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Spirited Scotland – Part 2
Places 17 years ago No Comments

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contributed by Beth Cowan [architect / avid blogger / continent hopper]

 

EDITOR’S NOTE: In last month’s installment, our ambitious American architect, Beth, left her adopted Dublin and sashayed over to Scotland for an edutaining tour of the SpiritedScotland-2.gifproud region’s top distilleries. Tough assignment, eh” As she sampled superior whiskies, she also encountered a few local characters and sacrificed her taste buds on a couple of culinary incongruities – all in the name of travel and culture.


A Lotto Incentive

The group met daily at the corner nearest our cottage and waited for direction from Ally. It was the public space of the town. I’d call it a square except it was really just an undeveloped corner lot that the tourism board decided to pave and add a couple of playground pieces.

So we gathered and waited while people ran across to the grocery to stock up on supplies. Mostly lottery tickets, since it was a rather large jackpot and when converted from Sterling to Euro was even larger. And tax free. Lotteries in EU countries are tax free. If you win 35 million, you keep 35 million, not 17 million. I should play the lotto more. Then I could afford a six bedroom “cottage” on an austere Scottish island.

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Brook-Laddy

We loaded up and drove round the water (lots of inlets in this part of the world – we were always driving around water) to our first distillery of the day: Bruichladdich, pronounced Brook-Laddy. A brief history of the island and the distilleries first.

Islay was, at one point, home to 30 working distilleries. As they disappeared, many of them bought by corporate conglomerates, the distillers and residents made the smartest decision they possibly could: united we stand, divided we fall.

There are now seven working distilleries on the island and one former distillery that supplies the malt for them. Better to be in the malting business than no business. It’s a decision any farming community would make. Back to Bruichladdich though…

It was closed in 1995(“) and sat vacant until 2000 or so when a group of Islay men got together and purchased it. They now run the only privately owned, and by that I mean the employees own the business, distillery on the Island. At least that’s the way I remember the story. There might be a family owned distillery, but I believe they’ve all be TimeWarner-ed.

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Lord Of The Whiskies

We divided into two groups and set off for the tour. I was the group led by THE man in whiskey, master distiller Jim McEwan. I have never met a person so passionate about their craft, job, art… whatever you want to call it. The man simply personifies whiskey in all the good ways. And, for some strange reason, he reminded me of my father. I think it was the eyes and the obvious compulsion to explain things to others. (That’s a good compulsion in my book.)

Anyway, he gave us the tour of the very ancient distillery, calling particular attention to their complex computer systems – i.e., chalk and lead weights on strings, which is very high tech in a 19th century sort of way. Then led us into the warehouse. Now, supposedly, it is against the law to give cask tastes to the public in Scotland. I guess you have to be a staff member in order to get drunk at work. Being illegal, Jim took particular delight in offering us several.

A cask taste is exactly that; he opened up a cask of maturing whiskey and poured a few glasses for us to pass among ourselves. In fact, we tasted close to six of them in the warehouse. He’s been experimenting, see, and wanted to see what we thought of his handiwork.

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Quadruple Whammy

The first thing he gave us was called 4X. Somewhere they found a recipe for a triple distilled whiskey, and being, well, boys really, had to up the ante. So they made the world’s first Quadruple distilled whiskey. Technically, it’s pure enough by the third go to have been used as an incendiary device, so going that fourth time was really pushing his luck. Nothing exploded as he handed us each a plastic communion cup of utterly clear liquid.

It didn’t really have a smell, but it did teach me a valuable lesson. When tasting whiskey, experimental whiskey especially, you don’t just toss it down the hatch. Putting a little on your lips and tip of your tongue is quite sufficient. However… I took a moderate sip. It burned. It burned a lot. And then I started coughing. While Jim laughed. It was a precious moment. He turned away, and I finally got to double over. My stomach has never been so firey. Habanero infused tequila shots aren’t anything compared to this stuff. Several deep breaths later, Jim moved on to the next cask, and I prayed his regular stuff was better. It was. Very much better, I may add.

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Roll Out The (Recycled) Barrels

In the U.S., when a wooden barrel is used to age liquid (wine primarily) the barrel cannot be used again. It’s a one shot deal apparently, which delights the Europeans to no end, since no such regulation exists here. Therefore, an entire market of second-hand casks is available for use for the price of shipping. What, you may ask, would a whiskey distiller do with wine casks” Age whiskey, of course.

