Stronachie, Tullibardine, Port Askaig

Flaviar is an online merchant that sells a wide variety of spirits, but their specialty is themed tasting boxes. These curated sets often have whimsical names, such as Star Spangled Bourbon, The Ryevolution or Here Be Pirates, Yo-ho! (rum, if you didn’t guess). In the past I have tried flights of Balcones Texas whiskey and The Exceptional Scotch blends. This time I ordered Flavors of Scotch Vol. 2 (the first volume was before my time), with selections highlighting different styles of Scottish Single Malts.

Inside the canister you get three 50 ml vials ...

 ... with a place card for each spirit ...

 ... with visual flavor profiles printed on the back. 

This flight included two contrasting Highlanders: Stronachie 10 Year Old in a traditional style, and Tullibardine 225 finished in Sauternes wine casks. A peated Islay whisky filled out the set: Port Askaig 110º Proof.

The Stronachie distillery shut down 90 years ago, but when the A. D. Rattray company found a hundred-year-old bottle at auction they decided to resurrect the name. The independent bottler analyzed the contents and chose the Benrinnes distillery to reproduce the old-school style. This new Stronachie was aged for ten years and bottled at 43% alcohol by volume.

In the glass Stronachie had a light straw color and some lovely legs, suggesting a sturdy viscosity. Rubbing the liquid released some apple and pear aromas. A sip confirmed a pleasant mouth-coating viscosity, and I got the flavor of cinnamon pear compote. It finished with white pepper, not uncommon for Scotch.

The name Tullibardine dates back over 500 years to the time of King James IV, when it was known as a brewery. As a distillery it is rather young, having switched to producing spirits only in the 1940s. It went dormant in 1995, but new ownership revived the stills in 2003. It changed hands yet again in 2011, with a shifted emphasis on marrying Scottish whisky with French wine casks.

Tullibardine 225 is matured in ex-bourbon barrels before finishing in Sauternes wine casks (typically 225 liters, hence the name). Sauternes is a white Bordeaux style; its grapes have experienced noble rot, a fungus that shrivels the fruit for a raisin-like concentration of juice. I was expecting a light, fruity whisky, but the Tullibardine 225 Sauternes Finish (also at 43% ABV) had a deep amber color with dark aromas of plum and Mexican chocolate. The palate surprised me with sautéed asparagus before finishing with butterscotch.

Port Askaig is a gateway town on Islay, with ferries running to the mainland and the neighboring island of Jura. There isn’t an official distillery in the town proper, so Elixir Distillers of London source whisky from an undisclosed producer and bottle it as a representative Islay Single Malt. In the UK it is labeled Port Askaig 100° Proof, which might suggest a strength of 50% ABV, but the degree sign indicates an older proofing system. 100° equates to the modern 114.2 proof, or 57.1% ABV. The US export is labeled Port Askaig 110° Proof, most likely for legal reasons to avoid misleading the consumer. The degree sign is moot, as the strength is at the expected 55% ABV (half of proof).

Port Askaig has all the peaty smokiness that you would expect from an Islay malt. Its color is like pear flesh, similar to Lagavulin 8 Year, a paleness that hints at the youth of this non-age stated whisky. On the palate it shows a bit of the sweetness of Ardbeg 10 and the iodine of Caol Ila 12. Smart money pegs Caol Ila as the source, as it is the largest distillery on Islay, with capacity to outsource peated malt for various Scotch blends and independent bottlers. Caol Ila is also situated on the outskirts of Port Askaig for a nice geographical unity.

Port Askaig – Lagavulin 8 – Ardbeg 10 – Caol Ila 12

Overall, this was one of the more pleasing flights I have experienced. It was nice to try the Tullibardine, because I had been curious about Glenmorangie’s Nectar d’Or, also finished in Sauternes casks. Now that I know it is not one of my preferred styles, I can spare the expense. The Stronachie is more in my wheelhouse with its clean fruit notes, similar to the standard Glenmorangie 10 Year. And while I am always game for a peated malt like Port Askaig, I am fully satisfied with core offerings from the established Islay distilleries.

