Spirit Log: Reappraising the Caol Ila 12

 Since I didn’t receive it for Christmas as expected, using my Christmas money for it was always the most likely thing to happen – especially since for once I didn’t need to buy any clothes. And here it is, purchased for £37 from Tesco which, according to Bring a Bottle was the cheapest it was available for at that time. I polished off my Christmas money with the purchase of the Havana Club Anejo Reserva, which you’ll be able to read about later.

Let me just start by reiterating once again that this is (or was – attempting to keep a little suspense for the conclusion) my favourite scotch – in fact it is [was] probably my favourite spirit, so this bottle better live up to expectations, not just because I don’t want to be disappointed, but also because over the last couple of years I’ve been campaigning Mrs Cake to name our first daughter after it – as a middle name, though I’d take it as the first name if I could get it. And now we are, as I’ve been announcing to everyone, incubating the miracle of life. Congratulations to us. Let’s hope it’s a girl so we can use the name, and let’s hope the Caol Ila proves a worthy inspiration and one that our daughter can be proud – and not ashamed - of.

Well, it still looks the same – a simple tinted bottle representing sunlight at dawn on the magical island of Islay, adorned with a classy label and bottled at 43%. There isn’t a more attractive bottle than this in the whole spirit universe for me. I love the curve in the neck and the way it gives the spirit a dark edge. And I just love the shape of it. It’s almost a standard wine bottle shape, but with a slight taper towards  the base and weightlifter’s shoulders – though the overall effect is a damn sight more feminine than that. That’s what our daughter will be like; tall and feminine… with weightlifters’ shoulders. Though her skin is sure to be a lot paler – the colour of the label, in fact!

So, it was finally time to open it. I gave the bottle a quick nose before pouring into my branded Caol Ila glass and… yes, that’s vaguely what I remember. It’s been well over a year since I drank the Caol Ila Distiller’s Edition and still longer since I’ve tried it’s base, the Caol Ila 12; a lot of whisky has been consumed since then, so I’m wondering whether this will have had an effect on my impressions.

I sat on the sofa to enjoy a bit of Card Houses and let the Ila open up for a quarter of an hour or so, occasionally picking it up to have a good sniff. In all seriousness, I can’t think of any other whisky that smells as good as this. It clearly ticks all my boxes. It is malty and full of a sharp, sweet citrus. I pass it to Mrs Cake to have a nose, and she reckons there’s a ton of peat. This confirms my suspicion that I have become almost immune to peat – I enjoy it (immeasurably), but I hardly notice it as a distinct entity.

Eventually it was time to dip my metaphorical toe in. Mrs Cake was watching with interest, since more was at stake than whether or not it represented £37 well spent. I felt the pressure keenly, but can confirm: I said let there be Caol Ila, and there was Caol Ila and I saw that it was good. Better than that: excellent, with a briney dryness that makes you want to chew on it. And a hint of water melon. Oh, how I was tempted to have a second glass,  but I knew it would be a waste of this precious nectar. And I felt fine about that. It just means there’s more to try another night.

If there is one miniscule gripe, it’s that I miss the extra degree of sweetness that the extra ageing in muscatel wine casks brings to the Distillers Edition. So just maybe, the Distillers Edition is actually my favourite scotch right now, but at roughly 13 extra pounds for that, the Caol Ila 12 presents an excellent value second place.

Conclusion

So many average whiskies or whiskies that just don’t reach the heights that this one does for me, had made me question the very reasons I’d gotten so interested in booze in the first place: could it even be all that good? Well, I’m pleased to be able to conclude that it can, and I’ll tell you: it makes a nice change to be able to write enthusiastically about something instead of scrabbling around for things to say about average products. The only problem here is that it makes me wonder whether I should stop trying various brands in so committed a manner, when I could just say found my brand, and stick with Caol Ila. Funny how far you have to go sometimes just to end up back where you started.

As far as the naming of our daughter is concerned, the bulk of this article was actually written before the happy occasion, so I can reveal now what actually happened. Well, when it came down to it, I kind of bottled it. There we were, in the delivery room, moments after the birth, and Mrs Cake went, “are we having Caol Ila as the middle name, then?”

