Laphroaig, 18 Year vs. Cask Strength 10 Year

stats:
18 Year, Single Malt Scotch, Islay, 48%, $80
Cask Strength 10 Year, Single Malt Scotch, Islay, 55.7%, $65 (typical 750ml price)

I found myself laughing at the width of the roads here in the U.S. every time I drove for the first week or two after returning from Scotland. I had become so accustomed to the narrow roadways of the U.K. that when I got behind the wheel for the first time back home, it felt as if I was sailing along an ocean of asphalt.

When the trip was still in its planning stages, I consulted about driving over there with a good friend who had lived in England during the early years of his childhood and went back occasionally to visit relatives. He recounted the story of renting a car with an automatic transmission, as that was all his wife could drive. Since the vast majority of cars in Europe are standards (the complete opposite of how it is in the States), getting an automatic limits your choice to larger, luxury models. To emphasize how undesirable such a car would be, he mentioned something about driving down a road so narrow that both of the side mirrors were dragging along the hedgerows lining the street at the same time. He also allayed my fears that the layout of the pedals might be in the reverse order of what we drive here.

So, small and manual it would be. No concerns there; that describes what I’d been driving for the previous five years. I knew that shifting with my left hand would be a challenge, but at least I’m left-handed, so there is a little more coordination on that side. Aside from that, I just needed to remember to stay on the left side of the road.

Long before the trip began, it was decided that I would do all of the driving and my father would serve as co-pilot. “Keep dad against the curb, keep dad against the curb” was the mantra that I continuously repeated in my head as we drove along, ensuring that I stayed on the proper side of the road.

Not long after leaving the airport in Glasgow, you’re bound to encounter a roundabout. I’m no stranger to such road features, but driving around one in a clockwise direction for the first time proved quite unnerving. And with less than a foot of extra space on each side of the car in most places, the driver’s undivided attention is required at all times. In practice that’s probably safer than the ridiculously wide roads I’m used to driving on, which allow for all manner of distraction. Once I settled in, I truly did enjoy driving in Scotland, especially on the single track roads that snaked around the Isle of Mull.

I was surprised by a number of unexpected little differences though. I nearly grabbed the door handle more times than I’d care to admit while trying to shift. Every time I wanted to look in the rear view mirror I found myself gazing off to the right at…..well, nothing. My right hand also spent a good deal of time waving around in the center of the car in search of my seatbelt. And more often than not, leading up to a departure either my father or I would approach the wrong side of the car. This turned into somewhat of a Laurel & Hardy-esque routine; “tired of driving Mike? Ready to be the passenger?” or “Oh, did you feel like driving this time around, dad?” would come from one of us each time the other made the mistake.

As you can clearly see in the picture above, I’m standing next to the passenger side of the car, proudly displaying my newly acquired miniature of Cask Strength Laphroaig 10 Year. Just after that photo was taken was the only time that I actually got in the car, closed the door, and then came to the realization that there was no steering wheel in front of me. That picture will always bring a smile to my face.

Prior to the 2004 introduction of Laphroaig Quarter Cask, the Cask Strength 10 Year was the only non-chill filtered whisky in Laphroaig’s standard lineup. In 2009 they phased out the 15 Year and replaced it with the 18 Year which is non-chill filtered, leaving the flagship 10 Year (bottled at 40% or 43% abv, depending on where it’s being sold) as the only Laphroaig bottling to undergo that process. It’s nice to see a whisky company moving in the right direction.

The Cask Strength miniature that I picked up at the distillery is a bottling that was produced from 2004 through 2008, at 55.7% abv. Earlier bottlings were at 57.3% abv and had a green strip across the label rather than the red stripe seen on version I have. From 2009 onward the Cask Strength Laphroaig has been released in annual, numbered batches, where the proof changes from batch to batch (there is some inconsistency in the system, but that’s the topic of another post).

I thought it would be interesting to compare the Cask Strength 10 Year and the 18 Year since they are basically the opposite ends of the spectrum of the standard Laphroaig lineup. I do have some Quarter Cask on hand for reference as well.

18 Year:
It is light-to-medium golden amber in color.Pungent peat smoke with iodine and a hint of sea spray come through on the nose but with a relatively refined manner.
As expected, the body is thick and oily. The medicinal peat, slightly sweet vanilla and brine notes are all beautifully woven together. The well-integrated, complex flavors move seamlessly into the wonderfully long finish. Eighteen years in cask has barely tamed the beast; this is still very much a robust, masculine whisky.

