Green Spot Story

hmm... looks like wine...

This isn’t actually an historical and factual story of Green Spot single pot still Irish whisky, but rather my convoluted story that culminates in me getting hold of a bottle, which I’m sure you will find absolutely fascinating. Incidentally, if you do want to know a bit of factual information about Green Spot, allow me to recommend Scotchnoob’s review, which you can find here.

In 2002, when I was still in a band, we were offered the chance to play a gig in Dublin. We booked flights with Easyjet or Ryanair, and arranged to stay with the band that invited us, and borrow their amps.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t to be. The gig was cancelled, and Pits and I were left with two tickets to Dublin and no reason to go. Brenda and I decided we would go instead, but sadly this didn’t happen either; accommodation looked to cost more than we could afford, and it was proving impossible to get through to the airline’s phone number to change the name on Pits’ ticket. So we decided to write it off – couldn’t really afford to, but we couldn’t afford to go either.

I’ve still never been to Dublin, but I would very much like to. I know, I know, it should be easy enough, but it won’t be happening in the next year. The missus and I have already got our various travel plans mentally arranged, so sadly it looked like there would be no opportunity for me to indulge in a bit of Irish whisky collecting – outside of a trip to Tesco.

But, just when I’d given up hope, I had a text from my friend Dave, telling me he was going to Dublin for a couple of days. I wouldn’t normally get all that excited about other people’s travel plans, but I think I was having a bit of a bad week, and for some reason that cheered me right up.

Figuring Dave might have his own Duty Free requirements, I suggested that, you know, if you don’t, and if it’s not too much trouble, would you consider picking me up some nice Irish whisky?

Absolutely no problem, said Dave. He actually sounded delighted to do so, but what did I have in mind? Well, my mind was fairly blank – I just knew that I wanted something I couldn’t buy in Tesco, so I had a quick look at The Whisky Exchange. It wasn’t far down the page that I found Green Spot, another whisky that I recalled reading about in 101 Whiskies toTry Before You Die. 

It’s surprising, the amount of information in that book that turns out to be inaccurate – or rather, to have changed since publication. Green Spot, it says, is produced in small batches of only 6000 bottles every year. I don’t know how many bottles are produced each year now, but this whisky is much more readily available than it once was - due to Irish Distillers Ltd acquiring the distribution licence in 2011 (thanks, Scotchnoob). I suppose I’ll never know whether that has had any impact upon its quality, though Scotchnoob’s review suggests that while the whisky isn’t supposed to have changed, some suspect the newer packaged product is younger and lighter.

Dave had a lovely time in Dublin. He and his missus visited the Guinness brewery, where they learned to pour a “perfect” pint, and then visited the Jameson distillery where they learned some pretty interesting things. [If I remember rightly] they were shown inside a barrel with some new make whisky in it that was almost full, then a barrel of [let’s say] 12 year old that was only half full, and then a barrel of [again, the effect is more important than exact detail] 18 year old that was perhaps a quarter full.

I had always thought that older whisky was more expensive simply because of the amount of time it had to be sitting in a warehouse, not making any money before it could be sold – that’s basic accounting principles. It turns out though, that it is at least as much to do with evaporation of the product –you see, the longer you age it, the less of it you have. This evaporation is known as the angel’s share, which coincidentally is also the title of a 2012 Ken Loach film that I’d never heard of previously…

Suddenly older whiskies don’t seem quite so expensive. In fact, that (again, at thewhiskyexchange) you can buy a 12 year old bottle of Jameson for £50 and an 18 year old bottle for £70, makes the 18 year old start to sound like a bargain! I would just hope the 18 year old is actually better than the 12 year old – not always the case.

Well, I found all that fascinating. Incidentally, Dave also said he took the opportunity to get himself a ‘proper’ whisky glass. When I questioned him about it later though, it turned out not to be the Glencairn glass, but something else entirely, with ‘Jameson’ written on it.

He did indeed come through with the whisky though, and returned bearing a bottle of Green Spot, exactly as requested. Thanks Dave, it’s much appreciated. I’d told him my budget would stretch to £40, and it came in at £35. Cash back; though he did say they were selling it at the Distillery for £60, so it’s a good job he waited to try Duty Free.