I looked that that bright pink little girl and thought, it just doesn’t seem right – it’s too flippant. I didn’t want to cheapen the significance of the occasion by naming my daughter after a bottle of booze. It did make me a little bit sad, but I was happier that way than I would have been otherwise. Anyway, what if Caol Ila stop making this excellent 12 year old and release an inferior no age statement expression instead? Nothing’s permanent in this world, and brands are no more reliable than anything else.

Thanks for joining me again this week. It's a bit late, so the next post should literally be in just a couple of days' time. If I've finished it, it will be a post that has been a whole year in the making - The Great Distinct Beers Challenge. See you then.

Spirit Log: Lot No 40 and Centennial Limited Edition Canadian Rye Whisky

Lot 40 is the highly acclaimed single pot still Canadian rye whisky that I collected back around Christmas time. I was sold on the pretext that it is said to be comparable to scotch whisky… in some ways – though particularly to those who aren’t connoisseurs of scotch whisky. It seems Canadian whisky enthusiasts are jumping up and down about it, since the whisky of their great nation is often disparaged as being mixer fodder. Well, if this represents an outstanding example of what they have to offer, I have to try it, don’t I, if only to see what comparable to scotch means.

Lot 40 is produced in Ontario, and is the rebirth of a brand that, while noted for its quality, wasn’t able to survive on the market the first time around. It seems the prevailing opinion is that people weren’t ready for this kind of Canadian whisky. Far be it from me to comment on long term whisky trends, but I find it hard to believe a quality product could be considered too good to survive – if indeed it is a good quality product.

Well apparently, the time is right and the people are now ready to stump up 40-50 dollars Canadian for this new 43% 2012 edition.

Nicely presented, the bottle comes complete with a cork stopper, which is a nice touch for those of us who appreciate a nice single malt, while the bottle itself shows a diagram depicting the production process which is partially obscured by a modern but tasteful label that has been posited at a jaunty angle. Then there was an extra bit of bumf – another label – looped over the top. So far so good.

In terms of colour, Lot 40 appears to be much darker than you would expect of a single malt scotch – to the extent that I would actually compare it to a blend, though it is perhaps richer and more luxurious looking than that – in fact, it positively shimmers in the glass.

On the nose… yes, that’s the smell I have come to associate with Canadian whisky. Lacking the terms to describe my olfactory senses, I have to say I don’t know what that consists of, but it is what it is. At this stage, I am struggling to see how anyone could mistake this for scotch – other than the people who aren’t aware that not all whisky is scotch.

Lot 40 in the glass

It’s when you get to allowing that luminous liquid to frolic on the pink lawn of your tongue [when the hell did I write that?] that you (or at least I) get some idea of what all the fuss has been about. I’m still not saying it’s anything like scotch, but there is definitely a complexity here, far greater than my admittedly limited experience of Canadian whisky has thus far revealed.

How much is the quality of whisky down to complexity though? I’ve certainly counted lack of complexity as a negative before, but oftentimes something can just be a pleasure to drink… and if there’s complexity but no balance… well, I would expect it wouldn’t be a pleasure to drink – and if it isn’t a pleasure to drink… who’s going to want to drink it?

What I’m getting down to here is that while there is a great deal going on, on first impression Lot 40 lacks the subtletly to be truly great. It doesn’t wear its extra 3% alcohol too well and there is a sour bite that I suspect (though can hardly say for sure) is the result of aging in virgin oak casks – which I’m sure you’re already aware, is quite rare in scotch production as it is felt the virgin oak imparts too strong an influence on the mellow, malted barley. Curiously enough, some scotch distilleries have started releasing virgin oak aged expressions, so that’s one to try in the  future.

Now, I’ve noticed a lot of respectable whisky bloggers like to try their samples with a little water, to see if the spirit opens up any. It is supposed to, and in some cases it is said to improve the spirit, while in others it may not. I’ve made it no secret that this is lost on me (unless you’re talking about cask strength), but in the spirit of professionalism, and given that I felt the Lot 40 struggled a little with it’s strength, I thought I would add a little drop of water one time.

