With Christmas or a birthday around the corner, you’re thinking about what presents to buy. You discover the potential recipient likes (or likes the idea of) single malt Scotch whisky, but suddenly you’ve NO IDEA what the hell to get them. You want to spend a decent amount to show you think well of them, but not that much, because you don’t yet understand that it’s okay to spend lots of money on whisky (don’t worry, you’ll get there). But you also don’t want to get them a ropey old blend from the service station, because you know that’s just cruel.

So here are ten great-value Scottish single malt whiskies that don’t cost that much money. I’ve set that price limit at £40 (though some of these are cheaper) and I wanted to make these reasonably easy to find whiskies, things that aren’t too obscure, or ones that you don’t have to spend hours hunting down. You could even pick up some of these in the supermarket.

So here’s what I think any whisky drinker, new or old, would appreciate:

Glenfarclas 15 Year Old – aside from this being a truly festive-smelling and -tasting dram, this has exceptional qualities. Sherry, dried fruits, treacly, oily, and hugely sophisticated, it’s a wonderful addition to any drinks cabinet.

Bruichladdich The Laddie Ten – For an introduction to a distillery, and for a ten year old whisky, this is exceptional. There’s a whole load of things going on from honey and green tea to dark chocolate. Mind-bogglingly good value for money. Reviewed here on Malt.

Ardbeg 10 Year Old – Does it need much in the way of introductions? Probably not. One of the richest, most complex peated whiskies you’ll find on the market. The fact that it is a standard bottling from Ardbeg makes it all the more impressive. Certainly a perfect gift for those who like a smoky whisky.

Glenfiddich 18 Year Old – Some people turn their noses up at Glenfiddich, probably because the 12 Year Old can be seen in bars all over the country. However, get past the 12 and you get to some really rich and sophisticated whiskies indeed – my favourite being the 18 Year Old. Terrific flavours and quite often on offer in supermarkets, so you can get a bargain.

anCnoc 12 Year Old – This is an elegant dram. Gentle, malty, and with notes of wine, this is perfect for those who are taking their first steps into the world of whisky. Reviewed here on Malt.

Dalwhinnie 15 Year Old – Staying with gentle spirits, this 15 Year Old is crisp and clean, almost like a sharp and sunny winter morning. Guaranteed to be loved by nearly all whisky drinkers, but especially to newcomers. Reviewed here on Malt.

Caol Ila 12 Year Old – Another one for those who like their smoky whiskies. This is a dirty, oily, lovely sweet peat monster, which is now one of my go-to peated whiskies. Simply lovely. Reviewed here.

Longrow CV – For those who like a bit of smoke, but don’t want to be overwhelmed, then the Longrow CV is one of the classiest and well-balanced drams you can get. Sophisticated and very accessible. Ideal for a first step down that smokey road…

Dalmore 12 Year Old – As smooth as Scottish whisky can get, this is a treat for those new to single malt whisky. Sweet, rich and satiny, there’s a lot going on for not much money at all. And it isn’t often you find a Dalmore for under £1000.

Highland Park 12 Year Old – A dram that just about ticks all the boxes. Sweetness, silkiness, sophistication and something to be relied upon. A superb standard bottling, and a must-have in any drinks cabinet. Old faithful.

So there we go – limited to ten, but ten I’m sure that would make excellent gifts. Any other suggestions?

169. That’s the level of peat stated as phenol in ‘parts per million’. 169ppm. It means that the folk at Bruichladdich have basically smoked the bejesus out of the barley.

We could get into the details on peat here, but I’d lose half of you. For those of you who don’t know much about the process, you can read up about peating elsewhere, but for the purposes of this review, all you need to know is that Laphroaig’s barley is peated to levels of around 40ppm, and Ardbeg to around 54ppm. Even if you haven’t got a clue about peat, you can see that the numbers are massively different – that’s saying something, because a lot of people consider those whiskies to be among the smokiest they’ve tried. Bruichladdich Octomore 5.1 is indeed the most heavily peated Single Malt Whisky in the world.

The whisky takes its name from Octomore Farm, which is located a mere 1.6 miles up the road from the distillery. I don’t know about you, but there’s something to be said for that. Not only is this one smokey bastard of a whisky, but you’re getting something that’s a slice of Islay too.

Various incarnations of Octomore have crept ever upward in their peating levels, as the gurus at Bruichladdich work out just how far they can go, wondering if their tall, narrow-neck stills will transform these ever-higher levels into an even more elegant whisky. A couple of years ago I tried one of the earlier Octomores, and was blown away, so I’m also curious as to what Bruichladdich have done here, many incarnations on.

Colour: pale, pinot grigio. On the nose: has there been a better integration of sweetness and peat? This is a fiery crème brûlée. Bonfires. Port. Green & Black’s Dark Chocolate. Dried cranberries. The faint whiff of diesel from a boat puttering along the harbour, the last one leaving for the mainland: distant, a touch of brine in the air. For the world’s peatiest whisky, the peat is incredibly subtle.

In the mouth: boom. If you had any doubt about that peat, here it comes. Where does one begin unpicking this behemoth? It’s like a treasure chest that needs a crowbar: and then come all of those flavours from the nose. At first, the bitterest of chocolate, smoked ham, barbecued meats, Chinese Five Spice, desert wine, a sprinkle of salt across the tongue, almonds, Turkish Delight. A long, long finish: sweet embers warming the soul. A sense of stillness afterwards.

This is quite simply one of the finest whiskies ever produced.

A bottle – if you can get one – will set you back around £100+, and it’s worth every penny. Failing that, there are other Octomores on the market, so if you can find one, just give it a shot. It’s an experience.

I saw this video linked to from the Bruichladdich Facebook page and thought it was a lovely little few minutes of footage. There are some great shots from the distillery and moody landscapes of Islay – what’s not to like? Though released not that long ago it is, of course, a little out of date already – the sale earlier this year has sadly left no room at the inn for Mark Reynier, who is interviewed in this video, and who is clearly so passionate about the distillery.

Anyway, enjoy. This video sums up why I love Bruichladdich so much. Sometimes, for me, it’s about more than just the whisky.

Those of you who know your whisky labels, or just your Islay whisky, will notice that the image up there features an old Bruichladdich logo. Indeed, this isn’t a new whisky, by any means, but it’s only recently come on sale in the general UK market. Anyway, being a fan of the distillery, I’ve always been interested in their experiments. Such unusual creations were plentiful as the distillery waited for its new stock to come of age after it rose from the ashes. There are, of course, more complex reasons for producing so many whiskies. As a result, you often see a few weird-looking bottles around, and I was in the mood to try something different, so snapped up this Bruichladdich 2003 Port Cask Matured whisky from The Whisky Exchange.

It’s a 7-year-old whisky distilled in 2003, and rather than ending up in a bourbon cask – and not even finished in some obscure yet utterly fascinating rare wine cask – this whisky has been aged only in Port casks, and bottled at 46% ABV. Another intriguing experiments from the folks at Bruichladdich, certainly, but any good?

Colour: bold as hell. Like a really strong breakfast tea without the milk. On the nose: sweet and creamy. A mellow, soft brie; or the occasional waft of dessert wine. Even a sweet rosé wine. Apples. Molasses. Pretty unusual and aromatic.

In the mouth: the classic, thick and velvety Laddie texture really shines through on this. Warming, plummy. Seville orange marmalade. Gentle and stately. Manchego or even a Wensleydale cheese. (Actually, something about this makes me think it would go very well with cheeses – not just the fact that I’m thinking of port and cheese together!) There’s a final warming, peppery tang on the back end. But it’s a rather lovely – nothing to seep into your bones like an Octomore, but still very graceful, textured and nuanced.

Again, not complex compared to many of their other offerings, but it’s very interesting nonetheless. However, I can’t help but wonder what this would have been like at cask strength…

Ultimately, it reminds me of some of their First Growth offerings, though it doesn’t have the same wow factor – as I find those tremendous whiskies – but if you’re a fan already, this is well worth checking out. In fact, if you simply like sweet-edged and velvety drams, this will tickle your tastebuds nicely. You can pick a bottle up for around £45, which strikes me as excellent value for money.

First of all, behold the purchases:

I’ll say that was a productive trip… Anyway, first and foremost, it was my honeymoon – and both my wife and I had an amazing time there. She’s not even a whisky drinker, but by the end of the trip she was nosing glasses and sipping with me. Now every time we pass the waft of smoke she thinks of peat. I’m still not sure she’s fully converted to single malts, but the island had an effect on her – and that really sums up Islay. It has a powerful and seductive effect on people. The landscape is breathtaking. The wildlife is mesmerising. The community is immensely welcoming, too, far more so than the mainland. Even the drivers wave to you as you pass by (and it wasn’t just because of my erratic city driving).

It was curious how out of date the guidebooks all seemed to be. Islay is surprisingly vibrant. Whereas some books paint various parts of the island as backwaters, it really didn’t seem that way. There’s a lively spirit (pun intended) to be found everywhere. That probably just goes to show how rapidly the island has transformed in the past few years, and I dare say most of that is down to whisky. The spirit means something here. It’s a way of life, and a booming industry means that Islay booms too. There’s plenty else to do on the island other than visit distilleries: stacks of great wildlife; abandoned beaches; a fascinating community garden (which is huge); and the Islay Woollen Mill, which makes throws and scarfs with distillery tartans, among other things.

The Distilleries

Each distillery had its own flavour. Each one possessed a unique vibe, which was an expression not of the whisky, but of the owners.

By far and away the best distillery, in terms of welcoming you through the door and making sure you have a great time, was Bruichladdich. But more on them later, as I’m going to do a separate write-up on that day. To be fair, even though I visited all the distilleries on Islay, I only toured half the facilities on the island (I was on my honeymoon) so I can’t give a thorough comparison of the complete experience. But the feeling as soon as you step into Bruichladdich’s vibrant distillery – part surf bar, part visitor centre – was one of energy. It got you really excited about the whisky, and it felt as if there was so much going on.

The best food by a country mile was at Ardbeg, even if the tour itself was actually rather dull. The facilities there are very classy; the shop and restaurant was dynamic and not at all kitsch. Really worth a visit. Lagavulin was a strange place to step into – it clearly didn’t care much about getting footfall in, and the shop was pretty poor. Laphraoig piped in the cliched Celtic music and very much hammed up the Scotland experience, which wasn’t to my taste. It just didn’t feel all that genuine. None of these distilleries had any interesting whiskies on sale – and you could certainly buy what they had there at most retailers. That’s disappointing, if you ask me. Why not throw in some distillery-only bottles? Something other than a polo shirt and umbrella to please the fans?

Kilchoman was a world apart, a tiny and charming little distillery, out on its own near the wonderful Machir Bay. It was amazing to see just how hands-on their production methods were – as you’d expect from a small distillery, I guess – and wonderful to watch just how much of the process they do on site. It really does pack a punch for its size, and the cafe and visitor centre were great little add-ons. Not a huge range of whiskies as they don’t make much, but there was at least an interesting limited edition single cask available.