Cheers!

Cheap Scotch Blends

There are two types of Scotch whisky: Malt (derived from 100% barley) and Grain (from corn, wheat, rye, oats, etc.). When you combine the two you get Blended Scotch, and there are many blends available for around twenty-five dollars. These budget spirits have low ABV (alcohol by volume), with 40% being the minimum to qualify as Scotch.

The Edrington Group markets high-end whiskies such as The Macallan, Glenrothes and Highland Park, but their top selling brand in Scotland for the last 40 years has been The Famous Grouse. At 40% ABV, its character is rather anonymous, giving up only the mildest baking spices on the nose and palate. If you go to the website looking for details about the source spirits, you’ll only find generic fluff about Superior taste and Unique quality. I question the Unquestionable expertise behind the product when they miss bolding the final letter.

Highland Queen bears the slogan “A true legend since 1561” only because it takes its inspiration from Mary, Queen of Scots. The actual brand only dates back to 1893.

It is also bottled at 40% ABV, but twelve years of aging give the dram more personality. I found leather and grilled pineapple on the nose; the rounded palate had a sweet arrival and peppery finish. Adding a few drops of water brought out a lingering cinnamon and gingerbread finish.




The next Blended Scotch falls under the umbrella of Distell Group, owners of the Deanston, Tobermory and Bunnahabhain distilleries. At a slightly higher 43% ABV, Black Bottle gives off an aroma of rum cake and wood smoke. The sweet and smoky notes carry over into the palate with a suggestion of marshmallows charred over a campfire. The bold packaging and striking flavors leave anonymity far behind.

Blended Malt

For thirty-five dollars you can step up to a Blended Malt, meaning all Malt whisky, no Grain.

Jane Walker is a limited release in the Johnnie Walker family. The first edition was just a rebranding of Johnnie Walker Black Label, and the marketing approach “Because some women can find whisky intimidating” was a huge misfire. Master blender Emma Walker retooled the concept for the second edition by featuring malt from the Cardhu Distillery, which flourished under the guidance of Helen and Elizabeth Cumming.

Jane Walker 2.0 is a blend of malts aged for at least ten years and bottled at a curious 41.9% ABV. Rubbing the liquid released an aroma of spiced fruits, suggesting at least partial maturation in sherry casks. The disappointing palate was just a tannic, peppery ethanol. I tried the website’s suggested recipe for a Cool Jane: one part JW with two parts tonic water and four drops of vanilla extract. The result was an alarming concoction of vanilla grapefruit. A mixture of JW and cola leaned towards wintergreen. I had high hopes for this Blended Malt, but we didn’t click. So long, Jane.

The term Monkey Shoulder refers to the muscles of the shovelers who turn the barley on the malting floor. This whisky is a blend of malts from Balvenie, Glenfiddich and Kininvie, all owned by William Grant & Sons. I interpret the pewter appliqué of three monkeys on the bottle as a nod to the source distilleries.





The nose is divisive: to some it comes across as banana, to others it smells like a Band-Aid. On the tongue I found conflicting bittersweet notes of banana and radish. Bottled at 43% ABV, Monkey Shoulder is designed specifically for mixed drinks; the website offers multiple cocktail recipes. I tried it with cream soda for a pleasing cinnamon banana cream flavor. Mixing MS with cola earned a quick spit in the sink.

Famous Grouse, Highland Queen, Black Bottle, Jane Walker, Monkey Shoulder

To my eye, Highland Queen had the lightest color in the glass. This was surprising, given 12 years of barrel aging. Perhaps they were quiet, old, multi-filled casks. None of the labels say “natural color”, so it is safe to assume that some caramel E150 was added to the blends. The Black Bottle liquor was the darkest, no surprise at all.

