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!