The best location for a distillery was probably either Caol Ila or Bunnahabhain, both just superb settings that overlooked Jura. Bunnahabhain was a bit of a grim ghost town, and the shop was up a flight of stairs, well behind the warehouses. Caol Ila was huge. The shop had a couple of good bottles extra, including a rare 2013 Feis Ile bottling for £100, which was stunning. More on that when I review it (but wow).

Time for a quick rant.

I want to beat whoever does Diageo’s Caol Ila marketing around the head with a bundle of barley. Caol Ila is an incredibly underrated whisky. Most of its production gets poured into Johnnie Walker blends – 25% of a Green Label bottle is Caol Ila, for example. But the single malt is incredible, and is the best peated whisky on Islay in my opinion. The Caol Ila site is massive and industrial and fascinating – quite unlike the others. What’s more, it comes with a stunning view from the still house. The tour was brilliant, the staff there were hugely knowledgable and great to chat to. The shop, however, was tiny, and the facilities were non-existent. Now, this is a corner of the island with very few cafes, and the view is stunning. For Chrissake, build a decent visitor centre with good facilities, get behind the brand and the heritage, and you will have people gladly throwing fifty-pound notes in your direction all year round. Diageo should catch up with Bowmore, for example, who had a remarkably nice visitor centre and facilities, with an array of interesting bottlings. At Bruichladdich you can fill up your own bottle from a cask! And by getting behind the brand, I don’t mean combining it annoyingly with the ‘Classic Malts‘ range. Just let Caol Ila sing on its own, thank you very much – this is Islay!

Rant over. So, Bruichladdich, Kilchoman and Ardbeg were my top three sites for visitor experiences, closely followed by Bowmore. Laphroaig might have been better if it didn’t seem so consciously touristy. Oh, and a shout out to the Islay Whisky Shop in Bowmore, which has a fantastic array of independent bottlings – most definitely worth popping in for a bargain or two. Either way, if you’re a fan of whisky, you really ought to get to this island. It’s a way of life here and will change the way you think about the humble dram. It’s an important part of the economy and the community – of people’s lives. And you really start to understand what that means.

Finally, check out this gallery – and click on the images to see the full shot. There’s some photos of various distilleries, either inside or out, and a nice picture or two of the landscape. The green shed, by the way, is the source of the Octomore spring, where Bruichladdich gets its water. As I say, more on that later in the week…

It is no secret that I like Bruichladdich whisky. But my appreciation for the distillery isn’t just about good single malts. Its recent history has been fascinating, from its resurrection by Mark Reynier in 2000, to the bittersweet purchase by Rémy Cointreau for a staggering £58 million in 2012. I like that Bruichladdich has tried to resurrect the Port Charlotte facilities, too, even though that operation has not quite come to fruition – though the whisky has. I’ve enjoyed master distiller Jim McEwan’s experiments and his team’s progressive attitude. They’re always trying brave things, even though not every dram has hit my sweet spot.

Arguably they’ve changed the whisky industry, too, by showing just what can be done when you strip the bottle of age statements. That experimental attitude is now clearly being shared by many other distilleries these days. But I must admit that, when the sale to Rémy went through, I feared some of that feisty independence would be corporatised lost. After my visit, I’m utterly convinced that the opposite has happened. Whether their owners know it or not, Bruichladdich is turning things up to eleven – the future holds a huge amount of potential.

Making Connections

That I was an admirer of the distillery had not gone unnoticed. When I tweeted about my honeymoon visit, the Lord of Digital at Bruichladdich (a.k.a Carl Reavey) made a note to find me during the tour. But before I get to that part, just how many distilleries would go out of their way like that? How many would actively use social networks to build real connections, and not merely use them for marketing 101 tweets (e.g. “Hey, potential consumers, what’s the best way to enjoy our Whisky X? Pls RT our product”).

Connections, I discovered, are really what Bruichladdich is about – from the online social networks, to the physical social networks and community on Islay. Bruichladdich employ about 80 members of staff, which makes them one of the largest employers on Islay. That’s profound on an island so small. Remember that for a good while the distillery stood dormant, many locals without jobs and the nearby settlements of Bruichladdich and Port Charlotte standing in an undignified state to say the least. Mark Reynier’s team not only rebuilt the distillery, but totally reinvigorated that community. They use Scottish barley and, where possible, it comes from Islay itself – think of what those secure contracts do to help farmers in a tough industry. These little ripples have helped boost the island economy, no doubt.

The Distillery

Bruichladdich is located on the shores of Loch Indaal, about 20 minutes from Bowmore, which you can see on the opposite shore – Islay weather permitting. Bruichladdich seemed to me to be a medium-sized distillery for the island, which makes that employment ratio even more impressive (for example, I saw just four people at Caol Ila). The visitor centre is part surf bar and part whisky shop. There’s a buzz about the place. You get a warm welcome from Mary and her vibrant young team as soon as you step through the door. A dram is almost thrust into your hands before the tour – no bad thing, even at 10am.

A vast range of bottlings could be seen on display, some not for sale and purely for the heritage factor. But a lot were on sale. Of course, Bruichladdich produces a lot of different types of whisky – from Port Charlotte and Octomore to the unpeated main Bruichladdich range. One of the suggested outcomes of the Rémy purchase was a streamlining of the range. Well, I don’t think that their wide selection is going to be reduced any time soon. In fact, I’d say even more whisky is coming, much to my delight.

What I also liked about the shop was that you could fill up a special Valinch bottling yourself, straight out of the cask. This particular day featured a 21-year-old Andy Murray Wimbledon victory celebration whisky. That just makes the visitor experience just that extra bit cooler, but I’m genuinely surprised no other distilleries on the island has thought to do the same.

The tour itself was good fun, and our guide, Jessica, was extremely knowledgable; she was entertaining and gave a good narrative. Visitors were able to see a lot of the production areas, and could take photos wherever they went (unlike, say, Ardbeg). The distillery is properly old-school. There are no computers here, just a blackboard. Much of the equipment is Victorian and splendid, and probably quite labour intensive – hence the large numbers of employees. And there are some rather unique things on site.

Ugly Betty, pictured here, is an unusual still – apparently she’s not good for whisky, but she makes a splendid gin. I was stunned to hear that one distillation run makes a staggering 250,000 bottles! To be more specific, Ugly Betty goes to make The Botanist gin, which uses 22 plants found on Islay itself – again, even though it’s not whisky, there’s still that Islay terroir. Anyway, back to whisky.

We chewed on barley that was unpeated, and barley that had been peated for the Octomore range – the world’s most heavily peated whisky. Apparently they’re experimenting to exceed the current 168ppm to an eye-watering 300ppm. We were able to sample some unpeated raw spirit that had come pretty recently off the stills, and which was still pretty tasty. What’s more, we were encouraged to rub our hands and faces with it! After this, our mugs stinking of barley, we headed back inside for a sample dram from a range of options.

As mentioned above, Carl caught me and my wife at this part of the tour and took us to the Bruichladdich offices for a natter and a dram. We got to chat about loads of cool things, very few of which I can talk about – sorry! – but it only made me love the distillery so much more. I was more than reassured that Bruichladdich’s independent streak really isn’t going anywhere. Carl’s a very cool chap with a heck of a life story. It was great to hear about what drew him to Islay from his (and my current) hometown of Nottingham, to see how he settled into island life and eventually came to work with Bruichladdich. At that point he even brought out a bottle of The Botanist for my wife, as a honeymoon gift. All of this wasn’t necessary, of course, but it was such a wonderful moment for a whisky geek like myself. It helped cement that connection between myself and Bruichladdich. It made the distillery really mean even more to me and my wife – who promptly bought the distillery tartan scarf from the shop. I also emptied my wallet there, but that was mainly for whisky.

Octomore Farm & Spring

Later, Carl drove us up in the Laddie minibus to Octomore farm, which is where the heavily peated whisky gets its name, and where the distillery gets its water (as well as some barley). We met the man-mountain that is farmer James Brown – now there is a force of nature if ever I saw one. He comes across as so mild on the videos, too! James showed us about the farm and explained its history before Carl then took us up to the source of the Octomore spring. Before Bruichladdich started using the spring, the well had actually been lost for years, covered over by a land slip. Once roughly located a few years back, it had to be dug out by Carl and James’ own hands. (Though I believe Carl was the one who actually rediscovered it, and therefore has bragging rights.)

These days a much more approachable shed marks the spot where the spring is to be found. The Octomore water is piped up to be used directly in the production of the whisky – taking drams down from cask strength to 46% ABV for the standard range. This will be going up to 50% in future, if I heard correctly, which is impressive for standard bottlings. Luckily, while we were there, we got to sip directly from the Octomore spring. The water was so nice and velvety, it’s ruined tap water for me completely.

All in all, this visit was something special. I got to see behind the scenes of my favourite distillery, and everything I saw made me appreciate what they do even more. Their quest for Islay terroir and natural whisky is not merely some marketing gimmick. It truly is a way of life for them. Whisky isn’t just something to sell; it’s got passion, it’s got soul. It really is about people and the land. I understood that intellectually before; but I absolutely felt it afterwards.

If you’re planning on visiting Islay, I will personally slap you if you do not visit Bruichladdich. I realise my trip contained behind-the-scenes extras, but even so the experience there is the best on the island – from the warm welcome to the selection of drams at the end. If you’re not planning on visiting any time soon, just check out this recent video. It sums things up perfectly. Meanwhile, here are a few extra photos – just click on the image for a better view.

In the age of the McDram, where whisky is a booming business and distilleries churn out bottles – this question has never been more important: what are the effects of a particular environment – a few fields, no less – on the flavour profile of a whisky? The Islay Barley series is all about terroir. It’s about people, a region, an expression of – dare I say it – life. This is not my first Islay Barley. The whole series is a concept I admire greatly – pick a field or two, harvest the grain from just that field, and distill it. On its own.

I’ve enjoyed the 2006 Dunlossit Farm, and 2004 Kentraw Farm. The Bruichladdich Islay Barley 2007 Rockside Farm was, according to the Laddie website: “grown for Bruichladdich in the Minister’s Field at Rockside Farm by Mark and Rohaise French”. Let’s get to it.

Colour: pale, untreated oak. On the nose: very much like the 2006, and 2004, there’s a fresh, malty, zingy, citrusy start to this, but it settles down into a creamy and custard flavour (homemade, none of that shop-bought nonsense).

In the mouth: one of the most complex young whiskies, this. Certainly a shade more complex than either the 2006 or 2004. Whereas the other two were somewhat more sweet and the bold barley blasts were dominant, this is a little more stately. The sweetness isn’t overwhelming, which leaves, for me, a bunch of very tightly packed flavours that just need time to pick apart. Vegetative. Oily, though not too thick. There’s a hint of some woody mustiness (a good thing) that I’ve picked up in one or two Japanese whiskies over the past year, which is fascinating.