My parting experiment was to blend all five together over ice. I was stunned to find this meta blend better than the sum of its part. The combination was sweet and spicy, tamping down the individual flaws I encountered. It was smoother than most Bourbons I have tried, and it could prove to be an ideal porch sipper for the coming summer.

Cheers!

Exceptional whisky?

What do you call an American venture that blends and bottles Scotch whisky? Sutcliffe & Son have labeled their brand The Exceptional. Don Sutcliffe, the managing director of Craft Distillers, teamed up with Willie Phillips, a former managing director of The Macallan, to source fine Scottish spirits and bring them to the American market. I ordered a sampler containing The Exceptional Grain, The Exceptional Malt and The Exceptional Blend to see if they were as exceptional as advertised.

How are the three styles different? A Grain whisky is made from corn, rye, wheat, barley or other grains, typically produced in a column still. Think of Bourbon as a grain whisky. Malt whisky is 100% barley, produced in a potstill (picture a large upside-down funnel). A Single Malt comes from a single distillery, but can be an aggregate of multiple casks, even of different ages. A Scotch Blend contains at least one Single Malt and one Grain whisky.

The Exceptional Grain states lower on the label “Blended Grain Scotch Whisky”. In this release Sutcliffe and Phillips combine Grain stocks from Loch Lomond, Strathclyde and the North British Distillery. The prize ingredient is 30-year-old spirit from a ghost distillery, Carsebridge, closed in 1983 and now demolished. The blend is finished in first-fill sherry casks before bottling.

The Exceptional Malt is “vatted”, meaning Blended Malt Scotch Whisky. The combination includes Single Malt from Alt-á-Bhainne, Auchroisk, Ben Nevis, Glenallachie, Glenfarclas, Speyside and Westport. There are three other unnamed distilleries, but the recipe boasts 30-year-old Macallan stock. The vatting is finished in first-fill Oloroso sherry casks.

The Exceptional Blend contains eleven Single Malts (including the 30-year Macallan) plus three Grain whiskies. The classification is Blended Scotch Whisky, and it is likewise finished in first-fill sherry casks. The Grain, Malt and Blend are all bottled at 43% alcohol by volume.

The tasting

In color, the Grain (sample A below) was the lightest of the three, the Malt (B) was the darkest, and the Blend (C) was understandably in between. I perceived the colors as pale gold, light bronze and light gold, respectively. The marketing material used a different palette but a similar spectrum: warm amber, golden amber and medium amber.

A = Grain, B = Malt, C = Blend

After pouring the samples I swirled the liquids to check their legs: the Grain formed a string of ornaments hanging from the collar of the jacket, with only a few tears weeping down the inside of the glass. The Malt formed a rope along the collar; after a minute a cascade of tears broke free. Some sediment clung to the side of the glass. The Blend had an early flow of rivers down the valleys of the ridgeline, later developing a string of ornaments.

My main enjoyment of whisky is exploring its variety of aromas. Rubbing the Grain on the back of my hand evoked kid leather, corn oil (suggesting corn as the predominant grain) and a creme-filled donut. There were other sweet notes in the glass: caramel, candy corn and almond butter. The Malt was earthier, with saddle leather, light smoke (which perhaps accounted for the residue in the glass), heather and honey. What a pleasure to get a whiff of Raisinets (chocolate-covered raisins) as well.

I found a similar note in the Blend, reminding me of Sunshine Golden Fruit – an American cookie (now discontinued) with puréed raisins baked in a thin crust. The association was so strong that I went online and ordered a dozen packages of the British equivalent, Crawford’s Garibaldi Biscuits, made with currants. (On a side note, Crawford’s was established in 1813 in Leith, Edinburgh, which brought me full circle back to Scotland.)

My least favorite part of whisky is the flavor. To me, most whiskies come off as peppered ethanol. I have to search deeper to find any engagement. The Grain hit me with sourness and dustiness (a characteristic of corn whisky), but underneath I found cinnamon Graham crackers. Adding a few drops of water brought out a creamy texture. The Malt started with smoky phenol and bitter radish, but holding the liquid mid tongue revealed a butteriness. The Blend was my favorite, with some faint cinnamon and butterscotch offset by olives. That said, all three drams improved with time in the glass.