Cask Strength 10 Year:
The color is notable darker than the 18, more of a medium amber.
On the nose, the pungent peat smoke is accompanied by a vegetal earthiness in this case. The aromas are a little more concentrated than the 18 Year, but not as unruly as I was expecting them to be.It’s even more viscous on the tongue than the 18, and it has more intensity across the board on the palate. But the flavor profile is quite different too; it has more of a nutty / woody character (rather than the luscious vanilla) joining the pungent, fiery peat notes. The vigorous intensity pulls through to the finish, carrying it along noticeably further than that of the 18 Year, which is by no means short of length.

I originally wrote about Laphroaig Quarter Cask in April of 2007 (the 2011 date is when I moved the older posts to the current format). As odd as my early writings seem to me now, I still feel essentially the same way about the Quarter Cask. I’m truly enjoying all three of these Laphroaig expressions; the 18 Year has a wonderful elegance and the Cask Strength shows its unbridled vigor, but the Quarter Cask is still my favorite. It’s beautifully balanced and wonderfully complex, with bold waves of flavor that keep crashing down on the palate, one after another.

Forty Creek, Barrel Select

stats: Canadian Whisky, 40%, no age statement, $25

I’ve been feeling somewhat conflicted about this post for the past few days. Forty Creek Barrel Select is a whisky that I really like and some unique methods are employed in its production. But the distiller has made some statements while describing his whisky making process that I’ve taken exception to. The issue at hand is important and I feel the need to discuss it, I just don’t want to focus too much one small negative aspect of an innovative distiller who’s creating great whisky.

So, we’ll start by taking a look at what makes Forty Creek Barrel Select special. After spending 22 years as a winemaker, John Hall wanted to do something different and expanded into producing spirits when he purchased the Kittling Ridge Distillery in 1992. Over the last 20 years whisky has become his main focus. This fact was emphasized last year when he changed the name of the distillery to Forty Creek, making it eponymous with his whisky brand.

The vast majority of modern whiskies are made with either distiller’s yeast or brewer’s yeast (or some combination of the two). Bringing his winemaking background into play, John Hall has chosen to ferment with wine yeast, taking advantage of the unique qualities it adds to his whisky.

Aside from malt whisky (which is made solely from malted barley) most modern whiskies are made from a mixture of grains, which are typically combined prior to mashing and fermentation. But at Forty Creek the three grains used (corn, rye and malted barley) are kept separate and made into individual whiskies, which are later blended together. This emulates the standard practice of the wine industry, where different grape varietals are made into individual wines before being blended together (if the grapes are mixed together prior to fermentation, the wine will be labeled as a “field blend”).

Continuing to follow the winemaking tradition, each of the three base whiskies at Forty Creek are aged separately as well. In order to accentuate the individual qualities of the different grains, the whisky from each one is aged in a different type of oak barrel: lightly charred for the rye, medium charred for the barley, and heavily charred for the corn. After 6 to 10 years in these barrels, the whiskies are finally blended together before being aged for a further 6 months in sherry casks.

The actual distillation process carried out at Forty Creek is also somewhat unique, but this is where I have a bit of an issue. While discussing his still setup, Mr. Hall essentially makes a blanket statement that whisky made in column stills is inferior to whisky made in pot stills. He also insinuates that because his whisky is made in a single pot still distillation that it is superior to double or triple pot-distilled whiskies.

A lot of people around the world have romantic notions of pot stills and a corresponding bias against spirits produced in column stills. While perhaps not completely baseless, these feelings are for the most part unreasonable.

Pot stills are easy to understand. Liquid with a low level of alcohol (wash) is added to the vessel and then heat is applied to its base. The more volatile components of the liquid (mostly alcohol) turn to vapor, rise up and escape through a tube connected to the top of the still. These vapors then move into a condenser where they are cooled and turn back to liquid. The process is usually repeated once or twice more to achieve the desired concentration of alcohol.

The way in which a column still works isn’t so obvious. A tall cylinder has a series of metal plates inside, spaced out from top to bottom. These plates are riddled with small holes, allowing the passage of liquid and vapor. Alcoholic liquid enters the column from the top and steam is pumped in at the base. As the liquid moves down and the steam moves up, the liquid is heated causing the alcohol to evaporate out of it. At the same time most of the steam will re-condense back into water. The mostly alcoholic vapor flows out of the top of the column and into a condenser where it is cooled, becoming a liquid again. The waste liquid (mostly water) is drained out of the bottom of the column. The perforated metal plates simply serve to spread out the liquid and slow its movement as it descends inside the column, allowing the steam to heat the liquid sufficiently. It is a little more complicated as the diagram below shows, but that’s basically how a column still works.

