A Little Look at Some Miniatures

For some reason I’ve started coming into possession of miniatures. It’s quite nice really. It means people can give me alcohol without having to spend too much money. There’s far too little in those bottles for me to give each product its own post, but it doesn’t mean I can’t group them together. So I thought I’d look at miniatures this week.

Grant’s The Family Reserve (40%)

One of four old miniatures that were delivered to my work one day. When I say “old”, I mean the branding suggests these were bottled in the 90s and had been sitting in someone’s booze cupboard ever since… until the day the owner passed on and their son decided to put them in a jiffy bag and send them to me. Many thanks. I would be interested to find out how the contents might be different from the current incarnation, but I didn’t have the resources or inclination to buy a bottle for this.

I actually decided to try this one alongside Aldi’s Highland Black8, as I was conducting a blend test at the time. For the record, I have decided to include the results of this particular matching here and not in the earlier post because I’d already written the bulk of that one, and didn’t want to have to deconstruct and reconfigure it just for the sake of 5cl of cheap blended scotch.

My notes state that the Grant’s is lacking immediate sweetness, and is quite savoury. I concluded that the product must have improved since then, as I consider Grant’s Family Reserve to be half decent, low cost, entry level blended scotch. In comparison with the Highland Black, this miniature didn’t match up.

 

Macallan Gold (40%)

I’ve never bought a Macallan (except in a restaurant once), as it always strikes me as being more expensive than it should be – not that I based that conclusion on evidence of quality, more on comparable categories. A no age statement, entry level expression for example, shouldn’t be £37 to £42, while a 12 year old sherry cask finish shouldn’t be £60+ - unless it’s cask strength.

Perhaps I’ll change my mind if I do ever buy a bottle, but for now, this miniature is going to have to form my lasting impression. And in all fairness, it was a good impression.

Mortlach 15 (Gordon & MacPhail) (43%)

Impressing me more than the Macallan Gold however, was a miniature Mortlach 15, bottled by Gordon and MacPhail. A standard size bottle of this might be even more expensive, but I’d be more inclined to find out at this point.

Ardbeg 10 (46%)

I’m already a massive fan of this one, so it was lovely to receive it from a colleague who is from the magical island of Islay. I used it to help in my evaluation of Old Ballantruan, though I won’t ruin that upcoming post by revealing anything here – other than that Ardbeg remains a true gent among peaty malts – in fact, among any malts.

Bushmills 10 (40%)

The first of the remaining three miniatures from the 90s. I’ve tried the standard Bushmills Original before, finding it average but acceptable, so single malt offering was intriguing, and I’m pleased to say it’s good. It has an inviting nose, and while it’s light-bodied, making it reminiscent of its blended cousin, there’s a lot to recommend it.

Glenfiddich Special Reserve (40%)

This one came in a little cardboard tube, which was a nice touch. I hadn’t seen this before, but a little internet research revealed that this expression preceded the 12 year old that we’re all so familiar with today. I drank it alongside a glass of today’s standard 12 year old, and my conclusion was that the Special Reserve was marginally better. It was lighter in colour and smelled younger and less rounded, while the 12 year old exhibited more sherry notes on the nose. In terms of flavour though, the Special Reserve tastes better than it smells – sweet and syrupy. The 12 year old brought to mind rubber and pears.

St Michael Lowland (40%)

St Michael – you don’t see that anymore, do you? Do you remember? Yes, this used to be Marks and Spencer’s own brand – we used to get their crisps. And this is their version of a lowland single malt. Very interesting, and in fact, very enjoyable. I found it light, fresh and playful, though perhaps with an unfortunate finish.

Smirnoff (37.5%)

Everyone knows the Smirnoff. This one came as a free gift with a bottle of Crown Royal I received at Christmas. I saved it for sipping in the car during our lift to the airport and, as such, it was very enjoyable.

Hotel Chocolat Salted Caramel Cocoa Vodka (26.5%)

What is it with salted caramel? It is so hot right now. This bottle formed part of a package that my sister sent over for my birthday. It was a nice idea to add one or two miniatures (and a beer) to the order, and one that gives me a chance to try something I wouldn’t normally bother going near.