It’s not much to look at – in fact, it looks like a wine bottle – but I had high hopes for this, the first bottle of Irish whisky I’d ever try that wasn’t (strictly) Jameson, even though it is distilled at the Jameson distillery, so really it is Jameson, isn’t it? It’s nice to build up a little anticipation, so I waited about a week before allowing myself to open it.

When the right Sunday night came, the missus and I settled down in front of The Inbetweeners Movie, and I opened proceedings with a glass of the Dewar’s, that I might then have something to compare the Green Spot with. I could tell straight away that the Green Spot was a little classier, but the difference wasn’t so pronounced as to push it into the special category. Indeed, it wasn’t until a week (and two glasses) later that this whisky began to show its worth. In fact, I’ve since concluded that Sunday night is not the best time to drink your special spirits. I don’t know about you, but heavy drinking on Friday and Saturday night usually means there is some interference in my tasting faculties by Sunday – or so it seems.

 This time then, we were watching a weird French film called Lemming. I poured a generous glass, and enjoyed it about as much as I think it is possible to enjoy a glass of whisky without, I don’t know, being naked and in the company of a beautiful lady.

The liquid felt soft and oily, it played around the tongue, causing excited jets of saliva to spring forth and enclose it like your cosiest duvet. It was delightful, and was followed by a tinge of sadness when I finally allowed myself to finish the glass around 45 minutes later. Fantastic. I can’t wait till I bring it out again.

That’s all I have to say about Green Spot for now, though I do want to take this opportunity, to set the record straight about the Dewar’s. Once again, I have allowed myself to judge too soon, and it turns out I haven’t been entirely fair. The Dewar’s has revealed itself (over quite a long time) to be a far more complex blend than I have been giving it credit for. Yes, it has the blend taste, but it can also be woody and sweet by turns and has a generous finish. I hereby recommend it. And I recommend Green Spot, too.

That then, brings me to the various pre-weekend formalities. It’s looking like being a quiet one for me tonight, but I’ll still get some of the spirits out – nothing special though; given my hungover state, that was brought on by going a bit mad at the Manchester Whisky Club’s Tomatin night, I think the good stuff would be wasted on me. There’s always tomorrow.

Speaking of tomorrow, our good friends Gav and Clare are coming over, and I’m actually looking forward to opening some wine, because I attempted to follow the advice that Clare gave me after last week’s How DoYou Select Wine? post. We’ll see how I did, and I’ll probably be blogging about all that at some point in the future, so look out for it.

So yes, tomorrow will be drinking and eating, two of my favourite things. I’ve also heard that the legendary DJ Premier is appearing at Sound Control, and I’m wondering whether that might be on the cards later…

Whatever you’re doing, make sure it’s booze-fuelled and trouble free, eh? Have a good un.

Mad things people taste in liquor - it's like a clips show, but written down

Inspired by recently attending the first meeting of the new Manchester Whisky Club (which you can read about on other blogs here and here), I’d like to revisit a theme from my Whatis it with whisky reviews? feature. The club is basically an [admittedly excellent] excuse to mix with other people that have an interest in drinking whisky, and taste some different drams. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever used the word ‘dram’, not really feeling qualified to do so generally. There were five to try at this first meeting – one from each of the whisky producing regions of Scotland – and they were all of excellent quality, being selected as they were by club founder, Andy.

Andy allocated us five glasses each, and poured a generous quantity into each one. Each whisky and region was then introduced, and we commenced with the nosing and tasting, pausing to share our impressions.

Now, I don’t want to get into too much detail about the club itself (that’s for another time), but what is important is that none of the impressions any of us had of the various scents and flavours in those five glasses were particularly outlandish, but as you’ll see in the rest of this article, sometimes they really can be. I’m more of a wide-eyed enthusiast than an expert, so it’s not for me to say whether any of these flavours are actually in the drams in question, and there are no right or wrong answers anyway, apparently. So no judging, please. Just have a look at some of these examples, and marvel at the ingenuity and realms of possibility within human experience.

Some of these excerpts are from what we’ll call ‘expert’ reviews, and are therefore examples perhaps of someone letting their imagination run away with them a little. Conversely, some are ‘customer’ reviews, and therefore borne out of boredom and naïve fascination, so some of them may be explained by error, lack of experience or even facetiousness (much like this blog) – you know what people on the internet are like. I think they’re all worth looking at and even celebrating to some extent.