In addition to the fact that it’s not easy to understand how a column still works just by looking at one, their lowly reputation may be due in part to appearances; they resemble the type of industrial equipment that might be used to make gasoline. But the real issue at hand is the degree to which the spirit has been distilled. When the concentration of the alcohol coming out of the still goes up, the character of the original ingredients that gets carried through to the spirit diminishes.

Column stills are more efficient than pot still because they function in a continuous process as opposed to a batch process. A pot still is loaded with liquid, heated for a time to separate out the alcohol, then the remaining liquid is emptied out and the cycle is repeated. With a column still, as long as you keep feeding wash in at the top and steam at the base, it will continue to produce spirit. The column still can also put out highly concentrated spirit, above 95% abv (the legal maximum for whisky by most definitions), whereas with pot stills it’s hard to get the abv much above 80%.

So yes, you can make bad whisky with a column still (and plenty is). But that doesn’t mean whisky from a column still has to be bad. Let’s look at some numbers. We’ll start with some pot still examples from Scotland: doubled distilled Longrow comes off the still at 69% abv, two-and-a-half times distilled Springbank at 71%, and triple distilled Hazelburn at 73%. Auchentoshan, which is also triple distilled, comes out at 81%. A quick look at the laws that regulate how Bourbon is made reveal that it must be distilled to less than 80% abv. The vast majority of Bourbons are made in column stills, and while few distillers publish the numbers, I suspect that many of the better quality Bourbons are distilled to a lower number than the legal maximum of 80% abv. The degree to which a column still concentrates alcohol is easily adjusted by changing its internal configuration. There may be a little more to it, but I believe that it’s mostly a matter of how many metal plates are used along with the number and size of the holes in them.

Consider some of the top names in Bourbon: George T Stagg, William Larue Weller, Pappy Van Winkle’s Family Reserve, The Parker Heritage Collection, Four Roses Single Barrel Limited Edition releases. Those are some serious whiskeys, all of top quality, and every one of them made in a column still.

Conversely, it is possible to make bad whisky in a pot still: low quality wort from high yielding strains of grain, short fermentation times with fast acting yeast, and finally a quick distillation driven by high heat. Pot stills are no guaranty of quality.

Of course there are some grey areas to consider too. The first is a piece of distilling equipment known as a thumper (or a thump keg, or a doubler). This is a closed vessel that, if used, sits between the still and the condenser (the diagram shows on being used with a pot still, but they are also used with column stills). It’s partially filled with water and the pipe coming into it from the still will have its opening below the water line. Another pipe goes from the top of the thumper to the condenser. The vapors coming off of the still will cool a little as they bubble up through the liquid in the thumper. That cooling causes some of the water in the vapor to re-condense and stay in the thumper. The vapors that exit the thumper now have less water than when they entered, so the alcohol has become more concentrated before moving on to the condenser.

Even though it functions by cooling rather than heating, some people consider the thumper to be a type of pot still. Nearly six years ago Chuck Cowdery wrote a great post about a Bourbon that was claimed to be the product of pot still distillation even though it was actually distilled in a column used in conjunction with a thumper.

I’m basically on the same path as Chuck here. You see, the main still that makes most of the wkisky at Forty Creek is a 6000 liter combi-still (combination still or hybrid still). It is basically a pot still base with a column still on top of it. Some of the wash starts in the pot, and once it heats to the point where it starts to vaporize, more wash is fed into the top of the column. The vapors move up through the column stripping alcohol out of the wash that is coming down and at the same time losing some water content along the way. The diagram below is just an example of this type of still.

John Hall has been somewhat of a pioneer in a Canadian whisky industry that has been slow to innovate, and for that he deserves credit. The spirit coming off of his still is at 65% abv; a sure sign of quality distillate, and as I said above I really like this whisky. But I get a bit rankled when I hear claims of the superiority of pot still whisky which clearly infer inherent inadequacies in the output of column stills. I also think it’s disingenuous to call the product of a combi-still a single pot still whisky, and I find it revealing that every photo of the still on the Forty Creek website either has the column cropped out or is taken from an angle that makes it barely visible.

Okay, enough of my column still crusade, time for a glass of whisky:

The nose is fairly complex, with subtle fruit and delicate floral aromas, but it’s the butterscotch notes that seem to stand out above the others.

While it doesn’t evolve dramatically on the palate from start to finish, there is good complexity throughout and all of the flavors are well integrated. Butterscotch, vanilla and spice notes are the most obvious flavors, but stone fruit, nuttiness and a floral aspect are all present as well.
The warm, spicy finish is smooth and of reasonable length.