I like it. This is definitely the most introverted of the series, and it is one to dwell on. A social dram, perhaps, but equally good by the fire as you consider some curious aspect of a far-away Scottish island. To be honest, I’m not even sure an individual flavour description is really the point of these whiskies. Part of me wishes I kept onto the other Islay Barley whiskies so that I could do a comparison, for I guess that’s where the real deal is do be found. How does each of these locales vary? What do they each have to offer?

All I can say is that you’ll get a unique slice of Islay and a thoughtful single malt whisky. Bruichladdich Islay Barley 2007 Rockside Farm comes in at £45. That’s worth the money, if you ask me.

I had been saving this for a special occasion, and the special occasion ended up being that I wanted to open it. Earlier in the year I visited Bruichladdich distillery on Islay and had a splendid time of things. While I was there, I picked up the distillery bottling, which you could fill up yourself from the cask in the store. (That’s me pictured filling up my bottle.)

That act, really, makes this more about the memories than the whisky, as you’ll not easily track a bottle of this down. So why am I reviewing it? Because I opened it, mainly. But I wanted to raise the idea, once again, that it’s bloody cool to be able to bottle your own whisky when you visit a distillery. It makes the trip all that more memorable. Plus the act is almost ritualistic, and gives you not just a memory but a connection. In the age of the commercial branding for whiskies, where single malts are being churned out by the tanker load, that means something.

Distilled in 1992, bottled in 2013 – a total of 21 years, and enhanced in premium French oak. Bottled at 52.5%. You could pick a bottle of this up at auction for around £90, and they might still have one or two in the Laddie shop.

Colour: heading into the darker phases of amber with this, almost heather honey, but there’s a red hue – not quite a sunset. On the nose: raisins, maple syrup. There’s plenty of depth of sweetness, with stewed apples, a little treacle sponge.

In the mouth: this is smoother than a George Clooney chat-up line. In fact, I hate using that word ‘smooth’ because it’s so overused. But this time, I deploy it wholeheartedly. It’s probably the smoothest, most velvety whisky I’ve had in a good year or so. I’m a texture man – that’s what makes me excited most of all about a whisky – and this does some really interesting stuff. Whizz it around your mouth and you get some wonderfully chewy fruits, though it’s not as thick as some Bruichladdich whiskies. It’s viscous, yes. It clings. It settles into your tastebuds, whacking them with those core syrup notes. Dried fruits galore, this is one for those who appreciate your sweet beasts. Towards the end: Assam (single estate loose-leaf tea, none of that bagged nonsense). Perhaps the woodiness pokes its head through the door when you’d thought it had gone, but that doesn’t detract from some very nice peppery warmth to finish on. And which surprises for such a sweet and velvety whisky.

An odd one, this release. And a very cheap bottle of whisky it was too. I bought this last year, when I was at the Bruichladdich distillery shop, for… (wait for it)… £15! I haven’t purchased whisky at that price since my student days. To be honest, the mere thought of buying a bottle at that price now gives me the shivers – would I be buying screenwash or bleach in whisky form? Would I keel over and be found face-down clutching a Glencairn glass?

No. This was different. It’s a blend of whiskies composed by master distillery Jim McEwan, the guru behind Bruichladdich. Except… this isn’t Bruichladdich whisky. This is a blend that contains whiskies from Speyside, Islay, from the Highlands and the Lowlands. Given that I’m pretty much a fan of most things that come out of Bruichladdich, it’s safe to say I trust Jim’s judgement on what makes a good dram, and I was rather intrigued to see what he could do with the output from other distilleries. Which is why I purchased a bottle of Jim McEwan’s Symphony No 1, bottled at 46% ABV.

Is it any good?

Colour: dark amber. On the nose: a gentle sweetness, that goes into something heady, like rich heather honey. A deep mineral quality and then a blast of blackberry jam. Touch of cloves in the distance.

In the mouth: that texture! It’s a really nice, heavy (not especially oily, I don’t think) dram. It possesses an exceptionally velvety quality – swirling it around your mouth is rather lovely. A lot of those notes on the nose come through on the taste, then big hitting dried fruits. Jammy, most certainly, and buttery. A gentle warming finish, proper embers of the fire stuff… And that’s about it. Okay, so texture aside, the taste profile falls a touch flat perhaps, a little too woody for my tastes, but this is astonishing for such a cheap blended whisky.

It’s available, to my knowledge, only from the Bruichladdich shop. Okay, so it’s not the most important reason you should visit Islay, I’ll say that much, but it’s certainly a tempting add-on sale. In fact, I’d go so far as to say this is one of those benchmarks for cheap whisky. If you can do this for less than £20, there’s no excuse for anyone releasing rubbish whisky.

I make no secret that I’m a fan of Bruichladdich – their spirit and their spirit – so take this review with a pinch of salt. That said, I think there’s something to be said for exploring new whiskies from a distillery you admire, as you bring with it a weight of knowledge, expectations and more importantly comparisons. That all sort of helps you triangulate where the distillery is going, as you know where it’s been. If you get a spare moment, do to read my epic write-up of my visit to the distillery. I think it gives a pretty good perspective on who they are and what they’re about.

But let’s get to business. Bruichladdich Cuvee 640 is one of three whiskies from the ‘Cuvee‘ range. I was a big fan of the First Growth series. In fact, one or two of those wine-finished drams would rate in my top ten whiskies. The Cuvee series, if I understand it rightly, is a sort of extension of that. Take great spirit, let it live for years in American oak, but finish it in casks that have previously housed wine or spirit. Cuvee 640, which I acquired recently, is the Eroica edition – and was finished in casks that held cognac, before being bottled at 46%. The bottle features the subtitle from the opening line of Nietzsche’s ‘Thus Spoke Zarathustra’, perhaps a ‘Übermensch’ hint to this being something that would be drunk by a superman or superwoman (or perhaps even just drunk with your underwear on the outside). All very well, but the taste?

Colour: warm oak, with a notable vibrant tinge. Not quite as far as orange, but certainly something unusual.On the nose: heady, but tightly packed together. Opens into really interesting – deeply interesting – fruits. A blast of apple and cherry. In fact, the kind of apple sauce you’d serve with roast pork. It settles into pudding straight away: juicy sponge cake, and then a rather refreshing mineral quality. A viognier wine. Just a hint of sage or thyme perhaps.

In the mouth: that unmistakable elegant yet thick Laddie texture (in the same way Dalmore has an unmistakeable texture). The apple and wine notes lead the way into this. A hint of bitter dark chocolate and oranges. It’s not as outrightly sweet as the nose promised, which is not bad thing. A mellow, Manchego cheese flavour. Perhaps red-wine style tannins on the back end, and suddenly you feel you might not be drinking whisky at all, but it’s now late at night and you’ve been sipping a superb Pinot Noir. Intense, yet sensual. At the end the spices embrace you, and then a gentle honeyed reminder that this is silky, complex whisky.

It is, of course, good. It’s very good and, bring Bruichladdich, it’s different. It is as good as those First Growth whiskies though? I don’t know. Value comes into this, and at £75-£90 a bottle, I still think it’s a good purchase to make. Yet the First Growth were about half of that (and at that price, I bought a stack of them), which has me thinking would I buy another or hunt down two bottles of First Growth at auction?

Don’t get me wrong, it’s exceptional whisky – unique, subtle, complex and deeply contemplative. A lot of other distilleries wouldn’t even get close to this, but I expect great things of a Laddie. This will keep me guessing and thinking late into the night – I suspect that, in itself, says a lot about the high quality of the whisky.

I do like a wine-finished Bruichladdich whisky. In fact, when I finally pass from this world, I might request to be buried in a premier cru wine cask that has previously held Bruichladdich (or at least a casket made from one).

You don’t tend to see a huge number of new Bruichladdich releases, let alone many of these fancy wine finishes – not now they’ve stabilised the range, and not like the entertainingly crazy pre-Remy Cointreau old days (I couldn’t keep up with the number of bottles then). The First Growth series was one of the best they’ve ever done – a belter at under £50 a go. And though I’ve only had a couple of the new Cuvee range I’ve been impressed again; the latter is a little more expensive if worthwhile.

So imagine my delight when browsing a couple of the online whisky auction websites to see some reasonably old wine-cask finished Bruichladdich whiskies going for under £40 a go. Yup. They’re masquerading under the moniker of the Links series, the fabulously designed range of whiskies that were branded with the names of various golf courses and released a few years ago. The art for the labels was drawn by renowned artist Graeme W. Baxter.

I picked up the Valhalla at Scotch Whisky Auctions. It wasn’t immediately apparent what wood this had matured in, but a little research cast a light on it. The Valhalla had been matured in bourbon casks for 15 years, then additionally matured in premier cru, first-growth Climens Barsac casks (1855 Sauternes-Barsac classification, if that means much to you). Chateau Climens is one of the most lauded dessert wines in all of France.

The Valhalla was the 10th in this acclaimed Links series, with limited worldwide release of 18,000 numbered bottles. Not exactly limited, that, which is probably why auction sites are filled with them. And, judging by my recent monitoring on the series, bottles from this series almost always sell for between £40 and £60 a go. In the modern world these are, quite simply, bargains. The Valhalla was just £40.

Colour: russet apples, honeycomb. On the nose: vanilla, apple pie, peaches. A little bit of malt. Green apples. Hops.

In the mouth: a lovely warmth to this, and a great balance between the gentle sweetness and malted qualities. An elegant and excellent Laddie texture, as I’d hoped. Vanilla again, almonds. An almost wasabi like character, although very distant. A lot of wood spice within the core, yet it doesn’t overpower – it seems to enhance everything. Lovely late summer fruits towards the middle and back-end.

The Valhalla is a solid Bruichladdich whisky, certainly, but I’ve always judged this distillery most harshly because I love the place. So a solid Bruichladdich is, in my book, a very good whisky indeed. At £40 it’s ridiculously good value and there’s no reason you shouldn’t pick up this little piece of Laddie history. An everyday dram at old-fashioned prices.

And yet… you can’t actually buy a bottle at any retailer, really, so my point is this: once you ignore the vintage Port Ellens and jump off the Karuizawa bandwagon, there are some absolute steals on online auction sites. The Bruichladdich Links series is, in my book, full of bargains, and I’ll definitely be buying more in future. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, because you’ll now be bidding against me in future auctions, but I’m sharing the knowledge because I’m nice.

Cask strength Bruichladdich? Bruichladdich that’s been matured entirely in a wine cask? Colour me excited, for those words are ever-so-slightly pornographic for this whisky drinker.

Long-time readers of Malt will know that I love this distillery, and for any newcomers I’ll direct you to the likes of this post when I visited Bruichladdich in the summer of 2013 and was given a splendid bonus tour by Carl Reavey.