Sadly the result was that, once again, I felt I’d ruined a perfectly acceptable glass of whisky. No, I know my opinion is that the Lot 40 isn’t perfect, but neat is far superior to the watered down shadow of a dram it became with water. I’m just going to say, once and for all, this is the last time I try adding water to my whisky – except in the case of particularly strong cask strength editions. 50% ABV and below remains neat, above that I will [maybe] try a little water – but definitely not the liberal amounts some books suggest. Stop ruining my whisky!

Now, I’m coming to understand that you should never judge a whisky on first impressions. That may make a mockery of all those tasting sessions and festivals, but I have found it to be almost unequivocally true that whisky ‘opens up’ after the bottle has been open for an indeterminate amount of time. It can be months or merely weeks, but whatever it is, it really seems to work.

So while I was able to accept the complexity of Lot 40 at first, it was a few weeks before the sharper edges appeared to mellow out to produce a far more rounded and balanced spirit. All the negative elements I described previously… were still there, but they had actually begun to add to the experience, and make their contribution to Lot 40 deffo being my number one Canadian whisky. But how long would it last?

As the bottle approached the bottom, it was time for a direct comparison with another Canadian rye that I picked up on our last trip there, Highwood Distillers’ Centennial Limited Edition.

So what have we got here then?

The Centennial comes in a really tall bottle with a utilitarian black label. It is bottled at 40% and comes replete with a story about the master distiller being set a challenge and deciding to use only winter wheat or something. I forget now, I found it quite boring. I do wish distillers would give a bit more information about their product, but sometimes it’s like they’re merely pretending to give information like, tell my why? What was it supposed to achieve? Why is it interesting?

It is supposed to be a limited edition, but there’s no information as to why or how many bottles were produced, or anything really. Limited edition, limited information.

Highwood Centennial in the glass

For the appraisal of the Centennial, let me refer you now to some notes that I made.

Lacks any kind of sweetness or sharpness, leaving me with the impression of dust and tissues. Uninteresting on entry, though growing in confidence the longer you hold it on your tongue.

And that’s about all I got? Seriously, over the course of a whole bottle, I was left with very little impression at all. If we are talking direct comparison, the Lot 40 comes out well on top. I’m not saying there was anything bad about the Centennial, I just think that, like the “story” of its creation, for a “limited edition” it is singularly uninteresting.

Let us leave the Centennial behind then, and consider the place of Lot 40 in the wider context of whisky in general. There is of course good and… not so good… in all styles and categories, so it is unfair to say single malt is better or blended scotch is worse – nothwithstanding that I haven’t tried them all yet.

Where does it fit though? Well, it is the best Canadian whisky I’ve tried so far and it is probably the most expensive though it is still cheaper than most single malt scotch at the lower end of the price spectrum. Is it better than them? It is obviously dependant on personal taste – it’s better than some, but in my opinion is it is still bested by such entry level products as Glenfiddich 12, Strathisla 12, Balvenie 12 Double Wood, Talisker 10, Glenfarclas 10, Laphroaig 10, Highland Park 12, Glenmorangie Original  and Caol Ila 12. It is preferable to Glenlivet 12, Jura and Jura Superstition and Glen Garioch Founder’s Reserve.

If you compare it to blended scotch, it tends to fare a bit better. I would say it is superior to Whyte & MacKay Special, Grant’s Family Reserve, Cutty Sark, Dewar’s 12, Grouses Black and Famous and all the supermarket varieties except Asda’s McKendrick’s. Jim McEwan’s Symphony, Ballantine’s, White Horse, and Grant’s Sherry Cask are all preferable. I only haven’t mentioned Bell’s, Teacher’s and other basic blends here because it has been a long time since I have tried them and don’t know myself where they fit in at present.

It would be nice to be able to give you some idea of how it compares with various brands of bourbon, but I have even fewer terms of reference in that regard at this point. Hopefully that will change soon, pending the results of my recent holiday in Florida… but as ever, that is for another time.