It’s refreshing to see a Canadian Whisky that breaks from tradition. Next time I visit Montreal I may have to take a detour through Ontario and see if I can hunt down some of the Forty Creek bottlings that aren’t available in the U.S.

Johnnie Walker Swing

stats: Blended Scotch Whisky, no age statement, 40%, $65

The greatness of Scotland lies within its people, and I had the pleasure of meeting many wonderful Scots during the two weeks I spent there. But one man in particular stands out in my mind. After little more than 24 hours in the country, my father and I had a bit of spare time before catching a late afternoon ferry from Oban to Mull. We made our way to Dunstaffnage Castle, but before heading inside to explore, we ended up in a conversation with an older gentleman (I’m guessing mid to late 60’s) who was in charge of overseeing the restoration work that was being carried out on the castle. He was friendly and gregarious in a very genuine but stoic sort of way.

Our new acquaintance was quite interested in knowing about where we had come from and the nature of out trip. He seemed to delight in the whisky-centric theme of our travels and mentioned that his father had worked in the Oban distillery for 30 years. 

It was with a slight look of sadness that he spoke of the distillery not being anything like it had many years ago. If I had known then what I know now, I certainly would have asked him what time period his father’s tenure at Oban had covered. I’m guessing that his father most likely worked there during the 1950’s, 60’s and 70’s. And if I’m correct, I’m sure his father would have lamented the changes in his workplace as modernization saw the elimination of coal fired stills and traditional floor maltings at Oban as the 1960’s gave way to the 70’s.

He went on to mention that his father had gotten whisky from the Politician as a boy and this was what had sparked an interest that eventually led to his father’s employment in a distillery. Knowing nothing of this bit of history, I was thinking perhaps a corrupt public official had exchanged whisky for votes many decades ago. I must have shown a confused look, as he then informed me that the Politician was a boat that carried whisky.

Still a little perplexed, I mentioned Cutty Sark (the whisky was named for the ship, but the ship never transported whisky). He reiterated that the Politician was the name of the boat which carried a load of whisky, but from there the conversation meandered on to other topics.

I likely would have forgotten that discussion, but the Politician came up again just 30 hours later while my father and I were enjoying a few post-dinner single malts in one of Tobermory’s pubs. I ended up talking with a retired Englishman who had been traveling to the Hebrides (Scotland’s western isles) for many years in his free time. He mentioned that the Isle of Mull was just a brief stopover and that he would be on Eriskay, drinking in the Politician the next night.

I excitedly replied “Isn’t that a boat? Someone was just telling me about it yesterday”. Then I got the full explanation: the S.S. Politician was a cargo ship that ran aground in 1941 in the Outer Hebrides with a massive load of whisky, much of which was “salvaged” by the islanders. The story was the subject of a novel which was later made into a movie, and eventually a pub was named for the ship on Eriskay, the closest island to its grounding.

Apparently the book and the movie were both quite popular in the late 1940’s and early 1950’s. And even though the story is now ingrained in Scottish folklore it seems to have been largely forgotten in the U.S.

My curiosity was certainly piqued, and once I got home I began looking for the book so I could learn the details of the story. This was when I discovered that there had actually been two books written about the Politician: Whisky Galore (which inspired the movie of the same name) was a fictional tale loosely based on the story of the Politician and was published in 1947, and Scotch on the Rocks was more of a documentary / investigative work exploring the true story of the Politician and was published in 1963.

The later of the two was of far more interest to me and fortunately a new printing had been released in 2005, making it widely available again. While the tale of the Politician is a fascinating one in its own right, a substantial portion of Scotch on the Rocks is dedicated to recounting the author’s efforts to uncover the facts of the story 20 years after the events took place. This seemed like unnecessary peripheral information to me at first, but I eventually came to realize that what I originally viewed as a shortcoming was actually one of the book’s strongest attributes.

The author, Arthur Swinson, manages to contrast life in the islands vs. the mainland U.K. as well as highlighting societal changes that had taken place between the early 1940’s and early 1960’s, which adds some interesting facets to his account. But only now, 50 years after the book was written, as we are firmly entrenched in the age of electronic information, have some parts of the narrative become so captivating. As the author details his travels and detective work that were necessary to uncover the truth and paint a full picture of the events, it becomes overwhelmingly clear just how much the times have changed.