Combinations

A common practice I’ve noticed is that of mentioning what I’m going to call combination flavours. By that, I mean where someone doesn’t just mention a flavour, but that flavour in a particular state, so for example, instead of vanilla, they will say vanilla ice cream, instead of grass, they’ll say wet grass etc. Grass? No, wet grass. You get the point. You can see real examples in these next few entries:

Gibson’s 12 year old – “on the nose; canned fruits.”

Here’s a good one: canned fruits. So generic fruit in a can? Does that seriously sound like a good thing, notwithstanding that the smell of the canned fruit should differ, depending on what fruit is actually in the can? I don’t think canned fruits was supplied as a value judgement in this instance, more an observation. It is an interesting one though. To me it begs the question: if you’re going to analyse flavours, how specific do you need to be? Is ‘canned fruits’ good enough? Is it in juice or syrup?

The Glenlivet 12 year old – ‘dark toast’ from The Whisky Exchange

Dark toast. Again, I’m just not sure whether some things people get an impression of are supposed to be good or not – does it matter? Let’s imagine you’re considering purchasing the whisky in question; are you supposed to ask yourself, do I like dark toast? If you don’t, I don’t think that necessarily means you can’t enjoy a whisky that someone has tasted dark toast in, so it’s not particularly useful, but it is a real impression someone had, so there.

Perhaps you should ask, whether or not I like dark toast, would I like it in whisky?

The book I’m currently reading (but skipping through most of), Peat Smoke and Spirit by Andrew Jefford also mentioned dark toast in a description of a whisky recently, and in that instance it was a bad thing, so that at least clears that up. To some extent.

Poetic Licence

Then of course, you’ve got the people who take the whole thing a little too far. Like this guy:

Jura Superstition – “I immediately noticed rich scents and aromas climbing out of the glass to greet my nose. If I closed my eyes and held the glencairn under my nose I could imagine I was in an evergreen forest with damp moss covering the ground. A boggy meadow must be nearby as I smell the damp peat under the meadow grass, with lush ferns and willow bushes clinging to its edges. Saw grass and timothy are growing in the meadow with summer flowers just beginning to bloom. Sweet malted barley smells have wafted in from beyond the forest and light scents of marmalade, vanilla and baking spices have drifted in. I find the overall effect to be marvellous.”

From therumhowlerblog

Now I don’t want to ridicule that one (too much), but if I hold a glass under my nose, I can imagine literally anything. The mind is a powerful thing – sometimes I don’t even need to hold a glass under my nose. I can imagine for example, that an otter is playing the trombone. Get that into a glass of whisky.

I might try that at the next club meeting; [sniff…] I’m getting a sense of… an otter… playing a trombone…

But seriously; that’s got to be some fricking good whisky, in order to transport you to the Land of Narnia, just by sniffing it. Alas, no; it’s just Jura Superstition, which didn’t impress me much at all when I had a bottle of it. Maybe if I’d been putting the washing away in the wardrobe, as Mrs Cake reminded me this morning that I never do, things might have been different.

Maybe that’s a good excuse, I just thought to myself before common sense intervened and reminded me that fear of Narnia is never a good excuse for getting out of anything.

The Whisky Magazine’s review of Glenrothes Select Reserve also indulges in this flowery opulence:

TasteTasting Notes:

Nose: Lots of zesty rich fruit on the nose. Thick Seville marmalade, bubbling on a hot stove with notes of toasted cereals. 

Palate: Silky smooth and utterly supple. Gentle barley whispers sweet nothings to the/its honey. A little vanilla and malt with toasted cereal and sumptuous oak.

Finish: Long with mocchaccino and barley sweetness. 
(Tasting Notes by Whisky Magazine.)

Looks like someone’s missed their calling as a poet. A few things stand out about that one. First you’ve got a combination flavour – Seville marmalade, rather than just marmalade. You don’t want to give the wrong impression, do you? I don’t know what Seville marmalade tastes like, and how it differs from regular marmalade, but it’s nice to be given something so specific. That’s better than canned fruits, isn’t it?

