“I feel sorry for people who don't drink. When they wake up in the morning, that's as good as they're going to feel all day.” - Frank Sinatra
Not even an hour after I arrived in DC two Fridays ago I had a Glenlivet 12 and a PBR aptly lain before me. It was a welcome refreshment sampler after a 4+ hour bus ride surrounded by chatty Germans, creepily laughing and rubbing each other's shoulders. I settled in to converse with my most trusted confidant, his girlfriend, and three of his co-workers that I had just met for the first time. Everyone else was enjoying sudsy microbrews, so inevitably one of the co-workers leaned in to see what I was drinking. A few snickers came as they learned it was the most expensive drink in the bar and the least... as you can tell I like extremes.
Refined tumbler meet rugged can - it would behoove you to get to know each other... we're going to be spending a long night together...
Lately I have been trading up - sacrificing urine producing, hangover inducing beer for the evolved taste of a solid single malt scotch. Seriously, what is more masculine and gentlemanly than a tumbler of scotch? By anyone's standards, it's a damn respectable drink order and one that comes with a certain amount of class and style. I challenge anyone to look as debonair as a man in a well tailored tuxedo cradling a glass of scotch.
As with wine, the aficionados can sniff and swirl to extract many layers of flavor. The spirit has been distilled over many hundreds of years and carries with it rich histories in taste as well as branding. Those who imbibe tend to be loyal but curious. They have their favorites but are always intrigued by different vintages or various distillery's offerings. While I am an extreme novice, I have embarked on a tasting spree in hopes of becoming a quasi-connoisseur, having enjoyed 14 different scotches to date. It has proved to be a bit of an expensive hobby, but one that I believe adds to my pursuit of all things refined. In its essence, the spirit itself is both rugged and refined. Like a grizzly sailor fighting a suave spy, many hit your palette with a sharp bite but finish smooth in a wash of oak, spice or other various endnotes. To be quite honest, for better or worse, I feel like more of a man enjoying a neat glass of the brown liquor.
It all started a few weeks before Christmas, when my dad mentioned that he and a few friends would be attending a tasting at the historic Garrett-Jacobs Mansion, which now houses The Engineer's Club of Baltimore. The previous year the same group had attended a Macallan tasting which they constantly reference for the enjoyable time they'd had together. Not ever having tried scotch before, I nervously expressed interest and a ticket was bought for me. Christmas night, at one of my parents many dinner parties, and as time had whitled away towards the event date, I popped the cork on a bottle of Macallan 12 that was in their newly acquired bar. I poured a stingy portion over a few rocks and began to sip. At the risk of sounding like a real schmo, it was harsh and I struggled not to cough after each swallow. "How was I ever going to get through this looking like a refined gentleman?" I thought. But, determined to hang with the big boys I resided myself to the fact that, like anything I undertake, all I needed to do was practice, practice, practice.
I returned to NY a few days later and bought myself a bottle of Macallan 10 Fine Oak. Again... cough, scowl, choke it down remained the consistent pattern. I was starting to get a little more jittery.
One night, not having any ice in the freezer of my tiny 6th floor apartment, I decided to try it neat with the slightest splash of water instead of trudging down the spiral of never-ending stairs. It was worth a shot, I thought, as apparently it opened up the flavor, or so I had read.** Bingo! I was actually starting to enjoy it. I could taste the oak and hints of various caramel/vanilla endnotes - it wasn't all bite anymore. This was good... really good, and a relatively low-end single malt at that. What was in store for me at the more aged vintages and slightly higher price points, I wondered? Then, as I always do... I became obsessive. I googled and googled and googled until my head was overrun with information of production regions, tasting notes, intro courses, and pronunciation keys. I couldn't digest things fast enough and became hungover on scotch knowledge. I now possessed log-in information for most of the major brand's websites and "Welcome!" e-mails crammed my inbox. What scary Cracken had I released?
Subsequent outings around the city now involved scotch, trying to get a quick cross-section before the tasting. I could do this... and maybe even teach these old dogs a few things.
A Macallan here, Glenfiddich there. A Laphroaig for good measure.