In case it’s not already obvious, I regard this as highly recommended reading. I did find the sizeable cast of characters a bit hard to keep track of, but this issue may have been compounded by the fact that I read the book at a fairly slow pace. And although a few maps are included, they don’t detail some of the locations referenced in the book very well. I found the following map very helpful in alleviating some of my confusion:

As for the whisky, roughly 250,000 bottles of Scotch were aboard the Politician when she ran aground. Whisky Galore only mentions a few brands but notes that the ship’s liquid cargo was of top quality. I’ve come across other sources that mention more brands and bottlings. They all appear to be blends, and that makes sense; very little single malt was being bottled as such during that time period.

As I scanned my whisky shelf looking for an appropriate bottle to tie-in to my anecdote and book review, there it was; Johnnie Walker Swing. It’s a blend that was introduced in 1932, and with Walker Black and Walker Red supposedly part of the Politician’s cargo I’d be surprised if there weren’t at least a few cases of Swing on board as well. But it’s the bottle that separates it from the rest of the Johnnie Walker lineup. The decanter is reminiscent of many that are used for Cognac, however it has a unique convex base that allows it to swing gracefully back and forth (rather than falling over and breaking) while onboard a vessel which is encountering rough seas. The maritime connection couldn’t be more fitting.

The aromas are dense but not aggressive, showing complex notes of malt and fruit with a delicate floral aspect and a hint of dry earthiness (probably peat induced).
On the palate it strikes me as being very well-composed and balanced, with an intricate mix of flavors. Perhaps it is this balanced complexity that almost makes it seem too mild up front, as no aspect really comes to the fore.
But then, as it transitions into the finish, it starts to show some backbone. With a warming, spice laden character rearing up, it gives the impression of a higher alcohol level than what is actually there. At the same time some delicate peat notes emerge. It all eventually backs down, slowly and gracefully fading.

Blended Scotches don’t generally do too much for me, and the blends that I’ve taken a liking to all tend to have a healthy dose of peat smoke. Walker Swing seems to fall midway between those that I like and those that I’m totally indifferent toward.

Glenmorangie, Finealta vs. The Original

stats:

Finealta, Single Malt Scotch, no age statement, Highland, 46%, $75

The Original, Single Malt Scotch, aged 10 years, Highland, 43%, $43 (100ml bottle pictured, typical price for 750ml bottle)

I had come across references to Alfred Barnard several times over the past two or three years while searching for information on various Scotch topics. But it wasn’t until last summer that I realized the magnitude and importance of Barnard’s research and writings.

So, “who is Alfred Barnard?” you ask. In the late 1800’s Barnard was the secretary of the London wine and spirits journal Harper’s Weekly Gazette. In 1885 he set off with the goal of touring every distillery in the United Kingdom. Over the course of two years Barnard managed to visit all of the 129 distilleries in Scotland (along with all 28 in Ireland and 4 of the 10 in England).

At many of these facilities Barnard recorded detailed information about the buildings, water sources, machines, vessels and other equipment, as well as documenting the processes that were employed. In addition to all of this he also wrote about some of the inns and hotels where he stayed, his modes of transportation, the countyside through which he travelled and some of the people he met along the way.

Barnard’s writings were printed in Harper’s on a regular basis during his journey and then, late in 1887, composed into a 500 page book called The Whisky Distilleries of the United Kingdom, which was illustrated with sketches and engravings showing many of the scenes he had observed during his travels. A century later the number of original copies of the book still in existence had dwindled while interest in Scotch Whisky was on the rise. Thankfully this incredibly important historical reference was reprinted in 1987, and has been again several times since.

It wasn’t until a little more than a year ago that I came to realize the scope and relevance of Barnard’s work. That was when, while searching for information about the rise and fall of Campbeltown’s whisky empire, I came across the Whisky Story blog. The blog is the work of an adventurous soul who sets about following in Barnard’s footsteps 125 years later with the intention of visiting all of the sites in Scotland that Barnard did, as well as every current distillery in the country.

The Whisky Story blog, with its mission to compare and contrast how the industry has changed since Barnard’s time, has been inactive for the last year. But from mid 2010 through late 2012 more than half of the intended distillery sites were covered. I am hopeful that this is a temporary hiatus and the work will resume. But even if it doesn’t, what the author has accomplished thus far is truly monumental.

The Whisky Story blog has been a great source of information as well as inspiration for me. While a lot of the technical details from Barnard’s book can be found on the blog, I think I have gotten to the point where my fascination with esoteric historical distillery information requires that I add a copy of The Whisky Distilleries of the United Kingdom to my reference library.