Then you’ve got that it is supple on the palate. How a liquid can be anything but supple is beyond me. Let’s just look that word up…

sup·ple  (spl)

adj. sup·pler, sup·plest

1. Readily bent; pliant.

2. Moving and bending with agility; limber.

3. Yielding or changing readily; compliant or adaptable.

Hmm… looking at that, you could argue that a liquid can’t be supple. Moving on…

Finally you’ve got the bit where gentle barley is whispering sweet nothings to the/its honey. That is so annoying, how he’s chosen to suggest the barley speaks to the honey flavour, and then suggests that perhaps the barley is speaking to its lover [… bleurgh!] with the use of a forward slash to shoehorn both those points into one phrase. I’ll tell you what though; I can imagine a stalk of barley leaning over to some honey and whispering to it. What would it be whispering, I wonder? I’m going to destroy you!

Tee-hee-hee-hee-hee!

That’s the honey giggling, though there’s nothing about it doing that in the review.

Nutcases

If that wasn’t mad enough, then you have the nutcases. When this next one says ‘pork’, I’m going to give the benefit of the doubt, and assume he means port, though I can’t really see the relevance here – unless he’s describing a meal. Maybe he had pork for dinner, with a glass of wine, then decided to finish off with a whisky. Whatever; he goes on to mention meerkats, and seems to think whisky is made by baking, so whatever he says has already been undermined. I know sometimes sarcasm can be lost in the written word, but I don’t think this one is a joke. I think it’s safe to say; this guy isn’t a pro.

 “After trying Wine and then Pork I thought I would try whisky. The colour is almost like a Meerkat when it is 2 year old. The taste was good to start but not really baked enough. Not recommended by me!” from www.masterofmalt.com

The colour of a meerkat? Is he a zookeeper? Perhaps I was misguided when I started comparing the colour of my whiskies to a Dulux colour chart; I should have been comparing them to animals – orangey-yellow animals like lions, hyenas and foxes.

Communicating enthusiasm

Finally you have the reviews to which I give the greatest credence; ones that actually give some semblance of what it is like to experience a whisky, rather than attempt to impress you with a series of flavours. The way so many reviews rely on lists of flavours reminds me of reading a menu in a vegetarian restaurant – that’s not a dish, it’s just a list of vegetables!

Perhaps it helps that this next one is a review of a personal favourite, but nevertheless, I can identify with this one, and I find it amusing.

Caol Ila Cask Strength – “Very strong stuff!The oils seep out of the whiskey when you add a drop of water to your glass.Its Medicinal, carbolic, salty fume fills the room and scares my wife into the next room. It’s beyond comprehension that this whiskey was crafted by man.” From the whisky exchange

I suppose it takes a particularly interesting whisky to inspire that kind of description, and perhaps that’s the problem; most whiskies aren’t that interesting (to me, at least… yet). They are enjoyable and mildly interesting, but they don’t jump out of the glass and demand attention, so you’re left sticking your nose in there going, “toffee? Caramel? Banana milkshake? Vanilla?...”

I’d like to leave you then, with one more excerpt that I was made aware of by Andy of the Manchester Whisky Club. He said he found this in a review on Twitter:

'I'm back in the playground with bleeding knees after a conker match - I'm getting childhood fruits'

Regardless of what childhood fruits are, that one is just bizarre! How do you get bleeding knees from a conker match? Do I have an impression of what it was like to be at school all those years ago? Yes. Would I ever expect that impression to be reflected in the flavour or aroma of whisky? Again no, but that would be interesting, wouldn’t it?

I’m afraid I don’t know what whisky was being described there, so I may never come across it. I hope I do, just as I would like to understand this one day, and perhaps experience such a vivid impression of my own. I’m going the right away about it - in that I’m trying plenty of whisky – but sadly, I can’t say I’ve come anywhere near yet. Drinking whisky tends to just remind me of another time I was drinking whisky, though they do all smell and taste distinct from each other.

I’m still slightly mystified over what the point is, but since I understand that some whiskies are better than others, and that you can get mad impressions from them, I suppose you should at least share them. Otherwise, what’s the point in experiencing anything? That there are no right or wrong answers almost renders the practice redundant, but I think you should accept that as encouragement to throw your own mad descriptions out there, rather than dwell on what you can’t taste.