Sutcliffe & Son sell The Exceptional Grain for $100, and The Exceptional Malt and The Exceptional Blend for $120 each. Would I spend $340 to have these bottles in my collection? Never. Was it worth $40 to get three 50 ml samples of these rare sourced blends? For a pleasant evening with my nose in a glass during sequestration, maybe just.

Cheers!

Discovering Glenmorangie

If you are looking to launch an exploration of Scotch whisky, here is a good starting point. Glenmorangie (glen-MOR-en-jee) is a Highland distillery on the northeastern coast of Scotland. Their entry-level product is widely available at a modest price, and it looks gorgeous in the glass.

I recently got the Discovery Set at an incredible price of 35 dollars (US). Inside the box is a full-size 750 ml bottle of Glenmorangie’s Original 10-year malt, plus two 50 ml singles of older expressions, Lasanta and Quinta Ruban. That’s like buying a regular bottle on sale and getting two free nips.

The Original is aged 10 years in ex-Bourbon casks, a fortuitous symbiosis of the American and Scottish whisky industries. Bourbon by definition has to be aged in new oak, meaning its barrels can only be used once. Scotch law allows refilled barrels, as long as they are made of oak. Scotland happily welcomes the American castoffs.

The Lasanta takes advantage of another source of barrels: Spanish Sherry. Historically, Sherry was shipped in large transport casks to Britain, where it was then bottled for public consumption. Since the casks were not shipped back to Spain, Scotch distillers had an abundant supply of oak that imparted a favorable character to the spirit. The Lasanta starts as the standard 10-year whisky and matures for an additional two years in Sherry casks. You can see the influence in the glass – the color is, well, more orangey. 

The Quinta Ruban finds another option: 12 years in ex-Bourbon oak with a two-year finish in Ruby Port casks. The result is a deep reddish-orange liquor. While the Original and Lasanta are presented at 43% alcohol by volume, the Quinta Ruban bumps it to 46%. The higher age and ABV make this a more expensive Scotch; I was glad to try the sample without having to splurge for a full bottle.

There is a spectrum of aromas in these drams: the Original is unmistakably a Chocolate Orange with a pinch of cinnamon. Deeper layers reveal lemon zest, salted caramel and allspice. The Lasanta keeps the chocolate orange in the background, with a more prominent note of sweet & sour glaze over smoked ham. The Quinta Ruban goes straight to sweet & sour pork rinds.

On the palate, the Original evokes cinnamon with a finish of bitter herbs. The Lasanta brings to mind salt smoke, if that’s a flavor. Be warned, the Quinta Ruban arrives with eggy sulfur and leaves with bitter walnuts. Perhaps it’s an acquired taste, but that’s the nature of an exploration – you have to try things first. I wish you Cheers and Bon Voyage on your whisky journey!

Peated Whisky Challenge

Islay (pronounced EYE-lah).

Islay is an island off the western coast of Scotland, just north of Northern Ireland. Centuries of harsh maritime climate have transformed Islay’s windswept vegetation into a thick layer of semi-decayed sod called peat. Local distillers use this abundant turf as a fuel in whisky production: it burns at a low temperature, favorable for malting barley. The burning peat imparts its fumes into the final spirit, giving Islay whiskies their characteristic smoky aroma.

