vast majority of Scottish production today is grain (wheat,
maize and some barley) whisky, fermented and distilled in
seven large facilities, then aged a minimum of three years,
nothing romantic about it.
This generally industrial product forms the foundation of
the blended whiskies, making up ninety-five per cent of Scotland’s
total production.
Blended
whiskies are no small accomplishment: Master blenders must
combine grain whisky with upwards of three dozen malt whiskies
of different ages and provenance to create a whisky that tastes
like it should.
What
should a blended whisky taste like? It should taste like it
always has, so that a patron in a bar in Tokyo asking for
Johnnie Walker Black Label will recognize it as the same drink
he got when he visited London three years ago or sat in a
bar in New York City ten years ago. Blended whisky is all
about consistency and branding.
Branding
is critical – what a little bird on a label has to do
with the taste of a whisky may escape me and my obsession
with aroma and flavour profile, but the folks who animated
the Famous Grouse won scads of advertising awards while bringing
their client significant market share.
Enough
about blends: It is that wondrous elixir produced in more
than eighty malt whisky operations in Scotland that grabs
the attention and commands the premium pricing.
Quite
simply, malt whisky is the fermented distilled product of
barley that has been allowed to germinate. Cold water is added
to barley and slowly heated, allowing the grain to sprout.
At the critical time in the conversion of the barley’s
starches to sugar, the germination process is halted and the
barley dried in kilns. Enter the famous “peat”,
for it is traditionally peat that fires the kilns and the
“reek” (smoke for those not accustomed to the
Scottish dialect and its marvellous expressions) that imparts
a distinctive note to the final whisky.
The
wheels of progress grind; the production of malted barley
has been abandoned by all but a few distilleries. Barley is
now malted to the specification of the producer and shipped
in bags like flour or sugar, allowing a distiller to fashion
a smoky whisky without a peat bog in sight.
The
whiskies of Islay are renowned for their smoky peaty character.
Bowmore still malts its own barley; perhaps someone at the
parent company (Suntory) has affection for tradition. It’s
either that or they recognize the marketing power of the tireless
maltman, shovelling warm barley over the malting floor, smoke
curling out of the pagoda on this desolate island of the Hebrides.
The Islay whiskies also reveal their maritime roots, often
showing a hint of iodine – you can almost feel the wind
in your hair and the salt on your….
Wait!
Before you think I have taken leave of my senses, waxing on
about whisky, take a look at how serious whisky drinkers describe
the Islay “water of life”, this from a Scotch
Malt Whisky Society catalogue:
“This
particular specimen is mid-gold in colour and it noses very
well indeed. A big, peaty hit, fairly pungent and nippy on
the nose but with a beautiful bitter chocolate note behind
the smokiness. There are also maritime notes and some bitumen.
This is a rather more assertive whisky than other casks we
have enjoyed from this distillery.
At full strength, the taste is massive, mouth-filling and
smoky. With water (and it can take a lot) the nose develops
with crêpe bandages and charcoal barbecues. The taste
is a satisfying development from this, with some peaty oiliness.
Leave this malt to sit for ten minutes and you will discover
a lovely fruity, honey nose. You get a lot for your money
from this one.”
While
bitumen and bandages do not exactly inspire confidence, I
would like to try this one for the bitter chocolate note and
the eventual fruity, honey nose. But what is this about water?
Yes, the whisky drinker will add water to bring out the flavour
of a whisky, particularly when it is cask strength, rather
than the artificial 40% created by the taxman. At bottling,
whisky is diluted from cask strength (56% to 65% in general,
depending on the age of the whisky and the evaporation), hopefully
with some of that cold crisp spring water.
In
fact, for all the propaganda about the water being the key
to a great whisky, the water you add to your glass (and the
ice cubes too) is probably the most important in terms of
flavour. When the bacterial count in the city water system
spikes up and the chlorine is bumped to keep us healthy, our
whisky suffers. The solution is easy; simply use bottled (the
blandest possible) or purified water.
Water
and malted barley, fermented and batch distilled in those
beautiful copper stills, the resulting clear spirit is ready
to be refined and matured. Enter the cask – never new,
usually broken in by bourbon or sherry.
For the next three to twenty or more years, the cask will
be as a cocoon to a caterpillar. Were there not so much alcohol
in it, you would swear the whisky was alive, as it slowly
but surely undergoes a remarkable transformation.
The wood will impart flavours, as will the long-gone bourbon
or sherry. Each cask will develop differently and here again,
the master blender must work his magic, making the Ardbeg
10 year old you got for Christmas two years ago taste pretty
much like the bottle you want to give to your boss as a going
away present.
For
most people, once they develop a taste for single malt whisky,
the next challenge is to figure out how to choose one (or
more) to grace their liquor cabinet. When faced with sixty
single malt whiskies available at a good retailer, the first
thing you will notice is the seductive packaging.
The marketers know you aren’t sure what to buy, and
hope you will be swayed by their elegant presentation. Price
is undeniably a big factor; in Canada, they range between
forty something and more than two hundred dollars.
Thankfully,
the bar and restaurant scene of any reasonably sized city
can come to the rescue, with single malts now rivalling flavoured
martinis as the hot ticket item. You can choose from ten or
more single malts in most hotel bars, and work your way through
them methodically or randomly. More and more wine bars are
expanding their offerings to include a selection of exotic
whiskeys.
No
matter where you take this experiment, chances are you will
realize that having only one bottle of malt whisky on hand
is a bit like only drinking chardonnay – your whisky
can reflect your frame of mind, light and sweet, dark and
brooding. With so many choices, it is easy to match mood and
libation. Sláinte!
Gael
Arthur
