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!