I put together a semi-blind tasting of peated whiskies, choosing five bottles from my shelf. My Discerning Assistant randomly poured a tablespoon of each in to five Glencairn glasses labeled A, B, C, D and E. The aim of the tasting was to gain a deeper appreciation of these whiskies and see if could I identify which dram was which.

front row: A and B; back row: C, D and E

The contenders, listed in order of their producer’s geographical proximity to my home:

• Lagavulin (rhymes with “bag of woolen”), Islay Single Malt, aged 8 years, 48% alcohol by volume
• Ardbeg (looks like it sounds), Islay Single Malt, guaranteed 10 years old, 46% ABV
• Caol Ila (kuh-LEE-lah), Islay Single Malt, aged 12 years, 43% ABV
• Shieldaig (sounds like “shield-ache”), Islay Single Malt, no age statement, 40% ABV
• Curiositas Peated Single Malt, aged 10 years, 46% ABV

The first three samples bear the name of their own distilleries, but Shieldaig is not a true Islay entity. Its parent company is Ian Macleod Distillers near Edinburgh. They likely sourced the whisky from a third party – if I had to guess I would say Caol Ila, the largest producer on the island. The Shieldaig brand exists as a budget line for the American chain Total Wine & More. I picked up my bottle on a double discount for well under $20.

The only non-Islay whisky in the batch was Curiositas, a product of The BenRiach (ben-REE-akh) in the heart of Speyside. This region is on a north-facing cut of Scotland’s east coast, at the mouth of the River Spey – a diagonal opposite to Islay. The use of peated kilns is unusual for Speyside malts, hence the name Curiositas.

Let the investigation begin.

Visual. The color of these liquids ranged from extremely light to medium dark. It brought to mind analogous musical dynamics: from pianissimo to mezzo-forte.
A – medium light (mp), similar to white grape juice; some tiny sediment in the glass.
B – very light (p).
C – the palest (pp), barely any color at all.
D – the darkest (mf), like a maple candy lozenge; a larger bit of sediment.
E – very light (p), identical to B.

The darkness of D was a giveaway for Shieldaig, which shows itself several shades darker in the bottle than the others. The paleness of C led me to think Ardbeg. My new bottle replaced an old one I’d had for at least fifteen years – the contents from the heel of the old and the neck of the new were at least two shades different.

Legs. Swirling a spirit coats the inside of a glass with a thin jacket of liquid. The interplay of evaporation and fluid can create thin channels down the side of the glass. Each of my five samples responded differently.
A – the jacket left a ridgeline of rolling hills, with tears streaming down the valleys.
B – a fringe of beads adorned the top of the jacket.
C – the jacket seemed to evaporate before tears could form.
D – ragtag legs lacked a unified pattern.
E – swirling left a mottled film in the glass – particulate smoke?

Sample A was gorgeous to watch; I could contemplate that glass for hours. The slow legs suggested a more viscous liquid. The quick evaporation in C was perhaps an indicator of high alcohol content.

tasting notes

The rub. Rubbing a droplet on the back of the hand breaks down the alcohol to release some of the aroma. My reaction to these whiskies threatened repetition: smoke, smoke, smoke, smoke, smoke. So, what kind of smoke?
A – a gentle hearth.
B – barely any smoke at all.
C – campfire char near the seaside.
D – a punch of burnt plastic.
E – old arson; burnt timbers from a house torched several months ago.

Nose. I spent more than an hour going from sample to sample, searching out finer distinctions hidden behind the smoke.
A – hard to pick up any notes; faintly apricot, banana glaze and a sprig of thyme.
B – general sweetness; butterscotch, citrus rind, plantains in their skin, bananas dipped in dark chocolate, banana bread; an oddball note of a hard rubber buoy that had spent many seasons in the sea.
C – woody smells; the sweetness of a decaying log, the earthiness of an acorn cap; a clothbound dictionary.
D – childhood memories; the inside of a rubber Halloween mask, Matchbox car tires; polished chestnuts (not yet cracked or roasted).
E – orchard notes; maple, apple seeds, pear; a bed of moss; later the empty glass gave off cinnamon candy.

The associations with plastic and rubber in D again pointed to the budget Shieldaig. The outlier of the remaining four was B, suggesting the Speysider Curiositas. Most certainly BenRiach used a peat derived from mainland flora with less maritime influence. The bouquet of B grabbed my attention every time I returned to the glass.