Should life ever get too stressful, all I have to do is close my eyes and picture myself back at the distillery. Lochindaal lapping gently against the shore in front of its white-washed walls. Barley swaying in the hills above. The force of nature that is farmer James Brown of Octomore Farm (who, upon greeting my bride of three days, lifted her up from her feet). The distillery shop styled like a surf shack, and filled with happy people. Yet, as with any distillery I admire, I’m that little bit harsher on judging its whiskies – because I constantly expect great things, and new moods.

One of the reasons I love Bruichladdich is their knack for experimentation. The Micro-Provenance Series highlights their sense of adventure – it is an “exploration into cask evolution”, which for fans of a distillery is an absolute god-send, a kind of glimpse behind the curtains to see what goes on. You get to see how warehousing, wood and climate (or rather, micro-climate), impacts the flavour of whisky. For geeks, that’s just plain cool. Such bottles are now available only through the distillery website, though some of the older ones in the range can be picked up here and there.

Cask #1310 previously held Italy’s great Amarone, a rich, raisiny, dry red wine. The spirit that went into this cask was distilled in 2004 and bottled in 2014, though only clocks in as a 9-year-old. That’s not a wine-finish, by the way – no, this whisky has spent its entire life in the cask. Only 501 bottles are available, at £90 a go, and it comes in at a potent 57.3% ABV.

Colour: extremely dark. Mahogany. Henna, with a touch of blood. On the nose: not too intense, but there are some big flavours here. Plenty of port, sherry, Armagnac notes. Mulled wine. Hazelnuts. Old school desks, pencil shavings, sandalwood. Leather. Curiously some musty notes typical of very old wood, which is remarkable given the age. Warm, plum jam. Cloves, bay leaves. It goes on…

In the mouth: oh my… classic Laddie texture, that velvet quality, medium-to-thick viscosity. On one hand its a touch dry, and on the other its mouth-watering. A lovely mix of sweet and bitter flavours though: 85% plus dark chocolate, pepper, nutmeg, vanilla, coffee. Musty, in a good way. The fruits here aren’t your typical dried fruits, they’re a touch sharper, a touch more lively. Cherries. Redcurrants, very much so. Blackcurrants and blackberries. Just a touch of maple syrup. Autumnal indeed, and with a very, very warming, woody and peppery finish. In a way, with that strange woodiness and musty quality, it really does remind me of a much older whisky, though at a far higher strength given what the angels would have taken. And to think this is only 9 years old and starting to evoke some of those flavours, or at least trick me into thinking they’re present.

That makes for a unique experience and that’s what I tend to be after these days. Give me a typical expression and I’m politely bored. Give me something left-field and I’m all yours.

Bruichladdich Cask #1310 Amarone is indecently good. In fact, it’s brilliant: a sexy Bruichladdich that made me go a bit wobbly at the knees. I kept nosing the glass for a good half an hour after it was empty, as it’s very sensual stuff. If it was a prospective partner on a date, then I’d be talking gibberish, and giving it all my best lines in an attempt to keep it out for the night as late as possible.

But is it for everyone? Well, I’m not sure that’s really the point of this series. It’s for fans of the distillery who want to explore, to go deeper into that Bruichladdich warehouse. To experience the experimentation. It’s very much worth the price tag, in my opinion, but you’re probably already there with me.

All I can say is: this is one of the most enjoyable and fun Bruichladdich whiskies I’ve had in ages.

It was the unpeated one. Of the Islay distilleries, Bruichladdich was meant to be the one that produced a lighter, unpeated single malt. That’s certainly how it seems if you read any books that were printed a decade or more ago. It’s not the case today.

Bruichladdich is an old Islay distillery, built in 1881, yet it is the more recent history that’s of interest to people. After being mothballed, in 2000 Bruichladdich rose from the ashes to become a new, fiercely independent distillery. Their ethos was anti-corporate, and against the grain of much of the rest of the whisky industry at the time. Bruichladdich was progressive, interested in localism, in local expression – known as terroir – and in doing things the old-fashioned way. They were experimental, too, trying lots of different cask finishes to explore what happened to whisky. During this era, there were a phenomenal number of releases. They even made gin.

In 2012 it was purchased by Rémy Cointreau for £58million. We saw a maturation of the distillery – a streamlining of the range, an effort to reach more whisky drinkers around the world. The legacy of that brief reign of independence is not to be overlooked. Today every new whisky distillery pretty much does what Bruichladdich did. Clever label design, outreaching on social media, blogging, trendy videos, trying interesting cask experiments, pushing local expression. Bruichladdich did it first. They set the template.

Why the preamble? Well, the peated Bruichladdich whiskies come in the Port Charlotte and Octomore ranges. They’re symbolic of the new era of the distillery, and the latest Octomore in particular represents the culmination of what the new regime is about: terroir, innovation, the land.

And I happened to receive samples of the latest Port Charlotte and Octomore whiskies. They were kindly sent to me by Carl Reavey of Bruichladdich, who I met a little while ago when I visited the distillery. You could say I was rather excited to see how these peated whiskies are developing.

Octomore 6.3 Islay Barley

This was made using 100% Islay-grown barley. The crop was sown in 2008 by farmer James Brown (a force of nature, and great character) on Octomore Farm. The details become more precise: “This lies close to the western shore of Loch Indaal on the Rhinns of Islay, and within sight of the village of Port Charlotte.” I’ve stood there next farmer James Brown and enjoyed the view myself. The grain was peated to 258ppm before distillation – eclipsing former peat levels.

Octomore 6.3 Islay Barley has been aged for 5 years and bottled at a knee-trembling 64% ABV. A bottle costs £150.

Colour: deep copper. On the nose: weirdly approachable. At that strength I was living in fear, but this is delightful. The peat – weirdly – isn’t as obvious as the Port Charlotte. I guess it’s tightly bound within the spirit, waiting to be unleashed. In fact, leave it a while and you can smell the peat from across the table. It’s here, but it’s different. Very deeply vegetative, earthy, ashy, mossy. Agricultural. Lapsang souchong. Burnt candles. In the distance there’s something sweet, but under the weight of those other unusual, delightful aromas and the strength of the alcohol, you’d do well to give it a name.

In the mouth: [Before I describe it, there’s always something wonderful when you’re about to taste an Octomore for the first time. Almost the thrill you get when a rollercoaster begins its ascent.] Christ almighty that’s intense. It’s a hot whisky, no doubt. Brings to mind the heat of a chilli. A deep, perhaps more ashy peat than the Port Charlotte. Big and chewy maltiness once you clear your way through the smoke. A honeyed quality, or even a treacle sponge pudding. The finish is endlessly warm. It’s unmistakably Octomore. It’s bold as brass and needs a lot of time to get to know it, to coax out the nuance of flavours. Not really a sipping dram – one to share with others, to question and to marvel at what’s going on.

Water is for wimps.

Port Charlotte PC12 “Oilenach furachail”

Port Charlotte is Bruichladdich’s heavily peated range of single malt whisky. Generally they’re peated to about 40ppm, which makes them as smoky as Ardbeg. It’s designed to evoke the whiskies made at the old Port Charlotte distillery, which may yet one day be resurrected after much speculation. The PC12 is 12 years old and bottled at 58.7%. It’s available only at travel retail.

Colour: slightly darker than the Octomore, oloroso sherry to russet. On the nose: probably one of the most balanced noses I’ve come across in a while. There’s a sweet peat note that isn’t overwhelming, and it triangulates with a briny, maritime aroma as well as touches of sultanas, dried apricots and raisins. Beyond that there’s a lovely buttery, vanilla custard quality. It’s incredibly intimate for a high-strength whisky.

In the mouth: whatever gentleness there was in the nose, this becomes a bruiser in the mouth. That Laddie texture is still here – it’s a velvety, heavy dram, but the spirit always tends to be slightly concealed beneath peat (not that it matters). The strength manifests, peat riding the first wave. The aromas follow through perfectly on taste – a lovely tart sweetness, in the form of toffee and redcurrant, blackcurrant maybe, and those flavours seem to match the peat nicely. In fact, the peat takes on more earthy notes than the sweetness of the nose first indicates. Honey – mead, maybe cider too. Then it’s wonderful maritime notes towards the finish: a coastal walk in autumn, flecks of salt across the tongue.

Conclusions

The Port Charlotte PC12 edges this for me. It’s exceptionally well-balanced, and has one of those noses that I could keep sniffing all night. It’s also one I’d just casually enjoy – with or without friends. And these whiskies are becoming increasingly important to me. That said, the excellent Octomore whisky continues ever-deeper into whatever dark place the range is headed. Crazy, and not for the casual drinker. It’s for explorers.

I think that in the age of hip new distilleries trying hip new things, shouting about their produce on Instagram and Twitter in a calculated manner, it’s easy to overlook the more mature form that Bruichladdich has taken. Sure, it’s not releasing dozens of crazy bottles each year, and it’s not winding up the Scotch Whisky Association as much as it used to. Therefore the spotlight may not fall upon it quite as much.

But rest assured, the thing that matters is this: it’s knocking out f*cking brilliant whiskies, of a quality that puts many other distilleries to shame, and it’s doing so with more consistency than ever before.

It’s possible that the independent bottler Murray McDavid may have passed under your whisky radar. Created in 1996 by Mark Reynier, Simon Coughlin, and Gordon Wright, the bottler Murray McDavid in fact became part of the acquisition of Bruichladdich back in the days of the distillery’s renaissance.

Skip forward a decade. Two years ago, after Bruichladdich passed into the hands of Remy Cointreau, Murray McDavid was sold to Aceo Ltd, “cask whisky broker and supplier of related distillery services to the Scotch whisky industry”. The aim of the new owners was to continue the legacy of no chill-filtering, no added colour, and the tradition of Ace-ing casks. And now there’s a repackaged range of whiskies on the horizon…

When I was at the Midlands Whisky Festival a couple of months back – in fact, sipping a coffee beforehand – I met their brand ambassador, Dean Jode. He’s a top guy and was happy to answer my many probing questions of Murray McDavid, such as what did the new labels look like (a work in progress at the time), and how many casks were there (many thousands – they were looking for a new warehouse).

One of my questions was, naturally, “What’s in that large bag you’re carrying?”. The answer, to my delight, was: “Whisky samples”. I don’t know whether or not it’s part of the brand ambassador code to never leave home without whisky, but we soon started eyeing up and sniffing some of the samples. It wasn’t even 10am at the time.

Murray McDavid feels like a spiritual sister to Bruichladdich in many respects, as there was plenty of experimentation and wine-finishing going on in the forthcoming range. Personally, I adore wine cask-finished whiskies. So you could say I was rather excited when Dean let me go home with four of these samples. Except, he didn’t tell me what they were until much later.

So what does Murray McDavid have up its sleeve?

1R15-01 – T-Spooned malt

I know what’s in this blended malt, but I’ve been sworn to secrecy. Essentially a T-Spooned malt contains 99% one kind of malt, with a dash of something else – a teaspoon, you might say – added to it. Product name yet to be confirmed.