Well, all that doesn’t matter. I’d be delighted of course to hear what you think about all this. The important thing I think, is that whisky can be so complex, evocative and enjoyable that it transcends simply being an alcoholic drink. You can get lost in it, and when you get lost in it, getting drunk on it isn’t the main motivation behind drinking it – and that’s got to be a good thing for those of us who are approaching middle age and the onset of all manner of maladies and deterioration. All this evolved because it’s fascinating and enthusiasts want to communicate and share their experiences. So it’s all good.

That was quite fun, then. I think I’ll return to this theme at some time in the future when I’ve come across some more mad reviews, so keep an eye out for it. We can open this up to audience participation if you like. If you see a particularly weird booze review, let me know.

Booze Wars! Tesco's Grappa Julia Superiore vs RuaVieja

Good evening everyone, it sure is nice to welcome you to this week’s blogpost. Just a brief one this week, and while I don’t want to lower your expectations too much, it probably isn’t the best thing I’ve ever written. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it. You can start now.

Since returning from my honeymoon in Ibiza [now more than] a few months ago, I’d been waiting for an opportunity to conduct another booze wars experiment; pitting the bargain orujo I’d picked up (RuaVieja, 42% ABV) against the cheapest grappa I’ve ever seen in the UK, Tesco’s GrappaJulia Superiore (38% ABV). 

I think this is the first time I’ve ever had two spirits of this type in the house at the same time, so the chance to compare was not one I was going to pass up. Grappa and orujo are both spirits made from distilling pomace, which is the stuff that is left over from wine making – stems, skins etc. It differs from brandy in that brandy is actually distilled wine. From my experiments so far, I have to say I have a preference for pomace spirit.

I took out two glasses as you can see, and poured similar amounts of spirit into each. Both looked identical to me, so I moved straight on to the smell test. I had a good sniff, and detected that the Julia is significantly more fragrant than the RuaVieja. I offered them to Mrs Cake to smell, but she has a cold and can’t smell anything. So, into the lounge I went for some tasting and to finish watching The Taking of Pelham 123 with John Travolta and Denzel Washington (which surprisingly isn’t bad – I know!).

Proper tastings should be conducted without distractions according to whisky expert Jim Murray, but real life is conducted with background noise and entertainment. I was drinking in real life, so getting comfy in front of the telly was the method.

In contrast to the smell test, the RuaVieja performs better than the Julia in terms of flavour. Julia is sweet on entry but bitter at the finish, while RuaVieja appears to me to have greater depth. It’s a pleasure to drink, and an absolute bargain whether you pay the 3 euros 90 that I was lucky enough to get it for (have I mentioned that before?), or the full price of 12 Euros – which is still cheaper than the Julia.

Julia isn’t bad when you think about how much you tend to have to pay for grappa in the UK. It isn’t the best quality, but if you really need a bottle of grappa, you can’t turn your nose up at £13. ‘Who really needs a bottle of grappa?’ you might ask. Well: I do. Perhaps not at the moment; I’ve got the RuaVieja, and I think I’ll be drinking that first.

Another trip to Spain is on the cards this summer, so on top of everything I’m looking forward to hitting the booze shops and the duty free again. I think you can be fairly sure I’ll be picking up some more orujo at some point along the way.

In other news, last night saw the first physical meeting of the Manchester Whisky Club, which went off very successfully. I’ll probably write a bit more about that in the coming weeks. Once again, it is the weekend, and as usual drink features very highly on my agenda – going out, staying in; it doesn’t matter, I’ve got some booze and it’s going in mah belly. Tonight I’m thinking pub, homemade pizza, cans, homemade caipirinhas, cracking open a new bottle of vodka and special spirits to finish. That was quite a poetic sentence. Tomorrow I’m thinking pub sesh and dinner out. Sunday I’m thinking a couple of quiet drinks at home.

Before I take my leave then, I’d like to wish you all a splendid weekend, and I hope you’ll pop back next week when I’ll have something else for you, something better. Hopefully. Till then, you can follow me on Twitter if you like inane comments about booze and stupid thoughts that seem funny when you type them, but actually aren’t. Laters!

You can even taste whisky on the internet...

Good evening everybody. It’s a rare Thursday post for me this week, since tomorrow I’m hoping to be heading to a secluded cottage in North Wales straight after work (weather permitting), so there won’t be time for any of this blogging nonsense – just time to pick up a bag and grab a few bottles of hooch to keep the missus and I warm.