The rest of our cask tastes were Bruichladdich whiskey aging in wine, sherry, and whiskey casks. A row of McAllen barrels were near the front, followed by tempranillio barrels (my personal favourite), Opus One, Chateau Lafite, and finally, Chateau d’Yquem.

Chateau d’Yquem is a French dessert wine that is quite possibly the most expensive wine in the world and certainly the highest quality of its type anywhere. Many years ago while working at the Pyramid Room in the Fairmont Hotel, I was given glass after glass of wines “to educate” my palate and the sommelier would try to sneak d’Yquem by me. I referred to it as “rotten pear wine”, because that what it tasted like at the time, but mostly because it annoyed the hell out of him and guaranteed more expensive drinks for me. (I should have never quit that job.)

So we tried several whiskies in casks of varying types of wine and watched as Jim did a full body wobble with each taste. (Je stopped just short of a happy dance.) To my delight, I could tell the difference between them. Sherry makes whiskey quite a bit sweeter but still sharp. The tempranillo turned the whiskey sort of cranberry red. But the d’Yquem… that made the whiskey brilliant yellow, almost like apple juice, and mellowed the whiskey with the most amazing sweetness. That was one of the two whiskies I purchased on the trip.

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We All Live In A…

In the gift shop after our tour, Jim signed our bottles with a special pen and posed for photographs standing next to the cask that was crafted for Queen Elizabeth’s 80th birthday. He couldn’t resist giving us a taste. And then he told us the story behind the bottles labeled “Yellow Submarine”.

Evidently the Royal Navy lost a submarine in Port Ellen, which was found and plucked from the sea by a local fisherman. He installed it in his back yard. The Royal Navy, after denying that it was even missing, had to admit it was, accused the fisherman of stealing it, and then had to politely ask for their spy equipment back. It’s a great story, which you can read about HERE, and was worthy of christening a whiskey. Who says the British have the driest sense of humor”

All this, before lunch.

We had a lovely lunch, and I photographed the bowling green across the street. An actual bowling green, used for 10 Pins, which you may or may not know is the pre-cursor to bowling. This tiny island had, that we passed, four of them. I have no idea who is doing all that bowling, but I’m betting not many. The lawns were immaculate. Give a man a couple strong drams of whiskey, and I’m pretty sure divots happen.

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The Bigger, The Bowmore

After lunch it was time for Bowmore, our host distillery. It was easily the largest of the lot we saw, but size is really no reflection on quality here. Again, divided in two groups, we got personalized tours, amended for the fact that we’d seen the basics already. Her, we spent a lot of time on the drying floor.

Bowmore is one of the few distilleries that persists in germinating their barley by hand. They soak the malt in water for several days until it just starts to sprout, then spread it out on the floor and turn it, by hand, every four hours for several days until it is dry. It’s laborious and painstaking, but they produce a quality product, so I’m not going to argue with them about methods.

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Lagavulin, Otherwise Known As Heaven

The following morning we had an appointment for the first of our last two distilleries at 9:30am. I was ready, packed and downstairs for breakfast and a helping of déjà vu. I said good morning and they all looked at me with utter amazement. Ally even remarked that he assumed I wouldn’t make it that morning. I have no idea why, what they were expecting, but for some reason, I’m a lot more resilient than any of them expected. Either that or it was a bungled attempt at Murder on the Orient Express.

We got into the vans and headed to our first port of call, Lagavulin. This is what I had come to see.

When I made my maiden voyage to Scotland with a friend, we found ourselves in the Whiskey Shop in Inverness, tasting whiskies to send to my brother. Each whiskey had a description card attached to it, much like you’d see in wine shops. We were just laughing about one particular card that described it as “peaty and smoky with a strong seaweed and salt character” when the salesgirl materialized out of nowhere and said in a very serious voice: that’s one of the best whiskies made. I recognize a gauntlet when I see one land in front of me. I had a taste.

You know when you put something new in your mouth for the first time, and it produces an immediate reaction” Mine was this. Now THIS I could drink a whole glass of! And that was Lagavulin. The Islay whiskies are noted for their peaty, smoky, salty characteristics. You either love it or you hate it. There is no lukewarm in this scale. I, happily, love it. Not only is Lagavulin one of the most amazing sites for a distillery, its just amazing whiskey.