Time for a conclusion I suppose. Lot 40 is reasonably priced for those of us who are accustomed to UK liquor prices, though if you’re in Canada you might be used to getting slightly more for your dollar. That said, I’m going to advise you that it is worth a punt – to us Brits who might be interested in expanding our horizons, to Canadians who might like a homegrown product that gives the impression a little more care has gone into it, and to anyone else that’s curious about whisky. Give it as go and let me know what you think.

And that’s me for this week. The weekend comes early as I have tomorrow booked off for a trip to Alton Towers. That means I might be having a scotch tasting four-way this evening. And then – it’s a good weekend for me, this – there’s a big poker night on Saturday and I’ll be breaking out a couple of bourbons and an absinthe, so if I was to say I wasn't excited, you know I'd be lying.

I'm going to have a good one, I hope you do too. I'll see you next week.

Fish + Cowboys = Talisker 10

 This week’s post is dedicated to the Talisker 10, a renowned single malt from the only distillery on the Isle of Skye. It is bottled at an unerringly accurate 45.8% ABV and is known for being full-bodied and peaty.

My first experience with Talisker came back in my formative years when my sister bought me a bottle for Christmas. It came in a kind of faux-leather bound, cylindrical box that I still have to this day – on my desk at work where it holds my tea bags and arouses suspicion on a regular basis.

I remember not being too impressed back then, though I was a long way short of knowing anything about whisky. I liked Laphroaig, but I still took my scotch with ice. Tsk, the naivety of youth.

Time passed and I discovered that I liked whisky so much that diluting those lovely flavours with ice was diminishing the experience, but they do say “first impressions last”, so it was a long time before I came to try Talisker again.

Well, here it is. No exceptional box this time (just an ordinary one with pictures of crashing waves that has been much disparaged by customer reviews on the various online whisky retail sites), but the bottle has an air of class about it, and it was only £25 in Tesco. Time to find out whether I was wrong or naïve or both all those years ago. Here’s some tasting notes.

In the glass: looks good, a nice dark colour, though I’ve read that caramel spirit is added to that end. I’m not sure why anyone would want to do that when classy drams like Ardbeg 10 have no qualms about being pale and interesting, but there you are. I would tend to be reluctant to buy a whisky that is too pale in colour, but you can offset that by using a coloured bottle – again, like Ardbeg.

Nose: tobacco, menthol, apple, possibly even a bit of orange.

Palate: menthol... and something else that was there for a second when I licked a drip off the side of the bottle… and then gone before I could identify it. It’s salty at the tip of the tongue, then there’s sweet barley. I know this is renowned for being smokey and peaty, but I really don’t taste any of that. Perhaps I’m so used to those things now that I am blind to them… taste-blind… if there is such a thing.

Finish: long and dry, with a sweetness at the back of the mouth.

For a while I was drinking the Talisker alongside the standard Glenmorangie Original, and to my surprise it was the Glenmorangie that was pushing my sensory buttons. My appreciation of the Talisker varied from one tasting to the next, but as I passed the halfway mark of the bottle, my appreciation started to deepen, with one occasion where I would say its MOMA was achieved. It actually followed the sampling of a “secret” cask strength dram that turned out to be a Glenfarclas. I hadn’t enjoyed that at all, so it made a welcome change to return to the Talisker. That proved to be the turning point.

Now, I don’t much go in for trying my whisky in different ways. Frankly, I just want to pour it into a glass and drink it. You do sometimes get suggestions though that you have to try. I added water one time, and as usual immediately wished I hadn’t, but that’s not what I’m referring to here. No, in one of the reviews I’m going to get to in a minute, someone suggested warming a glass with boiling water before pouring your Talisker. It sounded like a decent idea, so I gave it a go.

It didn’t take long for the spirit and the glass to equalise in temperature, so I’m not sure how much difference it made – presumably the hit of heat causes the spirit to transform in some way. What I did notice, is that the saltiness on the front of the tongue was enhanced and, while each succeeding flavour wasn’t exactly delicious, I did enjoy it very much. I probably won’t repeat the experience though.

shoddy photography there

On further tastings I strayed from my usual glencairn glass to try it in a rounded tumbler on the suggestion of a comment from a previous post. He didn’t actually say to use a rounded tumbler, but he did say glencairn glasses were detrimental to the tasting of whisky. I have to say, I didn’t notice any discernible difference, and certainly couldn’t say the whisky was less enjoyable in the glencairn. No, no better either, but I have come to prefer the glencairn glass, and have had considerably more success in tastings with it than I had before starting to use one. My preference has actually developed to the extent that I am wasting the precious liquid if I have to drink it out of anything else… although I can be placated if there is a wine glass available.