Shall we get on with it then? This week’s post is a collection of a few random and some specific thoughts in relation to the Manchester Whisky Club’s recent online twitter tasting. Here we go.

Prior to the first physical meeting of the newly formed Manchester Whisky Club (due later this month), we first had a Thursday night Twitter tasting. Thursday is the new Friday, and indeed a great time to drink whisky - hey! It's Thursday tonight! Excuse me... [squeeeeak, pop, pour, sniff, sip, aaaaah!] 

Club founder Andy had already provided each member with two mystery drams that had arrived in the post, all mummified in bubblewrap and sellotape, and finally, after about 2 months of them sitting there in my booze cupboard, it was time to take them out and put them in glasses. Exciting times.

This would actually be my first ever whisky tasting of any kind – other than those that have just been me, in my house, tasting whiskies, occasionally with one or two friends there – and an excellent chance to get some kind of impression of what the club and its members would be like – not to mention finally finding out what this whole Twitter jobbie was all about.

You may remember in my earlier Manchester WhiskyClub post that I was wondering if there would be any female members. Well, there are. I have to admit to being a little surprised – pleasantly, I might add. No, I’m not looking for any [happily married, thanks for asking, and there’s only room for one whisky drinker in my house], but it’s a relief that this pursuit isn’t going to be one of those things that only men do – like golf. You see women playing golf, but you can’t help thinking; why are they playing golf? Not that they shouldn’t – in spite of what some of my friends might say. No, it’s just a bit weird.

There weren’t too many members joining us for the tasting (I’m not going to check, but I think it was 6-9), but I’m going to say it was a successful first event. I’m sure everyone had a lot of fun, and I think Andy has got to be optimistic about how this whole thing is going to pan out. It was a nice group of people, and I’m sure everyone enjoyed it.

What happened then, was that we all gathered around our computers with our tasting glasses, logged into Twitter just before 7pm, and waited for it to begin. I poured both of my samples into glasses at the same time, just to let those aromas develop a little.

I got my Dulux colour cards out ahead of time, and tried to see if I could find a match for each sample. Sample 1 was very pale, and mapped very tidily to ‘Desert Island 4’, while sample 2, easily the darker of the two, turned out to be one of the few shades Dulux haven’t mastered yet. There are no photos to show you of that, but if it doesn’t make sense, check this earlier post for a bit of context.

After a brief welcome then, we got started on the nosing of sample 1. Being hopeless at nosing, I wasn’t able to identify any smells in particular, but everyone else had a damn good go, and I found it quite educational, just seeing what they had to say.

I think I moved on to the actual tasting way ahead of everyone else, but whaddayagonna do? I was ready. There was something very familiar about it that I couldn’t quite place. It was soft, oily and mouthcoating – very classy, but perhaps one that I might not have appreciated fully in the past. Light and summery, I believe was the consensus among the other members.

All my impressions soon made sense when its identity was revealed; Speyside’s anCnoc 12 year old. I had had it before; I remember Mrs Cake buying me a bottle one Saturday when I was in a foul mood. I think we’d had a disagreement, and she was trying to cheer me up. It’s not related, of course, but it was the same day she bought her dad a bottle of Ledaig 10 year old. She took it to Canada for him, where he had one taste and decided he didn’t like it, before sending it back with her for me. I thought it was delicious.

I couldn’t recall being so fond of the anCnoc on previous occasions, but it was well over a year ago, and it’s only just over a year ago that I stopped putting ice in my whisky. This is definitely one to get again some time.

We spent half an hour on the first dram. I was finished well in advance, and couldn’t wait to get started on number 2. On nosing it struck me as being quite complex, but I couldn’t detect anything in particular. While the others participants showed me up with mentions of vanilla, caramel and spice, I got into the tasting.

Salty at first, I found that it developed as I allowed it to sit on my tongue before finishing with a touch of (not unpleasant) bitterness at the end. Very different to the first, but in my opinion no worse for it. I couldn’t actually decide which I preferred (possibly the 1st, but I’d need a few more tastes to be sure).

On the reveal I learned something that I’d been meaning to test for some time – that I can’t necessarily tell a blend from a single malt. I always thought it would be easy due to the bitter grain taste – which perhaps explains the slight bitterness on the finish of this 2nd dram. However, the bitterness was not even out of the ordinary for some single malts, and the complexity and smoothness was unlike any blend I’ve found up to now. There were also reports that a drop of water would eliminate the bitterness, but I wasn’t really bothered about trying that.