Sip. The first impressions as the whisky hit the tongue:
A – tannic.
B – bitter radish; not what I expected after the sweet nose.
C – anesthetizing (lidocaine).
D – chemical (photo developer).
E – smoked okra

Palate. I spent more time sipping among the glasses, adding drops of water after each tasting round to open the spirit.
A – mysterious, unwilling to part the smoke; adding water just drowned the flavor.
B – daikon; a hint of butterscotch; the texture got creamier with water.
C – smoke and charred sugar cane.
D – not nice, not nice at all.
E – sweet smoked maple.

Ranking. Sample A was hard to engage with. I loved the nose of B, but the palate took an unexpected turn. C was a fair exemplar of Islay style. D? No. I thought E had the best harmony of nose and palate. My preference from most favorite to least: E, C, B, A, D.

Identifying the bottles. It was easy to pick out B and D. I leaned toward Ardbeg as C, relying on the color. I had a previous tasting note of “sweet smoke” for Lagavulin, which aligned with E. Here was my final decision, with the correct answers in bold:
A – Caol Ila
B – Curiositas
C – Ardbeg
D – Shieldaig
E – Lagavulin

The reveal.

A – Caol Ila; B – Curiositas; C – Lagavulin; D – Shieldaig; E – Ardbeg

Final thoughts. I had tried Caol Ila before with a similarly indifferent response. My plan is to set the bottle aside for a few months and see if time and air will unlock its secrets.

I would be happy to spend an evening breathing in the vibrancy of Curiositas, but then I would have to add some ice to drink it down. It was instructive that B and E had the same color, yet I didn’t make the connection that they were both 10-year-olds.

In hindsight, there were several clues that sample C was Lagavulin: the paleness suggested a younger spirit; more time in the barrel usually produces more color. The increasing darkness of the 10- and 12-year-olds bore this out. The evaporation of the legs aligned with the higher ABV as well. Lesson learned.

Shieldaig was another lesson learned – you get what you pay for. The label bears a vague two-word phrase: Finest Old. I suggest that it is neither. The lack of age statement implies a young whisky with color added. Ice and cola might make it palatable, but it will never be a self-sipper. For a little more than twice the price, most of the other samples offered far more than double the enjoyment.

It was amusing that even though I misidentified Ardbeg, I still picked it as my favorite of the group. This was the first peated malt I ever tried, indeed the first whisky that didn’t remind me of hospital sanitizer. I will always hold it dear in my heart.

Cheers!

A flight of Balcones

Balcones Distilling is in the forefront of Texas whiskies. What started as a craft distillery is now producing over 800,000 liters of spirits each year. I recently bought a tasting kit with 50 ml samples of three of their expressions: Baby Blue, Texas Rye and Texas Single Malt. To that I added a bottle of Single Barrel Single Malt from their private selection program.

Here's what I experienced.


Baby Blue Corn Whisky, 46% ABV, made from roasted heirloom blue corn. Rubbing a drop on the back of my hand released a whiff of cinnamon applesauce and almond extract. The nose from the glass suggested peanut skins, butterscotch, pear and almond butter. On the palate I got spiced peanuts with a bitter finish. I’m glad I tried Baby Blue in a baby portion, because I was hesitant to spring for a big bottle.

Texas Rye, 50% ABV (with “100 Proof” featured prominently on the label). The rub brought out soy, apple rot and sweet & sour sauce. On the nose I got apple skin and moss. A vegetal palate evoked blackened poblano peppers. I have not enjoyed many ryes, but this one was approachable. I could imagine pairing it with Szechuan, Thai or Mexican dishes.

Texas Single Malt, Classic Edition, 53% ABV. The rub reminded me of citron and candied cherries (fruitcake!) on a layer of spiced leather. The nose was a mixture of CranApple, dark cherries and stained wood siding, with a hint of sourness I couldn't define. The heat of the alcohol initially masked the flavor, but adding water brought out a taste of cinnamon.