The Whisky Story blog has quite a bit to say about Glenmorangie, but Barnard wrote very little about the distillery. This was because at the time of his visit the place was in a state of disrepair and the owner was making preparations for a complete rebuild. Nonetheless, the bottle of Finealta (pronounced fin-alta) hiding on the back row of my whisky shelf served as motivation to finally write about Alfred Barnard. Finealta is based on a recipe from the turn of the century which was discovered in the distillery’s archives. It is lightly peated, non chill-filtered, and matured in a combination of American white oak casks and Spanish Oloroso sherry casks for various periods of time.

I could think of no better way to pay homage to the works of Barnard and Whisky Story than to compare the modern day Glenmorangie with a recreation of one dating to 1903, a mere 17 years after Barnard’s visit.

In recent years a few distillers have made replica whiskies based on existing samples that were 100 or more years old. Finealta is based on a recipe, so without a sample to compare it to we’ll never know how accurate of a reproduction it is. In the press release for Finealta they talk about following the recipe meticulously, but unfortunately little information is given regarding the details of that recipe.

I’d love to have a little more information about the formula they found in the archives and how much guesswork went into formulating Finealta. In spite of this I still think the recreation is a worthwhile project and I’m excited to see how it compares with Glenmorangie’s flagship bottling.

The Original:

It is straw yellow in color and the nose is very mild and clean, with delicate waxy fruit notes coming through.

On the palate it’s primarily fruit driven, with a mix of citrus, tropical and stone fruits. A spicy element joins in midway through keeping everything in balance.

As it moves into the finish, the fruit fades as the spice intensifies and oak notes join in adding woodiness, vanilla and butterscotch. Overall The Original is very clean and approachable. There is really nothing to dislike here, and it is little surprise that Glenmorangie has been the best selling single malt in Scotland for much of the last three decades.

 

Finealta:

It is light amber in color, just a bit darker than The Original, and while the nose is similarly delicate, it seems to have the same fruity characteristics with the addition of just a whiff of peat.
Right of the bat it comes across as being fuller and richer on the palate. The quintessential fruitiness is still there, but it is now joined by stewed dark berry fruits. But the biggest difference, especially from the mid palate on through the finish, is the more intense peaty character. The Original is supposed to be peated to 2 ppm (parts per million phenols), which is barely detectable in most cases. The Finealta bottle is labeled as being “Lightly Peated”, and my guess would be somewhere in the 7 – 9 ppm range.

On the finish the spice and oak are still present, but less dominant, and nicely balanced smoke and heather driven peat notes.

As I said above, there’s nothing to dislike about The Orignal, but there’s a lot to love about Finealta (the word is Gaelic for elegant, and you could really apply that term to either of these whiskies). Whether it is an accurate representation of Glenmorangie from 100 years ago, or simply a solid single malt presented with a reasonable peat level, a healthy dose of sherry cask maturation and non chill-filtration is hard to say. But either way I like it, a lot.

Edradour 10 year

stats: Single Malt Scotch, Highlands, 43%, $50

I first tasted Edradour a little over a year ago. It made a good initial impression, which piqued my interest enough to at least take a look at their website. They pride themselves on doing things the old-fashioned way and are still using much of the Victorian era equipment that has been in the distillery since its early days.

The website makes reference to their use of a Morton’s Refrigerator and claims it is the last working one in the industry, but they don’t mention what it does or how it works. I did have an idea though.

After the mashing process (where the grain steeps in hot water), the wort (the resulting liquid) must be cooled from roughly 160°F to around room temperature before being transferred to the washback. If this step is skipped, the yeast will die when it is added to the still hot liquid. The modern method employs a counter-flow chiller (or a plate chiller), where hot wort enters from one end and cold water enters from the other. The two liquids are kept separate, but coaxial tubing (or alternating channels between the plates) allows heat to be transferred between them, cooling the wort and warming the water. The oldest method of cooling the wort was to place it in a large, shallow, open topped tank, where the temperature could drop sufficiently over night, when the large surface area was exposed to the cooler nocturnal air.

The photos above show the remnants of the old cast iron cooling tank and the modern (thought slightly dated) chiller at Springbank. My suspicion was that the Morton’s Refrigerator was either a different name for the open-air, shallow tank (they are called coolships in the beer industry), or some intermediate technology between that and the modern chiller.

I’m certain I will return to Scotland some day, and when I do Edradour will be near the top of my list of places to visit. The distillery is said to be quite picturesque and is easily accessible, being located just 60 miles north of the midway point between Glasgow and Edinburgh. I would love to see the Morton’s Refrigerator and the rest of the vintage equipment in action, but as my return to the land of heather and peat is not immanent, I’ll have to resort to a Google search to learn more for now.