"Barkeep! What single malts do you have?" I would constantly inquire as my fellow drinkers would look on with an eyebrow raised.
"YOU drink scotch? When did this start??" they would ask, quizzically smirking.
I left for Maryland the night before the tasting and arrived in Baltimore via the Bolt Bus ready to up the ante on my refinement. No longer would I sport a beer bottle or cumbersome martini glass at a soiree - scotch would now cling to my curved palm, complimenting my suits and putting the finishing touch on my Draper-ian quest.
The time had come to assemble the troops. One by one we arrived at a friend's house. Outfitted in gray flannel, with an outstretched hand I greeted them one by one. A jolly Greek patriarch opened the door and embraced me like a warm pita and I the seasoned lamb. He was giddy at the thought of a night out with the boys... his tall, shaggy-haired son shaking his head behind him.
"Ryan, haiya dyoing?!!!" he exclaimed, his melodious accent exploding in my ears.
Next, the tweed clad carpenter and organizer of the event along with his animated attorney of a son-in-law, followed closely by a stout and moustached drum corp vet with his freshly legal son. And last buy not least, my polished yet rabble-rousing father. Off we went.
The event proved to be a valuable experience in my education. While the previous tasting had featured different ages of one brand, this tasting featured 5 different brands, all of different vinatages. The flight included: Glenkinchie Distillers Edition 1991, Crangganmore 12, Oban 14, Talisker 10, and finally Coal Ila 25 Cask Strength (all 116 proof of it). We were informed of the regions, ingredients and distillation processes of each and given insight into the flavors we might be introduced to upon swallowing. Each scotch was unique and really allowed me to identify the regions that I preferred. I found that I tend to gravitate towards the Highlands and Speyside, and shy away from the Isles and their briny, peaty taste. No two men at our table of eight had the same reaction to the full flight. My dad favored the heavily spiced Cragganmore, another the high-tide taste of Talisker and a few, none at all - preferring their original brand ties to Macallan.
The Flight.
We were given a small book in which to jot down tasting notes and help us organize and remember our preferences:
Classic Malts Tasting Notes Guide.
The notes are broken down into 4 categories - Appearance, Nose, Taste and Finish. A grid was also provided ranking the scotches on a vertical axis of Delicate to Smokey and on a horizontal axis from Light to Rich. Tasting notes from my incomplete assesment included (no doubt I'm wayyyy off compared to an expert's dissection):
Glenkinchie (Lowlands): Sherry and Caramel Nose. Warm toffee aftertaste. Light in appearance and dry in taste. Light and delicate.
Cragganmore (Speyside): Good "legs". Nose, complex with Sandlewood and Christmas Cake. Spicy, Cinnomony, Buttery taste. Smooth but spicy aftertaste with hints of evergreen. Smokey and Rich.
Oban (Highlands): Thin, dark color, no "legs". Honey and floral nose. Undistinguished, thin, slight honey taste. Smooth finish. Light and delicate.
Talisker (Islands, Skye): Thin in appearance. Nose of salty sea air, brine. Very smokey/peaty taste, overly distinguished - like nothing I have had. Rough, choking finish. Smokey and rich.
Coal Ila (Islay): Appearance is light and thin. Floral, salty sea air nose with a sharp and briny taste. Burning aftertaste. Smokey and light.
I look forward to further formal tastings, and just as many informal ones at the various bars that I have found to have expansive and intimidating whiskey lists, a few of which being: The Brandy Library, Char No. 4 and The Jake Walk.
In full disclosure, I am usually sipping a scotch as I work on these writings - hence the poor grammar - but a fair trade off in my opinion. So to somehow justify my indulgence I hope to highlight a few that I have tried in future posts and attempt to provide amateur tasting notes to the best of my ability. I, in NO way, claim to be an expert, but rather an enthusiastic hobbyist. Onward - to the bar! For who am I to stand in the way of education. Na zdrowie!
*Worth its weight in malted barley, check out singlemalt.tv whether you are a novice like me or as experienced as Hemingway.
**I found out that while ice can dilute the spirit and water it down, it actually also closes down the flavors, which is probably why I was having a hard time drinking it on the rocks.