Which leads to the Balcones Single Barrel Single Malt, selected by Total Wine. This whisky was aged for 2-1/2 years in European oak and bottled at a whopping 64.6% ABV (nostrils and tongue beware). Rubbing summoned vines and apple butter, and the nose had barbecued pork rind. The palate was afire – adding two ice cubes cooled it enough to bring out the same cinnamon as the Classic Edition. I would need to acclimate to the heat to discover more subtleties.

Balcones is a big ass truck blasting its air horn. You fear getting run over, but if you move over to a safe lane you can appreciate the size of that rig. These whiskies are not for quiet sipping in a laced parlor; they belong in the back yard, cranking music while the cooker smokes the brisket and ribs.

American Whiskey Challenge

Social distancing calls for creative measures. There aren’t any concerts to attend and bars are closed, so I put together a semi-blind tasting of American craft whiskies. The aim was to get familiar with offerings by smaller American producers. Along the way I would rank my preferences in aroma and taste. I had tried all these whiskies before, so the ultimate test was to see if I could identify which one was which.

The method. I selected five bottles off my shelf – I therefore knew what the sample pool comprised. I labeled five tasting glasses A, B, C, D and E. I then asked my Discerning Assistant to randomly pour a tablespoon of each whiskey and to place a label with the corresponding letter on the base of each bottle.

back row: B, A and C; front row: D and E

The contenders, listed in order of the producer’s geographical proximity to my home:

• Putnam Single Malt, 50% ABV (alcohol by volume). Boston Harbor Distillery, Boston, Massachusetts.
• Ryan & Wood Single Malt, 40% ABV. Ryan & Wood Distillery, Gloucester, Mass.
• Fifty Stone Single Malt, 45% ABV. Maine Craft Distilling, Portland, Maine.
• Untitled Bourbon, 63.5% ABV. One Eight Distilling, Washington, D.C.
• Featherbone Bourbon, 50% ABV. Journeyman Distillery, Three Oaks, Michigan.

Single Malt signifies a whiskey made from malted barley at a single distillery; it can be a mixture of barrels of various ages from that distillery. The grain content for Bourbon must be at least 51% corn, and may include other grains (barley, wheat or rye). Featherbone was from a single barrel. Only Untitled carried an age statement: 10 years in a single barrel and bottled at cask strength.

Putnam takes its name from Silas Putnam, the 19th-century operator of a nail factory that now houses the Boston distillery. Ryan & Wood are the last names of the founders of the Gloucester distillery. Fifty Stone refers to the amount of barley it takes to make a barrel of whiskey (50 stone = 700 lb or 317.5 kg). Untitled is One Eight’s designation for a limited one-off bottling outside their core range. Featherbone was Edward Warren’s innovation to replace whalebone in women’s corsets.

So much for the backstory of the names – let’s investigate the whiskies.

The colors ranged from pale straw to deep amber. My glasses were not identical, so relative comparisons could be askew. Here’s how they looked:
A – medium light.
B – dark.
C – dark.
D – the palest.
E – medium dark.

The legs, or the trail left inside the glass after swirling, can give hints to the alcohol content and viscosity of the liquid. There were notable differences:
A – legs all day.
B – minimal, perhaps the alcohol was evaporating rapidly.
C – medium legs.
D – quick legs.
E – long legs, looked the most viscous.

The nose. I spent about 90 minutes sniffing the samples, going back and forth among the glasses; here are the aromas that I teased out:
A – cherry popcorn, plum, cinnamon bun, strawberry Quik mix.
B – hot on the nose; grass stain, touches of molasses, pistachio, candied pecan.
C – dust, brine, caramel apples, apple leaves, a hint of apricot, cinnamon bark.
D – new sneakers, tropical fruit (kiwi? star fruit?), delicate tree blossoms.
E – cherry cola, peanut brittle, a touch of eucalyptus.