Edradour (pronounced edra-dower, rhymes with power) claims to be the smallest distillery in Scotland. With their capacity a little over 100,000 liters of pure alcohol per year, Edradour is on par with Kilchoman, which began distilling late in 2005. Since then three new Scottish distilleries have come online with significantly lower capacities.

The distillery had gained a bit of a dodgy reputation after struggling with consistency issues for many years, but that era came to an end in 2002 with a change in ownership. This was when Edradour was purchased by the independent bottler Signatory, and a former Laphroaig distillery manager was brought in to steer the ship and straighten things out.

As for the mysterious Morton’s Refrigerator, I had to do little digging but I finally found the information I was looking for. It turns out that this was an intermediate step in technology between the large, shallow cooling tank and the modern chiller. It is essentially an open trough, set on a slight angle, which the wort flows through. There are pipes in the trough, oriented perpendicular to the flow of the wort, which carry cold water. Heat is transferred from the wort to the water through these pipes.

The Morton’s Refrigerator at Edradour dated to 1934 (it may not have been the original; the technology had been around since at least the 1880’s). But after 75 years that cast iron unit had reached the end of its useful life. It would have made sense to replace it with a modern chiller, but the owners chose to hold on to tradition and commissioned a stainless steel replica of their retired Morton’s Refrigerator.

Thanks to the Whisky Cyclist Blog for letting me borrow their photos of both the original unit and its replacement.

Now that I have that mystery sorted out, it’s on to the whisky.

The rich nose is made up primarily of malt and sherry notes.
On the palate it is slightly nutty with dark fruit elements well integrated into the malty core. The slightest hint of a floral note (or perhaps it is mint?) adds depth, and it has just enough heat to hold one’s attention right through the pleasantly long finish. Very lightly peated malt is used, but the other flavors carry enough intensity that the smokiness is all but hidden.
It’s weighty, but not cumbersome. Overall, a single malt that is well made and quite enjoyable.

Glen Garioch, Small Batch Release, 1994 Vintage

stats: Single Malt Scotch, Highland, 53.9%, $110

The Scotch Whisky industry is steeped in tradition, and its distillers work very hard to put out a product that is consistent from bottle to bottle. In spite of this, we are dealing with a dynamic commodity and it is inevitable that single malt flavor profiles will evolve over longer time spans.

I started to explore this topic in the last post with an examination of how Lagavulin’s stills have changed in shape and size throughout the lifespan of the distillery. This time around I’m going to examine several of the other factors that have led to the changes in the way single malts taste over the last 50 years. Some of these changes are the result of consumer demand and others have happened in the name of modernization and increased efficiency, but either way their examples are numerous.

The most recent change started roughly 10 to 15 years ago. This one, initiated at the behest of more sophisticated consumers, is the move away from chill-filtration. This change is often accompanied by an increase in alcohol level, as the unfiltered whisky can go cloudy with just the addition of a bit of cool water if it is bottled below 46% abv. Bunnahabhain made the leap in 2010, doing away with the process across their line and increasing from 43% to 46.3% abv. The whisky was transformed and much for the better, say I.

Concurrently, many distillers have done away with the use of caramel coloring. Most claimed it was used in trace amounts to ensure color consistency, but I suspect some used heavier doses to attain a darker tone that they thought would be more appealing to consumers. Those who employed artificial coloring all claimed it had no effect on flavor, but many whisky writers and critics have argued otherwise. I feel that this “industry pressure” is largely responsible for the current decline we see in the use of caramel coloring.

Over the last five decades, with the growth of the Bourbon industry and the dwindling popularity of Sherry, Scottish distillers have experienced an evolution of the types of casks that are available to them. While Bourbon barrels now abound, Sherry casks are several times more expensive and difficult to come by in quantity with any likelihood of consistent quality. This has resulted in many a distiller slowly and quietly transitioning from Sherry oak to Bourbon oak. I have seen speculation that Cragganmore is a very likely candidate for this phenomenon.

As the production levels of single malts have grown, warehouse capacity has had to increase as well. Many of the bigger companies that own multiple distilleries have gone the route of developing large, centralized warehouse complexes, typically in the same locations as their blending and bottling facilities. It has been argued that this can erode a distillery’s individual character, as the local climate no longer has an influence on the whisky through its many years of aging in the cask.

Looking back to the 1960’s, this seems to have been the most transformative of the past five decades. Not only was this a time of rapid modernization and consolidation, but also of changing consumer tastes. Most distillers made the move from direct-fired stills (traditionally coal fueled, but the few remaining now use natural gas or oil) to indirect-fired (utilizing internal steam coils). The fact that Glenfarclas tested indirect heating on one of their stills in 1980, then switched it back to direct heating just three weeks later certainly shows the significance of the change.