They were closed, so our private tour was really a private tour. Again, the tour was uneventful and we spent quite a bit of time out doors because it’s just spectacularly located on the water. Our guide did make light of the fact that we’d been on several tours and probably hit our limit for information, so it was quick and sweet and then into the tasting room.

It was like stepping into someone’s living room. A cozy fire, overstuffed sofas and leather arm chairs; she handed me a drink and I told them to come pick me up from there on the way home. It was difficult to leave, and not just because she left us alone in the room with four open bottles of whiskey. We spent more time in this tasting room than any of the others. And we only got one taste, as opposed to three or four at the others. But it was so warm and fuzzy, and outside it was windy and Scottish. It was worth the entire trip for that one tour.

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Saving The Best For Last

On to Ardbeg we went for our last tour and for lunch. Unbeknownst to me, however, was the fact that lunch was after the tour. It’s hard to drink whiskey at 10 in the morning. For me anyway.

The Ardbeg tour guide was easily the best one we had over the course of the trip. Jim was great, and he gave a hell of a tour, but this woman was just fun to hang out with. She told us stories about living on Islay, growing up in a whiskey town, and about the Halloween festival they have every year. It’s an open house event where each distillery puts on a tour. Not content to give just a tour, Ardbeg decided to make it a haunted distillery tour. She probably spoke more about that tour than the distillery. And she was funny. You have to love a tour guide that has a sense of humor and a strong streak of passion for what they do. She was fantastic.

After the tour, we went out to the warehouse where she quickly realized she forgot to bring a glass for tasting. So she proceeded to fill a water glass someone had and pass it around the group. The largest taste ever.

We wandered back into the restaurant/gift shop and situated ourselves for sandwiches and soup not a moment too soon. The rest of the group joined us finally, and I learned what a cheese and pickle sandwich is. It is not sliced cheese with hunks of dill pickle between bread. Rather, it is white bread buttered, shredded cheddar cheese and spiced pickle spread. Interesting. Not at all what I’d been expecting and another thing to mark off the list of “Foods I’ve Tried.” I focused on the soup: potato and leek. It was divine. And it restored the color to Scottish Michael’s skin, which was actually gray from the two-day hangover. Poor guy looked like death for a while there.

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Ferry Me Home

As the ferry pulled up it was made apparent that several kids, I mean, people, lost their boarding passes. No, I meant kids. Honestly… they made a huge deal when they gave them to us, that we needed to keep track of them to get home. I had mine but the group was short five.

As we were walking on to the boat, one of the lads made the spot of the trip: John. As in Bartender John from our ferry trip to the Island. (Refer back to “Cold Feet & Ferry Tales” in the first installment.) We chatted with him a bit and explained that “a couple of people” lost their tickets, and he said, “No problem. Let me speak with the captain.” We gathered the Losers, and when the captain arrived, he didn’t look happy. But Bartender John convinced him we were legitimate and aboard we went! It’s good to make friends; you never know when you’re going to need a little help.

When we landed on the mainland we stopped for fish and chips which wouldn’t be worth mentioning except for one small detail. Deep fried Mars Bars. Evidently it’s a Scottish delicacy that none of the Scottish on our trip had ever eaten. Sort of like Rocky Mountain Oysters, I’d imagine. I guess this is filed under “Something For The Tourists.”

Anyway, the South African guy was giving Scottish Michael a hard time about it the entire trip, to which Michael responded that he’d never even seen one, let alone tasted one. As we were waiting for our 26 orders of fish and chips he heard an employee ask who ordered the deep fried Mars Bar. He raised his hand and presented it to the South African. Yep, he stole a dessert bold as brass, and then we all had a bite of the contraband. It tastes like melted chocolate, and not in a good way. (I cannot believe I’m saying that.) Again, another thing to mark off the Food List. (Not that I’m trying the “oysters” when I go to the U.S. next…)

We loaded up and drove in the dying sunlight back to Glasgow. Ally and I chatted while I forced chocolate upon him. I stared out the window trying to will the sun to stay out longer. It was dark when we checked in at the airport – still fresh flowers in the ladies rooms I might add – and then walked the long concourse to our gate. Along the way, I looked down and spotted a bit of cash on the floor. 15 Euro. Just enough for cab fare home. Thanks Glasgow!