Colour: exceptionally pale. Pinot Grigio at best. On the nose: very gentle, grassy, vegetative, mossy. Young indeed, with lots of new spirit fruitiness. Hay barns. A little yeast. Very agricultural, rather than floral.

In the mouth: all of the above. Young, vibrant, full of mineral notes. Sweet baked apples, grassy. Cream cheese, maybe brie. A little chewy toffee. Not a lot to say about it, given the new spirit dominance. (As it happens I quite like young spirit, and could quite happily even drink it before it’s legally whisky.)

1R15-02 – Allt A’Bhaine

22 years old, distilled late 1992, refill bourbon cask.

Colour: a very bright yellow gold. On the nose: very strong white wine notes, almost like a Chardonnay or bold Sauvignon Blanc. Grapefruit and lime notes. Quite tropical, with pineapple and peaches.

In the mouth: I think the nose is more promising than what is delivered. The complex aromas give way to more herby, grassy notes. Plenty of grapefruit and peach still, but less of the others. I’m getting quite a lot of estery notes: apples, strawberries even. Straw and dusty barns. All in all I don’t think this one personally rocked my world, but there’s something very refreshing about it all.

1R15-03 – Bunnahabhain

Distilled 1997, refill sherry cask, finished in a fresh Petrus cask.

Colour: burnt umber, old oak. Blood red, almost! On the nose: Still quite peaty for its age, though it’s transcended into some ash, incense and unlit cigars. Stacks of old wood, pencil boxes, school desks, and a jammy, mulled wine combination. Really bold. Chinese Five Spice. Plenty of fruits, but you have to be patient to get them. Morello cherries and redcurrants.

In the mouth: Christ almighty. It’s absolutely outrageous. In a way it puts me in mind of Bruichladdich’s experimental Octomore releases. The peat becomes sweet again, and mingles with those old wood notes (the two are hard to pull apart as they’re so ingrained). Lovely texture becomes noticeable after the first couple of sips. Redcurrants, blackberries, tangy late-summer fruits rather than dried fruits. Dark chocolate, cherries again, with nutmeg and white pepper. Then the musty wood comes back. It’s not for the fainthearted.

1R15-05 – Tobermory

Distilled 1995, refill sherry casks, finished in French wine casks from the Allier region.

Colour: mahogany, henna. On the nose: ooh yes, now that’s lovely. Old pencil boxes, lovely classic dried fruits: sultanas, raisins, perhaps more delicate apricots. A thick, gamey gravy, of all things. Elderberry cordial. Barbecue sauce! Ripe tomatoes. Just keeps on going. Absolutely wonderful.

In the mouth: gorgeous texture, with a lush sweetness. Puts me in mind some older cask strength GlenDronach. Big dollop of classic sherry cask notes, but they’re richer, deeper. Dark berries, plum sauce. There’s a lovely touch of woodiness there, and an almost old Mortlachian meatiness. This really is an outstanding whisky.

Conclusions

I guess it’s hard for me to really comment on whether or not you should buy these whiskies when at least one might not be in this form (instead being re-racked into something else), and that they might not be available for a few months yet. I don’t even know the prices yet.

But, from this selection, I can say without hesitation that there are some seriously impressive whiskies in the hands of Murray McDavid. Going by these samples alone, I’d say: here is a brave bottler who’s not afraid to make a statement. In an industry crowded by so many new releases you’d think even the angels had started up a bottling business, it’s brave companies like Murray McDavid that make all the difference.

Maybe I’m just a sucker for a wine cask finish, but I’ll be first in line to buy some of these.

Stay tuned to their Twitter feed for more information. I think there’s a Twitter tasting coming soon…

I feel I should always preface my Bruichladdich reviews with the fact that: yes, you know I like this distillery very much. (Just read about my wonderful distillery visit.) I even have a Bruichladdich fleece, scarf, tasting glass, badge and hip-flask. Yes, I am that fan.

So with all that in mind, I’ll not bother with the pre-amble about the heritage and history of the distillery and get straight to the point. Bruichladdich’s more recent history has seen them become great experimenters, unafraid to try new and curious things. The Micro-Provenance Series is where you can see some of this experimentation in action. One of the best things about this range is that you can see, on the Laddie bottle itself, so much whisky data. Does it matter to the taste? Clearly not. But the geek in me gets a thrill by just knowing the cask, the barley type, the warehouse the whisky was stored in. I don’t care how old the whisky is; young or old I can love ’em all.

And though I’d happily gauge my eyes out with a broken Glencairn if I so much as see another opinion on No Age Statement whiskies, I must confess it’s nice to know all this. It’s refreshingly honest. I can’t help but feel all warm and fuzzy to know for certain that the whisky was distilled on the first new moon of Aquarius, when the wind was coming from the east and the stillman had a dodgy tummy and a hangover from binging on a curry the night before. This information is glorious.

This is the precise reason why I purchased another bottle from this series. I like the distillery and I want to explore its expressions in more detail. Though there are a few different whiskies available in the range, I opted for Bruichladdich Micro-Provenance Series Cask #009 – 1992 Pomerol. Pomerol being one of the great Bordeaux regions, producing a much sought-after red wine. You can see from the picture of the label that this was distilled from optic barley in 1992 (filled on April 29th), stored in warehouse 12, D10 (whatever that means) and bottled in 2015 (February 16th) at 56.1% ABV, making it around 23 years old (though presumably it hasn’t spent all its life in there?). A bottle cost around £90, which strikes me as great value for a whisky of this age.

Colour: russet, Oloroso sherry. On the nose: most unusual and delicate. Honey on toasted brown bread. Redcurrants. Blackcurrant leaves when rubbed between your fingers. Elderflower cordial. Beyond I’m starting to detect traces of old wood, pencil boxes and the likes, but they’re not up in your face. It’s stately stuff.

In the mouth: Not at all a typical Bruichladdich at all, to my mind, but incredibly fascinating stuff. A balance is struck between unusual fruits – grape-juice, a russet apple – and wisps of brine. Honey, Seville orange marmalade, praline maybe. Walnuts. No citrus, but certainly a zip of something acidic in here, with wood tannins coming through on the finish. And in fact, an extremely warming chilli-pepper that follows. There’s something remarkably relaxing about this whisky. It’s mellow. It’s like a velvet glove. Lovely stuff.

I keep thinking about this 1992 Pomerol Laddie. Hand this to someone and they’d have no idea it’s from Islay, no idea it’s a Bruichladdich. They’d be reminded far more of Speyside. There’s a regional dissonance that’s hard to come to terms with. It does not compute. Which, in a way, makes the Micro-Provenance series all the more interesting. Isn’t it fun to be bowled a googly now and then?

I’ve said it before: I wish more distilleries did online only limited edition whiskies like this, and I wish more distilleries were this open about what influenced their whiskies.

Take new-make spirit, fresh from the stills. Pour it into bourbon casks. Leave those casks to mature. In theory, you’d get pretty similar stuff at the end of it, but of course whisky doesn’t behave like that in the slightest. That’s what last week’s online Bruichladdich online tasting was all about. It explored the variety around what is simple in theory. Whisky. Bourbon cask. What would three different variants of this combination taste like?

Now as readers of Malt will know, I’m a long-time fan of Bruichladdich so you should take what I say with my bias in mind. But I think this online tasting was a fantastic concept. Twitter tastings can, most times, seem a bit random. Just people barking tasting notes into the wind as if they’ve got whisky Tourette’s. Even when you’re in the zone, you’re trying to keep up with what everyone else is saying on social media and it’s harder to appreciate the whisky.

Bruichladdich have started doing things differently. Anyone can take part. For £90 you get three good-size 200 ml bottles, which would last long after the tasting itself. And the bottles themselves are pretty impressive as they’re single cask exclusives from the Micro Provenance range. The twist was this: the bottles only featured cask numbers on their labels. People involved in the tasting didn’t know what the whiskies would be, and didn’t find out until after the initial tasting.

What made this particularly good though was that Bruichladdich were live-streaming video footage from the distillery on YouTube and Periscope, as well as tweeting photos from the event on site. And who was in front of the camera? None other than Adam Hannett, Head Distiller and the man who has taken over from the legendary Jim McEwan. During the tasting people were able to ask questions on YouTube chat about the whiskies and all manner of things related to the distillery, and Adam would discuss the theory behind each of the bottlings.

In short: this is how you do a digital whisky tasting.

People could chat online following the hashtag #LaddieMP2 as well as in a chat-room on YouTube. That made the conversation easy to follow, and it made the interaction almost as good as being at the distillery itself (which also came with random bunch of fellows in the background who must have been delighted to be in the shop at that moment in time to try all this whisky).

Anyway, so what were the three mystery whiskies? They were all Micro-Provenance drams, and they each cost £90. All of the tasting notes were from when the whiskies had not yet been revealed.

Cask No. 149 – Organic Barley 2005, 10 years old – 63.6% ABV

Organic whisky is back!

Colour: old gold. On the nose: Lemon zest, creamy, coastal. Sweetshops. Very floral. Pear juice. Touches of barley. Marzipan and praline.

In the mouth: lovely Laddie texture, nice and oily. Intense vanilla, creme brûlée, caramel. Very warm and peppery with such strength, so we’ll add a little water to bring this down to something sane. Opens up some lovely fruitiness: apple juice, honey, toffee. It continues to be very floral. Really lovely.

Cask No. 060 – X4+9 2006 – 64% ABV

The X4 bit means that this whisky was quadruple distilled! That also means. at 64% ABV, it has all the alcohol.

Colour: pale straw, Pinot Grigio. On the nose: I was expecting similar, but not really. Not even close. Hoppy, pearl barley. Bran, floral again. With an underlying, almost condensed Viognier quality.

In the mouth: similar to the nose. Nutty, gentle oak, vanilla, barley again. Woody, perhaps, cigar boxes, and cinnamon. Apricot. Add water and it’s stunning. That texture just comes to life. It has a gentle mustiness though – one that I can’t recall all too frequently on my radar. Not sulphur, not sandalwood, just unusual.

It was fascinating to listen to Adam talking about filling the casks with ultra high-strength X4 spirit, at 80% (another 15% or so more that usual), and how this spirit would extract totally different qualities from the wood. It explained, perhaps, the different notes from the experience.

Cask No. 048 – Fresh Bourbon 1992 – 23 Years Old – 52% ABV

Colour: deep gold, amontillado sherry. On the nose: a combination of the above bourbon-cask notes, with cherries, Victoria sponge, plum jam

In the mouth: peppery again – really warming – with redcurrants, blood orange, cinnamon Just a touch of tannins. Peppermint. I keep going back to the nose on this one, as it’s really lovely. Doesn’t need water, but a splash brings out more fruitiness – blackberries and apples, strawberries even. Huge finish, very warm and chewy. Beautifully autumnal and probably my favourite of the night.