Best served chilled over ice, says the website, so I popped this in the fridge for my Tuesday evening drinking session. I have to admit, I don’t like the smell. There’s just something dirty about it. The flavours are good though. It’s still not something I’ll be inclined to return to, but if you are a fan of salted caramel, I don’t think you could go wrong with this. Mrs Cake had a sip, and was suitably impressed.

I finished the evening with a slice of cake and a glass of Wild Turkey Kentucky Spirit, which I’m afraid was a mistake. The sweetness of the vodka and cake hijacked the bourbon, dispersing its normally beautiful construction and making me consider tipping it back in the bottle for later. There was also an odd meaty smell hanging around, which I put down to the vodka… but equally, I suppose it could have been my clothes.

Hotel Chocolat Special Reserve Tawny Port (20%)

Another component of my birthday package, I looked this one up on the Hotel Chocolat site, and found that it is recommended to be taken with milk chocolate. I’ve often had a problem mixing chocolate and various other sweet things with alcohol, so this seemed a surefire way to get what all the fuss is about – an alcoholic beverage, sold by a chocolate producer for the express purpose of consuming with chocolate.

What can I say? It’s fine, like, but I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that I enjoyed the port more when I drank it on its own. This whole combination thing just strikes me as another attempt to get consumers to engage with products. I like chocolate, I don’t normally like port – in fact, I think this is the first time I’ve ever mentioned it on this blog – but I did like this one, and it doesn’t need to be combined with the chocolate in order to impress. It is actually a little lighter in the body than other ports I’ve tried and, while I’ve been very impressed with the Hotel Chocolat chocolate I’ve had in the past, I felt this one, which was half white, half milk with like, a reindeer on it or something, was a little bland. Perhaps it is the fillings which normally make this chocolate so enjoyable.

So in conclusion, I didn’t feel these items complemented each other in the way they were supposed to. The port though: very nice.

Grey Goose Vodka Cherry Noir (40%)

You have to wonder how much of the money you’re spending on a bottle of Grey Goose is paying for the packaging, because the bottles are always impressive – frosted glass with a clear centre that serves to distort and enhance a colourful image that has been placed on the back of the bottle. I ask because Grey Goose is one of the well known premium brands here in the UK – you’re generally looking at £35 for the standard, unflavoured variety – and I can’t see anything special about its flavour.

Mrs Cake got this miniature when she purchased a bottle of the standard in Canada, probably around 2 years ago. Finally I got to snaffle it. I thought it was nice and sweet at first, but that impression quickly changed to one of childhood medicine. Sure, that might be nice enough to persuade a sick child to drink it, but it’s not something I want reflected in my spirits. I also got a bit of a bready taste somewhere in there, that served to ultimately make this a fairly unpleasant experience. Sure, it’s probably intended for use in cocktails, but if that is the case, that just makes it worse – you shouldn’t be paying £30 plus for something to make a slight difference to your cocktails.

Now, I see Grey Goose also produce a “VX” expression, which includes a “hint of precious cognac”. Sounds interesting, but inevitably over-priced to me… I’ll just have a look… yes, £90 for a litre. Fuck off.

Conclusion

That’s my recent batch of miniatures finished. I’ll start a new post as time goes on, and return to this theme some time in the future. Thanks for having a little read, and see you next week.

Spirit Log: Aberlour A'bunadh, Batch 47

“Straight from the cask”, is the enticing claim from the packaging of this highly renowned Speyside malt. That’s a bit misleading though, isn’t it? Because A’Bunadh is a no age statement expression, said (by Wikipedia) to be blended from spirit aged between 5 and 25 years. So what cask is it bottled straight from, then? Not the one it was aged in – I mean, I presume there was some kind of marrying process, otherwise they would’ve had to take a bottle round all the various casks, fill it up a little from each, then shake it up. I suspect it just means ‘no water added’ – so it’s just a fancy way of saying ‘cask strength’ that makes it sound like it is single cask. When it isn’t.

Well, let’s leave that aside. What else is there to know about this expression? It is released in batches, is non-chill filtered, aged exclusively in Spanish Oloroso sherry casks, and bottled at a varying cask strength – this one a stroke inducing 60.7%.

My procurement matrix had determined that it was time to buy a cask strength Speyside malt, and Aberlour A’bunadh’s reputation and its inclusion in 101 Whiskies to Try Before You Die gave it the edge. I paid just under £40 plus P&P from The Whisky Exchange.