This 2nd sample then was the 13 year old Whyte and Mackay which should retail around £20. That’s damn good value. It actually reminded me of the 12 year old Balvenie, though I was pretty sure it wasn’t that, as I actually liked the sample immediately.

Yeah, I’m struggling to get into that Balvenie. I kind of feel it’s like a puzzle that I have to solve, and for that reason, if I don’t know which of my whiskies to dip into on any occasion, that’s the one I’ve been going for.

Whisky probably shouldn’t be like a puzzle, should it? You should just be able to enjoy it. Puzzles are good too though – as long as you can solve them. Otherwise they leave you with feelings of inadequacy. I don’t think it’s as important to get the Balvenie as it would be to be able to finish a Sudoku puzzle though. My feeling on Sudoku is always, what’s the point, why don’t you just read a book? But I’d really want to be able to finish one if I ever started one in the first place.

Come to think of it, I did start one once, but just decided it was stupid before I wasted too much time on it. I ask you; putting numbers in boxes. Tsk.

Once again, time will tell and presumably, thanks to joining the Manchester Whisky Club, tastes will develop. I’ve got a lot of tastings to attend over the next 12 months, so as ever, I’ll keep you posted.

So that’s it for now. Check back next week, when I’m planning to return to the subject of distilled pomace, and describing what happened when I tasted a budget grappa alongside a very cheap orujo. Not to be missed, I’m sure.

Have a great weekend, and don’t forget you can now follow me on Twitter - @alcothusiast.

Laters.  

New things to do in 2013... Manchester Whisky Club

Happy Friday everybody! And happy birthday to Clare at the Feast and Glory blog. I’m sure she’ll be indulging in some gourmet food and copious quantities of sauvignon blanc this evening, and why the hell not?

It’s just a quick post from me this week, but next week I’ll be back with something a little meatier. Here we go.

My friend David and I joined the Manchester Whisky Club recently, which is a new initiative to bring whisky enthusiasts (like me and my friend David) together… to what end I’m not entirely sure just yet, but I expect there will be some drunkenness, some laughs and plenty of tastings.

Membership is £15 per year, for which you receive a membership pack (including membership card – oooh!) and two “sample drams” for a ‘twitter tasting’ to be held shortly so that might see Dihuli getting its own Twitter account – watch this space.

With the Twitter tasting being a good few weeks away when I received my samples, I obviously couldn't resist at least opening them up to have a sniff. I'm looking forward now to actually trying them.

Membership numbers are strictly limited, so it may already be too late for you to join. Nevertheless, meetings are to be held monthly at the Lass o’ Gowrie pub, though you can’t attend unless you’re a member. Visit the club website for details of how you can join.

The first ever actual meeting is to be held in January, and details of future meetings are already up on the site. There is an additional charge of £12 to £25 for each meeting, depending upon what is being tasted. It looks good, and it isn’t run for profit, so you can be fairly sure that the price you’re paying is fair. A good night out costs £30-£50 these days (and that’s a conservative estimate), so if I can get nicely drunk at these meetings, it will be a bargain.

The club is run by Andy, who I haven’t met face to face yet, but I have been in touch quite a few times on the e-mail, and he seems like a good guy. I’m certainly looking forward to the first event, and the possibility of some future adventures to write about on this blog.

I’m particularly interested to see what the other members are like, and for some reason I suspect that David and I will be the youngest. I wonder also whether there will be any women there… not that I’m looking to meet any, but probably not.

Well, that’s it for this week. I don’t have any major drink-related plans this weekend, but I will hopefully be dipping into a few of my special spirits, plus there’s a new bottle of budget vermouth to open, so I’m looking forward to that.

I think the missus and I are going to a ‘decorating party’ on Saturday, helping some friends to strip their walls. They promised beer and food, and since I’ve never been to anything like that before, I’m hoping it literally means drinking beer and stripping walls at the same time, rather than doing the work and having the reward later. We shall see!

Sunday of course brings the big match, Manchester United vs Liverpool, so I’ll be going to John’s house to watch that. We’re all Liverpool fans by the way, but don’t let that prejudice you against us.

Whatever you’re doing this weekend, do it well eh? I’ll see you next week.