I remembered peanut brittle from previous tasting notes, leading me to think that E was Featherbone. Sample A had the softest bouquet, suggesting low ABV. This was my favorite nose. The heat from B suggested the highest ABV (Untitled). My Discerning Assistant, after pouring the samples, had said “One of these is vile”. I suspect she was referring to B; the forward grassiness was off-putting.

Ranking the nose. I had the most polarized reactions to A and B; the other three were clustered somewhere in the middle. From favorite to least favorite: A, C, E, D, B.

tasting notes

The rub. I vigorously rubbed a drop of each spirit on the back of my hand to break down the alcohol and release more aromas. Here’s what I picked up:
A – light fruit.
B – saddle leather.
C – cigarette ash.
D – banana bread.
E – a baseball.

I had experienced the banana bread before, so I had an inkling that D might be Ryan & Wood.

First sip. These were my first impressions as the liquid passed my tongue:
A – bitter. What happened to all the nice fruit notes?
B – spinachy.
C – spicy.
D – industrial. (I’m not sure what this means, but it’s not flattering)
E – nutty.

I recalled a hint of methi (fenugreek leaves) from one of my bottles. Methi gives off an amazing maple spinach aroma when cooked. That flavor plus the alcohol heat confirmed B as Untitled. B moved up a bit in my list of favorites, and A dropped down a lot.

The palate. I gave each sample more time in the mouth and let the liquid play over my tongue. The experience was disconcerting: I didn’t find any of the whiskies particularly appealing.
A – prickle on the lips, red chili powder, meat gristle. Where did the fruit go?!
B – spiced chickpeas.
C – unsweetened peanut butter; the cinnamon carried over from the nose.
D – cinnamon, seaweed.
E – bubble gum. Long, lingering bubble gum.

Fifty Stone smokes its barley with Maine peat and seaweed. The banana bread aroma had suggested that D was Ryan & Wood, but the seaweed flavor led me in a different direction. And the Maine whiskey looked the lightest in the bottle, so I decided that D was Fifty Stone. [spoiler: follow your nose]

Ranking the palate. While the nose of B was the most jarring, it agreed with the palate to make a unified whole. The taste of A was alarmingly divorced from its aroma. It was impossible to call any of these whiskies my favorite; I could only order their palates from least offensive to most offensive. The list was almost an inverse of the nose: B, D, C, E, A.

Identifying the bottles. I felt confident about B and E, and I had a strong guess for D. That left A and C. In an earlier tasting of Putnam I had noticed chocolate on the rub, and spiced soy nuts and brown sugar on the palate. I didn’t pick those up this time. C had a whiff of brine, suggesting a maritime climate, which could mean Gloucester’s Ryan & Wood. Past tasting had detected cinnamon as well.

Here was my final decision. The names in bold are the ones I got right.
A – Putnam
B – Untitled
C – Ryan & Wood
D – Fifty Stone
E – Featherbone

The reveal.

A – Fifty Stone, B – Untitled, C – Putnam, D – Ryan & Wood, E – Featherbone

Final thoughts. This was an engaging sensory exploration. I am a whiskey novice, so it encouraged me that I could pick apart such a wide variety of aromas.

Looks can be deceiving: the Fifty Stone bottle has a dimple in the base that lets the light play through the liquid. The color made me doubt my read on the nose. Next time I will make sure to have identical glassware for more accurate visual comparisons.

I would be happy to spend an evening sniffing Fifty Stone, as long as I didn’t have to drink it. I was captivated by its delicate nose; hats off the the distillers achieving that subtlety. If only they could marry the palate to the nose....

I almost titled this review Tablespoons of Disappointment. None of these whiskies will become a favorite, but perhaps a few months of air in the bottles will temper their harshest characteristics and make them more approachable.

My notes said that Untitled was nice over ice, so maybe I’ll pair it with a spicy Indian curry in the near future. I suspect my Discerning Assistant will pass.

Cheers!