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