Whether or not the move from traditional wooden washbacks (fermentation tanks) to their lower maintenance stainless steel counterparts has an effect on the flavor of the whisky is highly debatable. But the shortening of fermentation times from upwards of a week to a mere two or three days (many distilleries have done this to increase capacity without adding infrastructure) has resulted in spirit that is noticeably less fruity.

Also, the switch by most producers from traditional worm tubs to modern shell-and-tube condensers has had the effect of a decidedly less heavy spirit being produced.

However, the most significant change of the 1960’s was when most distilleries gave up their traditional floor maltings and began to purchase barley malted to order, which was now available from several modern, industrial facilities. A change in flavor could easily be introduced by switching to commercially produced malt. The types of organic material that peat is composed of can vary greatly as you move around Scotland. The peat that is local to a distillery (along with the source water) would make a unique contribution to the distillery’s flavor profile, and this could be lost when the malting process was outsourced.

More importantly, this transition ushered in an era of changing peat levels. Since the local availability of peat (or coal) was no longer a factor, it was much easier for distillers to adjust their peating levels. And that is just what happened with consumer demand trending toward a lighter, gentler style of whisky at the time. Traditionally every distiller on Islay made heavily peated malt whisky. Bruichladdich changed over to being very lightly peated in 1960, and three years later Bunnahabhain followed suit. Then, in the early 1970’s, Bowmore reduced the peatiness of their whisky to what is generally considered a moderate level.

I have recently become fascinated with the story of a distillery where the peat levels have changed many times over the last 50 years. Most Highland distillers slowly drifted away from using healthy doses of peat long ago (I’m guessing this trend started in the late1800’s as the newly built railroads made it possible to transport coal to remote areas). Glen Garioch, pronounced glen geery, was still hanging on to this nearly forgotten tradition, as well as using its old floor maltings, when it closed due to the lack of a reliable water source in 1968.

Glen Garioch was purchased by Morrison Bowmore in 1970, and after a more dependable water source was secured, it was finally reopened in 1973. At that time a new maltster was brought in and, having been trained on Islay, he actually increased the peat levels. For many years the standard lineup of Glen Garioch had a 21 year old and I’ve read accounts of it becoming noticeably smokier in the mid 1990’s.

While there is no clear record of the exact peating levels used at Glen Garioch, and I even came across a report of it supposedly varying quite a bit from batch to batch at one point, it clearly decreased over the ensuing two decades and it sounds like there were significant drops in 1975 and 1985. The distillery closed again from mid 1995 to mid 1997, and that event marked the end of the use of Glen Garioch’s old traditional floor maltings. Since reopening, the distillery has been purchasing unpeated, commercially malted barely.

In 2009 Glen Garioch single malt was relaunched with a completely revamped lineup. In addition to the new 12 year and no-age-statement Founder’s Reserve, there have been several vintage dated small batch editions released. So far they have spanned from 1978 to 1997, covering a broad range peat levels.

Today I’m tasting the 1994 Vintage, which spent 17 years in bourbon barrels before being bottled in 2011 at a cask strength of 53.9% abv. This is some of the last of the peated Glen Garioch that was produced.

The color is a light golden amber.

The nose is fairly intense, but not heavy, with grassy, hay-like notes mixing in with gentle floral, earthy and malty aromas. If there is any peat evident on the nose, it is masquerading as the earthiness.

In the mouth the body is quite heavy and the whisky is exceptionally full flavored up front. The flavors, which are primarily malt and toffee, with hints of mulling spices and grassy / floral notes, evolve and recede as the high alcohol level becomes prominent on the warm, peppery finish. The peat notes are absent up front, but come in subtly on the back end, tying everything together very nicely. There’s quite a bit of length at the finish, and even though the warmth of the alcohol plays a lead role, just enough flavor rides along to keep it in check.

Although it has some flavor elements that deviate from my personal preferences, I still found this whisky to be quite enjoyable. In and ideal world I would have three more bottles in front of me: the 1997 Vintage to try an unpeated version (even though I don’t think I would like it as much), the 1990 Vintage which has the added element of some sherry cask whisky, and the 1978 Vintage to experience some of the more heavily peated Glen Garioch.

Looking back, much of the modernization that has taken place in the industry since 1960 has helped Scottish distillers to cut costs and produce whisky that is more consistent from batch to batch (though many would argue it is not of the same quality). But after examining all of the flavor altering changes that distillery managers have employed over the years, it almost seems silly that they would have the dents of a decommissioned still recreated on its replacement, as I discussed in the Lagavulin post.