One or two online reviews suggested this dram improves with oxidation, which is a bit of a curveball since that’s always something I try to guard against by finishing bottles within three months – it is supposed to lead to a deterioration in quality, but as you will see shortly (below), one review suggested it was seven months before the Talisker started to taste good. I’ve never actually noticed the effects of oxidation myself, but I can confirm that I have been enjoying the Talisker more with each glass – and that only bodes well since it means I don’t need to worry so much about the quality of my whisky deteriorating – it might get better. It was probably around 6 months in total from release to passing, and it really was one that I enjoyed more as time went on.

I’ve actually read in two different places recently a suggestion that after opening your bottle for the first time, you should let it stand for 15 minutes before pouring the first glass to let the whisky breathe a little – like red wine or something. I honestly can’t see the point in that. If oxidation can be a problem, then that way you are just leaving yourself open to it. Surely it makes more sense to pour a glass and then leave it several minutes before you take a sip? That way the whisky in the bottle is preserved for longer while the whisky in the glass has full scope to breathe. Once again, my logic could be flawed, so if you know any better than me, feel free to get stuck in in the comments.

Talisker 10 absolutely has to be tried, but for me it isn’t quite worthy of all the praise heaped upon it. If you are a fan of the peaty malts like I am, I would be more likely to recommend the Caol Ila 12, Lagavulin 16 and Ardbeg 10, but it’s all personal taste, isn’t it? Talisker does feature in 101 Whiskies to TryBefore You Die and I can see why – for some reason it doesn’t seem like a whisky education would be complete without trying it.

Time now for some of the best comments I’ve found in reviews of Talisker 10. As is so often the case, opinion is polarised. There are a lot of glowing reviews, well written and making good points and there are a number of terrible reviews – half a star and the like. As you can well imagine, it is mostly these slightly loony ones that are most creative and interesting. Peat seems to be the Marmite of the whisky world.

The first batch are from Master of malt:

“tasted like rabbit toasted in lamb”. – I’m assuming that’s a positive review.

“what is that? It was more than just the smoky after glow of a house fire, there was canvas and rubber in that house. Then It came to me visually. Burnt sneakers.” Nope, that isn’t the flavour that is eluding me.

“This whisky has no balance, soot and asphalt. Am I drinking or resurfacing a road?” I often get those two confused.

“Now, after 7 months of open bottle, my Talisker 10 is rich, delicious and sweet. For the first 6 1/2 months it tasted to me like crawling through the desert dying of thirst with nothing but seawater to drink.” How lucky we are that you waited 7 months before submitting your review.

“Those who do not enjoy Talisker 10 lack the palate for a true single malt.” Calling out the amateurs.

“Seriously, if the glass is warmed first by boiling water then this is simply superb. The heat takes the edge off and liberates the flavour and smell.” Seriously, maybe I like the edge.

Getting away from direct quotes for a moment, one review compares the nose and palate to Mozart and Metallica. I’m not sure where that’s coming from, but you can’t fault the enthusiasm. Is the nose Mozart and the palate Metallica?

“a finish that makes you think you could speak honey but breathe fire.” A taster from the next Mumford and Sons album.

“Try it for yourself, but first develop your pallet... One path would be: Glenfiddich18 (or 15 to save $)>Clynelish14>Oban14>Talisker10>Cao Ila12>Laguvalin16 Move slowly and then back and forth(uh...take days if not weeks :-) You will know your own mind on the matter.” And only then may you try the Talisker. People love to talk about directions – even when they’re talking about whisky.

“I could have bought a gallon of gasoline for $3.57 and saved myself a ton of money!” Next up, having a shit instead of going to MacDonalds.