Conclusions

Clever stuff, this tasting. Plenty of trickery and variation, plenty to keep you guessing, but I absolutely adored the 23-year-old Fresh Bourbon. This tasting was certainly something that whisky geeks could enjoy, for all the eyebrow-raising elements to what was revealed along the way, but I think newcomers could also find much to learn.

And we did learn. It wasn’t just churning through samples, but rather our preconceptions were tested.

You can watch the tasting in full (skip forward a bit until it really begins), or you can simply order the drams yourself online. Each one costs £90 a bottle and I think that’s pretty decent value in this age.

(Note: thanks to Carl Reavy at Bruichladdich for sending these on. I should also note that such gestures are always met with honesty around these parts.)

Before I talk about Octomore 7.3, I realise that Malt might get a lot of new readers who might not know I’m a big fan of Bruichladdich. I have visited the place and tasted a good number of their whiskies (and they’ve made lot of them). With that disclosure, it’s not to say I’m a fan of absolutely everything, but with some distilleries I think it’s fair to say that there’s something about its soul, or rather something about its spirit, that just connects with you. So I won’t waffle on too much again about Bruichladdich when you can read older posts.

What I will talk about instead is peat. I quite often neglect the fact that many new readers might not know a huge amount about peat. Bruichladdich Octomore is the world’s most heavily peated whisky. But what does that even mean?

If you’re already a whisky geek then you can just skip ahead to the Octomore tasting notes.

Peat

On Islay, as with many parts of Britain, much vegetation and other organic matter has decayed naturally over thousands of years to create peat bogs. So today’s peat began its life as plant matter way before Caesar landed ashore on Britain, way before the Iron Age, and more or less around the time that the first piece of Stonehenge was hauled into place. Regions with huge quantities of peat are often peatlands – bogs or mires. It’s a bit damp in a bog, but when peat is cut out of the land (peat “sods”) by elderly fellows in flat caps and left to dry for up to a month, peat can be used as a form of fuel.

And in Scotland, easy access to such widely available fuel meant that peat was often used in whisky production to dry malted barley that had just been tricked into germination. The process is known as kilning. But unlike other methods of heating the barely, such as coal, gas and oil, peat infused the grains of malted barley with a peculiar – some might say addictive – flavour. Needless to say that different regions have different vegetation, which creates a different kind of peat. So Islay peat will give different flavours to the whisky, compared to peat from the mainland or anywhere else.

The peatiness of a whisky is pretty much about the PPM (parts per million) phenol levels. It’s rare to see PPM on the label of a whisky. Octomore is one of the few that does display this, but then Bruichladdich is one of the rare distilleries that isn’t afraid to tell you pretty much everything about the whisky on the bottle itself.

As a rough guide, Ardbeg has malt phenol levels of over 50 ppm; Highland Park around 35-40 ppm; and old Brora between 7 and 40 ppm. Bruichladdich – the normal malt phenol level – was said to be around 3-4 ppm. So when I say that various Octomores were malted to well over 150 ppm – up to 258 ppm – you get the idea that they are pretty intense whiskies. Interestingly phenol levels decrease during the maturation process, so a younger whisky is going to be more of a smoky bruiser than something older.

Octomore, then, is Bruichladdich’s hyper-peated whisky. It’s named after Octomore farm, where there was once a distillery. As with so many other farms on Islay, Bruichladdich encouraged the growth of barley for distillation once again on the site. In practical terms that means a reliable, stable income for farmers; and a genius plan to ensure the provenance of spirit remains true to Islay.

Octomore 7.3 tasting notes

Octomore 7.3 uses barley farmed only on Islay. You’ll note it’s peated a little less than the previous iterations – a mere 169 ppm compared to 258 ppm. That’s still a heck of a lot compared to other whiskies. 7.3 was distilled in 2010, aged for 5 years, and bottled at 63% ABV.

Colour: yellow gold, old gold. On the nose: I’m often amazed at how different the Octomores can be. This possesses a lovely creamy, almost mellow tone. Exceptionally malty with a lot of farmyard, barn doors, hay, almost hoppy intensity – and I think that almost masks a lot of the peat. The fruitiness is that of tinned fruit salad in syrup, with mead-like qualities. Treacle sponge. A flash of vanilla under all that, but not too much. Coastal, too, when I revisit the glass. And the longer you leave it, the better it gets. The sweet, dessert fruits come to the fore and start to challenge the dominant peat.

In the mouth: peat smoke, naturally, but again the malty, quite summer-like notes of barns, barley and straw seem to muscle in. Tinned fruit in syrup – much like the nose. Salted ham and marmalade. In fact, Roses Lemon & Lime marmalade spread across burnt toast. Just a touch of ash, but it works here when merged with those farmyard qualities. Now what I think is very good about this is how the salt-water splashes balance with the sweet apricots and honey. Octomores can be a bit overwhelming at times – that’s part of the experience – and perhaps are enveloped by the intensity of the peat and higher strength, but this is something more… gentlemanly. The finish is infinite – salty, citrus, and the honey returns. I really like it.

Conclusions

I think when the Islay Barley variants get a little older, and that peat just mellows a fraction, and everything binds together that little bit more, these variants are going to be incredible whiskies. I’m genuinely excited about that future.

As it stands, the Octomore 7.3 is still very good. I liked 6.3 – I like this one a lot more. It’s lost the earthiness and replaced it with more elegance. And it’s the first Octomore I might consider as a more social, sharing, great night dram – as opposed to something more brooding and introverted, which have felt typical for the rest of the range.

I’ve spent quite a bit of time with this now and it’s a brilliant whisky. This bottle is now on my Christmas list. I can’t see a RRP for it yet, but I’m guessing it will be about £100.

Edit: it’s actually £165… I’d be interested to know why the price difference is so much on last year. But hey, if it’s on my Christmas list then I’m not paying.

Note: a sample was kindly supplied by Bruichladdich. But samples are always viewed with impartiality!

Also the above image of a peat stack was taken from Islay.org.uk.

There’s a lot of talk about transparency in the Scotch whisky industry at the moment – that is, people (in reality, very few) want to know more about what goes into their whisky. Or rather, producers want to be able to tell more about the contents of a bottle, the different age statements or whatever that make up the vatting or blend. It’s hoped that the tight Scotch regulations, which exist in the first place to protect the consumer from dodgy producers, can be expanded to accommodate the desires of whisky producers. The focus of these discussions, rather randomly, is on more abstract elements such as what ages of whiskies go into a bottle. But there’s far more about whisky than the age of the spirit – such as the casks, the wood type, barley type, where it’s grown etc. And, more importantly, it should be said that there is already a huge amount of transparency in the whisky industry, if you care to look in the right places.

One of those places is on Islay. At Bruichladdich, in fact.

Regular readers will know the score by now: yes, I love Bruichladdich, had a fantastic trip there, and like their whiskies as much as their approach to whisky-making. My natural bias should be taken into account.

Last week was another one of their online tastings – the third in the Micro-Provenance set. You can read about the second event here, so I won’t repeat the details, only the fact that I much prefer the live-stream on YouTube and the group chat around it.

This Micro-Provenance range of whiskies is, I think, something to which all distilleries should aspire. It sets out cask exploration – that is, what happens when you put the spirit into different casks, which previously held some wildly different liquids. What this also does is showcase the quality of the wood that Bruichladdich uses, as much as the diverse range of styles with which they’re willing to experiment. More importantly: it shares all of this with the public.

This latest experiment, though, was essentially nothing more than picking three good whiskies and celebrating Christmas. Isn’t that great? A bit like gold, frankincense and myrrh, to give to your loved ones, but I’m certain they’d appreciate this whisky a lot more.

All of these were tasted without participants knowing what the whiskies were, which allowed for plenty of wild and entertaining speculation in the group chat.

Cask 013 – 1994 Bourbon / Sauternes Cask

Distilled in 1994, this 21-year-old Scotch spent most of its life in an American white oak Bourbon cask, before being finished for a year in a Sauternes wine cask from Bordeaux. It was stored in warehouse 13, and bottled at 50.6% ABV.

Colour: oloroso sherry. On the nose: gosh that’s interesting. Like something a Belgian chocolatier might conjure up. Nutty: praline and crushed hazelnuts. Milk chocolate. Redcurrants, strawberries. A touch of maltiness, and very fresh overall. A few esters towards the end.

In the mouth: first impressions of something extremely mellow, velvety and sweet. Lots of fresh berry notes: strawberries again, raspberries. A medium-weight texture that carries some almost classic Speyside notes underneath all this with a nice balance of malt and gentle sherry sweetness. Again, very fresh: gooseberries. A little bit of wood, but not much – just enough to give it a bitter edge. And that edge is not wholly balanced, but I really am nitpicking with this.

Cask 229 – 2003 Full Term Sherry

This had spent 12 years maturing in European oak sherry casks (note: not American oak), stored in warehouse 12, and bottled at 62.2% ABV.

Colour: auburn to polished mahogany. On the nose: gorgeously thick dried fruits, with a little extra orange marmalade on top. Ginger. Cinnamon. Remarkably festive. Then quite a bit of woodiness, coffee, fennel. Flashes of cocoa and marzipan. Burnt toast.

In the mouth: immense. That should have been expected at 62.2%, but by thunder, it’s such a fruit rush it’s like a fig tree has sneezed all over me. Tannins, and very dry in the mouth. Red wine cask? Spicy as heck with nutmeg, black pepper, all spice. Perhaps a touch too woody for me, ultimately, but what an experience.

Cask 543 – 2003 Full Term Port

Distilled in 2003, and has spent 12 years in a port hogshead – European oak again – and bottled at 60.1% ABV.

Colour: gorgeously rose-tinted henna. On the nose: multi-layered fruit bomb. Tart redcurrants, mixed peel, fruitcake. Strawberry bubblegum. Blackberries. Hedgerow jam. Once it settles more jam pastry notes come through. A marvellous freshness. Then after a while, a little bit of boiled ham – or maybe roasted ham in marmalade.

In the mouth: exquisite. Not a thick texture, but this does taste like a boozy dark fruit smoothie. Strawberry jam, simmering raspberries, maybe even a touch of esters with rhubarb and apple. Blood oranges. Cherryade. Pappy Van Winkle! A little chilli heat. Something very different to a lot of other whiskies on the shelves, and my favourite of the night.

Conclusions

All very good whiskies, as I’ve come to expect – and as you’d probably expect me to say. But they aren’t for everyone: the latter two, in particular, are probably for those who are happy for some extreme experiences, particularly at the high ABV. They’re each priced at £90, like all the Micro-Provenance range, which I think is very reasonable for single cask releases. You can buy them direct from the Bruichladdich website.

I keep saying it: why don’t more distilleries do this? Why aren’t more distilleries as transparent as Bruichladdich – why don’t more of them tell consumers the provenance of their whisky? Yes, Scotch whisky is heavily regulated – that’s the beauty of it, that’s what makes it an art form – but instead of meaningless publicity campaigns about transparency, just do it in style like with the Micro-Provenance series.