It is presented in a cardboard tube, inside which you’ll find an elegant bottle that doesn’t actually look like it’s big enough to hold the full 70cl. It is topped with an oversized cork and sealed with a deep-red waxy seal. The contents gleam a beautiful deep red colour.

My previous experience of Aberlour consists only of the 10 year old, which I remember was classy and luxurious in its composition, but a little disappointing in flavour. I always felt it could [should] have been so much more.

So what about this one?

This represents my latest delving into the welcoming waters of cask strength scotch, and having read a variety of online reviews, I was intrigued to find that some people prefer to drink this one unadulterated. The idea that a spirit of more than 60% can be at its best at full strength makes the heart positively palpitate in anticipation…

So I struggled with the seal (don’t trim your finger nails before reaching for this one), popped the cork and poured a glass.

…aaaaaaand, first impressions were that it does wear its extreme strength very well. I don’t feel dizzy from the nosing and my nose hairs [sadly] remain unburnt – no need to cancel that order for tweezers after all. And on the palate, yes there is burn, but it is indeed palatable in its natural state. There is burn, but it doesn’t taste burnt.

I began to add drops of water in any case. With each drop, more emerged, the solution sweetened and brightened and, ultimately, I ended up adding quite a lot of water before it reached the critical point at which I felt any more might be detrimental – in fact it is so strong and takes so much water that you end up with a really big drink – which is even better. So I wouldn’t say I agree that it is best without. You can drink it at cask strength, but only for a couple of sips per glass before I’d say you’re wasting it.

Where does it fit in though, in the general scheme of er… whisky?

Well, once again I find myself in the position of wondering why I’m not more impressed than I am. So many good reviews, so highly rated and yet… it’s all right, but it doesn’t blow my mind. There have been moments when I have enjoyed a glass very much, but those have been rare in comparison to moments when I’ve remained unmoved. Does this mean anything? Am I just expecting too much? It is only a sensory experience after all. I have to remind myself that my opinion of the Aberlour 10 and indeed Speyside malts in general has tended to be “nonplussed”.

A quick glance at my geeky spreadsheet reveals that in the simple “Like” column for the Aberlour 10, I’ve actually written ‘no’. It was a while ago, but I suspect my thinking was that while I didn’t actively dislike it, in a scale that included only the variables “like” and “dislike”, it seemed a bit unfair to belittle the efforts of malts that had genuinely impressed me by categorising it alongside them. I see I’ve also etched “no” next to the Glenlivet 12. I’ve then dismantled the scale altogether to register the fact that I hated the Glen Moray classic. I’m nothing if not inconsistent.

Elsewhere in terms of Speyside however, the Glenfiddich 12, Glenfiddich 15 Solera Vat, Balvenie 12 Double Wood, Mortlach 15 and Strathisla 12 have all met with a general approval, yet  in spite of that, in no single case have I been remarkably impressed.

It is hard to decide at this point where the A’bunadh would sit on the overall single malt hierarchy. It does have the potential to at least place higher than all the other Speysiders, but I am going to need a little more from it before I make a decision like that.

So can you take anything away from this? Certainly if you already like Aberlour or Speyside in general – and perhaps veer more toward the sherried stylings of the Balvenie or Strathisla, you can conclude that this is an avenue to divert some future pennies down. Let’s face it, it is beautifully packaged, it’s an impressive strength, and it’s terrific value. There’s also a chance of course that the next batch might be better – though there’s nothing about this one that would suggest it is a bad or even unexceptional batch.  No, my feeling is it just ain’t quite my thing, so it’s unlikely I’ll buy myself another one, but I’d definitely consider it as a gift for someone else. And that’s ok. What’s next?

Postscript

Since writing that I have finished the bottle and would just like to add a note without impinging too much on the integrity of the prose above. I stand by everything I said up there but feel it is worth mentioning that the bottle seemed to outstay its welcome. And by that, I mean I was ready to be finished with it about four large glasses from the end, at which point I pulled it out of the cupboard more frequently and even chugged down the final glass. Oddly, I enjoyed that last glass quite a lot. I wouldn’t normally treat a glass of single malt with such abandon, but there you go.