Oh, I’ll be getting the Port cask whisky for Christmas.

Mark Reynier is a legend of the modern whisky industry. He is most well-known for the his time as CEO of Bruichladdich distillery, after he acquired the abandoned Islay distillery from Whyte & Mackay for £6m in 2000.

What he did at that distillery was – back in the day – unusual to say the least. His avant-garde approach saw regular scraps with the Scotch Whisky Association, countless new bottlings, cask finishes in some of the most prestigious wine casks on the market, and an exploration of terrior in whisky – how the landscape and the barley affects the spirit – that is rarely seen elsewhere. And the local community blossomed.

But in July 2012, the distillery company decided – democratically, and controversially to the many fans of this whisky republic – to sell the business to Remy Cointreau for a staggering £58m. It was, simply, too good an offer. Mark Reynier voted against the decision. He didn’t want to sell up. But the company, whose resurrection he had led, was taken from him.

What would you do next?

Well, Mark got himself a new distillery. It’s in Ireland, this time, at Waterford Distillery. A whole new spirit, and a whole new spelling of whisk(e)y. Mark’s enthusiasm and exploration at Bruichladdich helped to define much of what I admired in whisky, especially as I was becoming more and more of a whisky geek. His enthusiasm for innovation was infectious. But that innovation at Bruichladdich seems tame compared to what he’s gone planned at Waterford Distillery.

Mark was kind enough to spare some time to talk about his new project. For anyone interested in the process of creating a new distillery, and in the real Irish whiskey industry, then you’ll enjoy this.

Interview

Malt: I suppose we should start at the beginning – with the basics of whisky. Barley. Yeast. Water. Particularly barley, because you’ve described Irish barley as being particularly good, and that your new site at Waterford Distillery will store a ‘Cathedral of Barley’. What’s all this fuss about Irish barley, and how is it relevant to what you’re doing at Waterford?

Mark Reynier: Next time you are in a whisky shop, an amusing game to play is spotting the design plagiarism, the ‘lifts’, borrowed from one whisky and used by another: ‘that worked for them, we’ll use it too’. If one has an eye for it, hours of fun to be had. What it displays is a lack of original ideas and a preponderance of disjointed, incoherent propositions. Label statements that bare no resemblance to production realities. There is an alarming disconnect between what marketeers say and producers do. With incredibly efficient distilling at one end, the money saved is spent at the other, the marketing and sales, spinning stories, creating narratives, anything to add colour to the industrially-efficient spirit.

I am a firm believer in the importance of barley. That’s where it all starts, it’s what makes whisky the most complex spirit revered around the world. Barley. Waterford whisky is based around the Cathedral of Barley, our bespoke barley storage warehouse where 46 farms’ worth of barley is stored individually in ideal conditions, each in its own bin, from harvest through dormancy to malting. This is an unprecedented, I believe, a logistical operation that allows us to distil farm by farm with total traceability, guaranteed provenance, to explore the 19 different soil types and the effects of micro climates on barley and in to the resultant spirit. It takes what I started at Bruichladdich to a whole new level. Without compromise.

It was old Duncan MacGillivray who once said to me that the best barley he ever saw was from this area. The yields are almost three times those of Islay, while not the same incredibly daylight hours of a short Hebridean summer, there are more days of sun on the Sunshine Coast.

The Irish whiskey scene is very different to Scotch whisky. There aren’t half as many regulations involved. On one hand it frees up Irish distillers to try all sorts of things, but on the other it’s not exactly transparent what a drinker is buying. What does the lack of regulations mean to you?

Actually, it’s not that different these days as most original indigenous regulations are now supplanted by those from the EU. A point of difference is the Pot Still concept of a mixed-mash, like bourbon, but otherwise the basic rules are more or less the same. I’m not really that interested in a mixing a mash with less complex grain, or indeed unmalted barley. Certainly it’s much cheaper if you don’t malt barley! I’m sure Irish Distillers, like all other large distillers, experiment but as with all of them it’s usually on ways to save costs and increase efficiency. In the Irish monopoly that existed for 40 years there clearly wasn’t much choice for whisky drinkers. Jamesons or Bushmills. So when spirit was made available to third parties by Cooley a whole new sector of ‘armchair’ independent bottlers appeared, resurrecting old labels. On the surface it all looks very healthy when one sees a 100 different labels, but not so good when one realises they all come from just one of three distilleries. Now that those three have ceased to supply the third party brands there is a bit of a supply problem – but not for long as Cooley #2 comes on stream in the guise of The Great Northern Distillery while others develop their own mini distilleries. The point is there will be a slow realignment, a filling out of the somewhat hollow Irish whiskey market, but it will take a little time for it to settle down. The prospects are indeed good and it will all be come clear as brands supported by their own spirit come on line. The integrity you are alluding to will then be there. As for Waterford, there’s nothing to hide, it is all about barley, provenance, integrity, transparency, quality. It’s for the intellectually curious; it won’t be for everybody.

I’m going to have to ask about Bruichladdich – largely because I found your excitement there to be hugely infectious for my own enthusiasm for whisky. For those of us on the outside, the sale must have left you rather hollow. How did you find that enthusiasm once again with Waterford?

Hollow? You could put it that way. I had invested a lot in Bruichladdich – both emotionally as well as financially – it was an ‘expensive’ process. It was an abrupt ending, contrary to the plan, and particularly frustrating for me as I hadn’t quite finished what I wanted to do. I’d be lying if said I enjoyed having my baby taken away, or looking over the fence seeing it play and grow up with out you, it hurt, I don’t deny it. It does makes one a little harder though and I learned a lot on a number of levels and I’ll never forget that; it’s what makes the Waterford project so very enjoyable.

With Waterford I have extremely enthusiastic and competent colleagues. It is wonderful to be able to harness such energy, intelligence, determination and goodwill. I really enjoy working with this constructive team. I really could not ask for more. And in putting this project together there is the smug satisfaction that there is nothing I could have done that we did not do. If that’s not excitement enough to be able to start this project with a totally clean sheet, free from old attitudes, industry conformity, conflicting agendas and with such good support, finance and experience, I‘m not sure what is. Am I enthusiastic about Waterford? Just a smidgen.

Though to some it might be obvious, but others less so: why Ireland? Was it to put, quite literally, a sea between yourself and Scotch? Or simply recognition of a market that was undergoing radical transformation?

Yes a bit of blue sea, certainly – been there done that. There’s three main reasons though. The opportunity to enter a vastly under-developed market is certainly an incentive; is Scotland stilled-out? There was the simply extraordinary facility that Diageo built in Waterford in 2004 for €40m just asking to be used. And, most of all, there’s the stupendous barley quality.

Waterford is the oldest town in Ireland, built by the Vikings on a tidal estuary that looks more pastoral like an inland river than the Atlantic; it’s still a surprise to see seaweed in front of the distillery. The town has that air of a Cornish port. It isn’t as remote or exposed as Islay. Waterford is southeast coast Ireland – the Sunshine Coast – 200 miles nearer the equator, the same latitude as Cambridge so more benign weather all-round.

Waterford is quite the different beast to Bruichladdich. It looks very modern, and the scale is enormous. The capacity is 3 million litres of spirit, I read. What potential does that offer over smaller-scale, Victorian, sans computer operations?

Yes it is a different beast, as you say. There’s more stainless steel than you can shake a stick at. It certainly isn’t a hooglie, wee Hebridean distillery, there’s no cachet, no romance of a Victorian distillery; it’s not loveable in that same way.

This is the polar opposite. It’s brash, cool, slick and shiny; it oozes power, might; it hums with excitement. It’s a facility to me because it facilitates; it interprets the 46 different farms’ barley that we have, distilling a farm a week. The incredibly modern equipment – €40m worth of 2004 kit – is certainly a little daunting at first. But remember, Bruichladdich was purpose-built, state-of-the-art once; this is the 2016 equivalent. Perhaps in 135 years it will still be in use like Bruichladdich? Besides, if I ever feel too sentimental about it, I wander through our Georgian era brewery, built in 1792, that is adjacent – that usually cures me.

The great advantage of such advanced engineering is information, and knowledge, as the saying goes, is power. We know everything that is going on, in real time. Rather than guess we have the numbers. Just because ‘it’s always been this way’ doesn’t apply here. Sure it’s quaint to have knobs and levers that haven’t been moved in a hundred years people have forgotten what they do. We have the data to know why this or that is happening, to observe, to understand, to explore; it means you can tweak, experiment, improve; that’s fun, really fun.

Certainly, for sure the original intention of all this hi-tech gear was for efficiency, the triumvirate of speed, hygiene and labour. We have sort of turned that upside down for we have all the time in the world, enormous capacity and an inquisitive disposition. We can use this uber-fancy kit and the information it provides us to our advantage, for quality not efficiency. That’s very exciting indeed, not just to me but also the guys here who have never really been allowed to look at it from that angle before. For example we have the complete kit here to to experiment with different yeasts, something I have always wanted to do.

We are set up to distil 1m OLAs (Original Litres of Alcohol) to start with, limited not by water or fermentation vats but by the pot still capacity. We’ve plumbed it for 3m OLAs which we intend to move to in 5 years or so. We have the space.

So no, it isn’t the same as Bruichladdich, it isn’t the same at all. But it has rather grown on me.

The stills – you’ve been loaned the old still that used to grace the front of Bruichladdich. Was that still the same shape as those inside the distillery? As shape of the still helps define the characteristic of the spirit, does that mean there will be a little of Bruichladdich living on through Waterford?

Not quite. There’s a good story behind those stills. Shortly after we started Bruichladdich up we were tipped off about the demolition of Allied’s enormous, redundant Dumbarton distillery site. Shoe-horned in amongst the buildings was a little-known, self-contained, vertically-integrated malt whisky distillery. It was great opportunity to acquire spares for Bruichladdich so over a couple of weeks we pretty much stripped out all we could before the ball and chain moved in. We ran Bruichladdich on these spares for a decade! This is where Ugly Betty came from, now used for the Botanist Gin, it’s also the origin of the spirit and wash still that used to stand outside Bruichladdich; we were going to use them at Port Charlotte. They were built by Blairs in 1972 to make Inverleven spirit for blending up to the closure of the site in 1991. As there is a three year delay in new stills from Forsyths, I bought these spare stills from Bruichladdich and installed them at Waterford to make a decent head start. Forsyths refurbished them, new bottoms and steam kettles so they’ll be good for another ten years or so. Technically they’ve only been used for 19 years – and even then not very heavily. Both the shape and size of the stills are different to Bruichladdich’s; the spirit is quite floral, elegant, middle-weighted – more Highland Park than Bruichladdich. Those stills nearly bankrupted us at the time, but who’d have thought they would come in so useful in the end? I have Jim to thank for that. And that demolition guy that tipped us off? He’s now a shareholder in Waterford! When converting we included the opportunity to increase capacity considerably at a later date, for example with the addition of new stills. It’s all there. And we have locked away a very funky column still too, but that’s not for now.

I loved the flavours brought about by various wine casks at Bruichladdich. Will the same be happening at Waterford? In fact, are you able to share a little about the casks you’ll be using? I’m particularly curious, going back to the point about the freedom to experiment in Irish whiskey versus Scotch whisky.

Oak is almost as taken for granted as barley. There is a lot of nonsense attributed to oak I have heard such ridiculous ‘facts’ from industry folk that makes one want to weep. Apparently, from one expert, ‘70% of a whisky’s flavour comes from the oak’; which sort of begs the question why not just cut to the chase and put straight water in barrels? Oak is one component that allows all those flavour compounds from the barley created during fermentation and distillation to develop further through micro-oxygenation though the wood in to the mature flavours we all appreciate. Sure more and more these days companies are looking for ways to shorten that ageing process but we have no intention of intervening in this entirely natural process: no microwaves, oil extracts, chips, heating casks, ultrasound, adapted casks etc. we’ll let the quality of the oak do the talking. My interest in oak stems from my wine days. One needs to understand how different oaks and cooperages work, one has to have a feel for it. There are a number of ways to cut the cake: American and French oak; thick or thin staves; heavy toast versus light; spirit or wine; vanilla versus toast; dry versus sweet. One thing is for certain in distilling, as night follows day, wood quality is the last thing that gets any money spent on it – and the first to be dropped when funds are tight, after all a barrel is a barrel is a barrel, right? especially when the caramel bucket is close at hand. From experience I know how hard it is to implement a good wood policy so I have set the project up to ensure the best wood possible, from day one, without compromise. For each of the farms distilled there is a similar apportionment of casks, primarily American oak, with 20% new, some premium French, some sweet wine, some fortified wine – an intriguing balance right across the board. We have allocated serious funds, as much as it takes. It’s simply too important to compromise.

You’re big on people and characters, so let’s talk about the people of Waterford. Who are the main characters in your new adventure?

I have met some lovely people on Islay including great characters like James Brown, you can’t miss him! I still see him when I’m on Islay at my house there. When you’re on such a remote community you are very much thrown together; Waterford is Ireland’s third largest town, the demographics couldn’t be more different. I had the fortune to meet some great people from the first day I visited Waterford that has allowed me to create a really high calibre management team. In charge of the place is Paul McCusker [pictured above]. Anthony Brazil is responsible for the machinery, while Lisa Ryan, a chemist, is in charge of the barley and jolly Ned Gahan, the spirit. They all get on extremely well together – there are no egos, no prima donnas – we all speak the same language and they have to rely on each other to get their jobs done. They are a very competent and positive group of people that work well together. It is a delight to work with them, it really is. I haven’t laughed so much in years. It helps, too, that they have worked together at Waterford since it was built. They know it inside out.

I read that the first whiskey from Waterford won’t be available for 5 years. Given that you released very young Bruichladdich whiskies – even spirit – how come you’re holding off for so long, and what are you going to be up to during that time?

It’s a self-imposed timescale. One costly thing I learnt at Bruichladdich was where to apply maximum focus, and more importantly, where it was wasted – oh the distractions! The Waterford project is financed in a novel way that means we do not need to chase revenue in order to distil. We have bought ourselves time to do this properly. We have no mature stocks to market, no sales & marketing team competing for finance while you’re desperately trying to lay down new spirit. This time the decks are clear to distill the best spirit possible from the greatest barley and finest wood. We don’t need white spirits, cask sales, ACEing etc. There are no distractions, no need to deviate from this extremely focused path. And, fundamentally, we are ALL on the same page. When I am ready, only then will we bring Waterford whiskey to market, and incur the necessary costs at that time.

When you took over Bruichladdich, your promotion of it was unique and influential. Its rebranding and confident marketing set the template for many a new distillery. How difficult is it to make a noise with a new distillery in 2016 given that there are so many more of them, each one shouting loudly for attention? And how will you get around those difficulties?

I’m not sure Bruichladdich should be used as a template for a new distillery. It wasn’t. We bought 1.4m litres of maturing whisky stock at the market price on 19/12/2000 – and had a distillery thrown in for free – more or less. That’s a very different proposition to a new build project: confuse them at your peril. When you are considered a whisky iconoclast it’s not that hard to stand out, as you say, if you have believe strongly in what you are doing, which I do having spent almost 40 years in the drinks business both making and marketing. There is though a worrying issue with homogeneity, the number of new projects with the same advisors, model and equipment doing the same thing, telling an identical story to the same audience. Certainly, compared to when we started at Bruichladdich, the internet has developed a whole new level of independent writing and appreciation – you for example – that just did not exist fifteen years ago. Then it was one ‘writer per distilling group’ and no more. You had to shout, because they simply did not want or indeed, need to listen to anything that upset the story, the status quo, of their powerful benefactors. It’s different now, and that’s a good thing, much more democratic. But I do believe there will be tears before bedtime with some of these projects: it is much, much harder than any of them can possibly believe. As for Waterford you won’t hear much about what we’re doing over the next five years: it’s head down and distil!

Finally, what impact do you hope Waterford will have on the Irish whiskey industry?

Irish whiskey is certainly in an encouraging era after decades of stultifying monopoly. A bit like a playing out a hand of trumps, they forgot the ace was still out there. However, the present situation it seems to me is a little hollow, that weak middle needs to fill out which will take some time. At one end joining Pernod we have Suntory, William Grant, Brown Forman, Di Saronno, and Jose Cuervo; at the other 15 or so small distillers – and a couple in the middle. Some lean towards Bourbon, others to Scotch, some to Irish – whatever that is. And that is quite the dilemma: what is Irish whiskey? Pernod say it is Potstill – the mixed-mash concept – so I guess their definition will predominate. There were once five ‘single malt’ distilleries in Ireland, so my idea is not exactly new on that front. The work I started at Bruichladdich, the ideas of terroir, provenance and traceability, were heavily influenced by my wine trade upbringing. It is the ‘intellectual curiosity’ behind these concepts that intrigues me. Sure it’s not for everyone, certainly, it’s for those that want that more. That is what I am doing with Waterford. By developing this highly fastidious programme of component whiskey creation, when the time comes to assemble the definite bottling we will create not only the most profound Irish whiskey ever, of that I have no doubt, but possibly the most profound single malt any where – full stop. At least, that’s my aim.

Can you keep a secret? Well you’re better than me, because I can’t. Not normally anyway. But I was pretty good at keeping this a secret. More or less.

Two and a half years ago I travelled to Islay on honeymoon, and stopped by to visit Bruichladdich distillery. Whilst I was there, as a honeymoon gift, Carl Reavey – who showed us around the distillery and up to Octomore Farm – asked Adam Hannett to get me something outrageous from the warehouse. He came back with a bottle of single cask Octomore (which is the world’s most heavily peated whisky) that had been matured in virgin oak (which is one of the most powerful cask types in which to mature whisky).

Normally Scotch whisky goes into casks that have previously matured something else, such as bourbon or sherry, because virgin (new) wood overpowers the whisky. Ex-bourbon or ex-sherry casks will have taken the heat out of the wood, as well as given a little of themselves to it. So what would happen when you put a staggeringly peated whisky, such as Octomore, into virgin oak casks? It’s a mad combination. Octomore is sometimes a lot to handle even for fans of peated whisky. Sadly, I couldn’t tell anyone at the time, though I knew the answer.

I recalled speaking to Carl, as we drove up from Octomore farm itself having just tasted the spring water there; he didn’t think at the time they’d ever release anything quite like that. Of course, Octomore has become serious business for the distillery, and I always wondered if they’d ever finally do it.

Well, they have, and now it’s here as Octomore 07.4 Virgin Oak, which will cost £150 a bottle and clocks in at 61.2% ABV. And I can actually compare Octomore 07.4 – which is a vatting of different Octomores that have been either maturing in virgin oak all their lives, or for a portion of their lives after living in first-fill ex-bourbon casks – against my raw, single virgin cask Octomore, which is priceless in my eyes, due to its personal nature, and bottled at 65.7% ABV.

Bruichladdich Octomore 07.4 Virgin Oak

Colour: mahogany; henna.

On the nose: coal smoke and simmering jam. And really rather mellow. Caramelised sugar – no, caramelised onion. Well-cooked bacon. Syrup. BBQ sauce. Spare ribs, covered in Chinese five spice. I can see this being compared to Balcones Brimstone, in many respects, but this is more complex. Cigar boxes and sandalwood incense sticks.

In the mouth: an assault of the senses. Much of those aromas come through, heavily, and it’s also slightly tannic. Definitely BBQ-ed meats – leaning towards Indian food in fact. Cumin, or perhaps garam masala. Charred meats: well-done sausages that have dropped into the ashes. And all encased within sweetness: plums or something more sharp such as damsons. Heather honey. Redcurrants. Ketchup? When I do get to the smoke, it’s more smouldering, earthy and agricultural – a common theme with Octomores.

Single Cask Octomore Virgin Oak

Distilled 2008, drawn 31st July 2013, cask number 1201. Bottled at 65.7% ABV.

Colour: brown sherry; burnt umber in a bright light.

On the nose: instantly more ketchup-like, or HP Sauce. Redcurrants. It’s sharper, it’s fresher – a little edgier than the vatted malt. Weirdly, less wood notes, but clearly more affected by the wood: which is to say, deep aromas, elderberries, or even old-fashioned pontack sauce. (Water, personally, doesn’t suit Octomores, as I find it unbalances the whisky.) And curiously, when I go back to the vatted malt my nose is more attuned to the tartness, the redcurrants, the voluptuous red wine notes; but I didn’t find them so obviously beforehand – this prickly tartness is one of the features of the single cask variant.

In the mouth: insane, quite frankly, as if you’d exploded a can of Cherry Coke inside a woodburner and then licked the contents in the morning. It’s far harder to pick the nuances out, because it’s one of the most intense whisky experiences I’ve ever known. Less of the curry spices here, and more of the piri piri. Paprika. Basil. Citrus, somehow, manages to show itself among all of this. You could spend a long time picking this apart and struggle to do so, given the intensity. It’s way off the charts of the whisky flavour wheel.

Conclusions

There are clearly more layers to the vatted version, Octomore 07.4. It is more complex – and mellow in comparison. Neither of these whiskies are for typical whisky drinkers: if you like this sort of thing, as I do, you clearly have a particular penchant for whisky experiments. For boldness and creativity. For something you’d never get elsewhere. Extreme whisky, even, and in this case a Scotch that is most un-Scotch-like.

So why do I prefer the single cask version over Octomore 07.4?

Not because it’s a gift – though yes, because it’s a gift – but because the Octomore series is like going so far down such a dark, peated path that there’s no turning back from the extremes. I’m fully committed to it. So why have the more nuanced, more complex and skilfully vatted version of this whisky when – like a messed-up crack addict – I’m drooling after its purest form?