“If you cannot appreciate this - well then, give it one star and declare that you are not a whisky drinker.” Yeah! Get back to yer JD and Coke.

This next one is from Amazon:

“It's whisky and the only way to review whisky is to drink it. If the taste suits you finish it off. If the taste does not suit your pallet you finish it off and buy another brand. I would buy more of this brand.” Practical, no nonsense. This pretty much sums up my philosophy.

And finally we have For Peat Sake where the contributors pull out all the stops:

Nose -   “horsestable” – the latest update from the vet is a weight off my mind.

“paintless refurbished furniture” – If you wanted me to paint it, you should’ve said so.

“shaking a cowboys hand while questioning ones sexuality”  - a particularly limp handshake, I assume. Less “howdy”, more “coo-eee!…”

 “water that had dead fish swimming in it” – dead fish don’t swim.

Body – “Like drinking Christina Hendrick's rack” – not to be confused with Jimi Hendrix’s sack.

Palate – “burping after a seafood dinner” – coincidentally, “Talisker” is how you describe the taste of that burp.

Finish – “like you licked a pirate.” Pirates are just cowboys of the sea, aren’t they?

Overall comment – “Diving into the Atlantic ocean on a drizzly afternoon with a mouth full of cut grass and fish scales” – Not something I’d ever be likely to do, but at least now I know what it would be like.

So we’re looking at fish and cowboys here. If any of these could be relied upon to be actual accurate representations of Talisker 10, I wouldn’t be going anywhere near it. Luckily they aren’t the first whisky reviews I’ve ever read, so I know that they are ultimately meaningless. If none of this makes you want to try Talisker, I don’t know what will.

Poker Night... Part 3

Happy Sunday, everybody! You join me today as I reminisce on another poker night that I really should have told you about earlier, but life got in the way. So without further prevarication, I give you... poker night part 3.

Another Saturday, another poker event, another haze of drunken tomfoolery, and very good it was too – and not just because I won two of the rounds and finished second in the other. To be fair, I should have won that one too, but I got a bit carried away on the penultimate hand and betted when I should have gotten out.

Poker sure is fun, and we had a great old laugh, but one of the things I look forward to at least as much as the poker and the laughter… is the booze. I almost said there that it is an unwritten rule that you need to bring some special hard liquor with you, but frankly not everyone does. David brought a bottle of champagne to celebrate his new job appointment and a bottle of RuaVieja – which oddly enough has featured on these pages before (twice in fact) while Chris and Dave just took care of cider for themselves. I decided on a few bottles of whisky for everyone to try – Jim McEwan’s Symphony No 1, a blend which continues to go down very nicely, a Glenmorangie Original that I hadn’t opened yet, and… the one I’d been waiting to open for about a month… the Suntory Hakushu 12.

I’d also requested that Dave collect a few bottles of Double Maxim from his local Morrison’s, which he was kind enough to do.

So it was straight in with a beer, and the beginning of the poker.

The first game always seems to be a bit cagey, as the various players try to feel out the parameters – how cautious should you be? What effect are the specific blinds going to have? What are the playing styles of each player?

I won the first two or three hands, and it was looking good. We all betted cautiously, but I started to grow bolder as I saw that I seemed to be the only one getting decent hands. Chris was folding almost straight away every time, and Dave was bluffing when he had absolutely nothing. He won one or two like that though, and in the end it came down to me and him.

I’d almost finished my second beer by this point, had started a glass of the Symphony (no 1! 46% ABV), and was alternating sips of that with gulps of David’s champagne. So as we reached the closing stages of the first game, I realised I was on the way to being drunk – this was before dinner, of course. Three to four pints of water were in order.

That worked a treat, but not quick enough to prevent me betting big on the penultimate hand when I had nothing. A minute or two after that it was all over, and I knew it had all been my fault.

After popping out to the local curry house for tea, I went on to win games two and three [bit of poetry there for you]. I can’t recall any details about these, but I know there was a great deal of raucous laughter and smutty humour. I haven’t laughed so much and so heartily in a long time. David tells me that as we were clearing up afterwards, Chris mistook pictures of playing cards on the box of the poker set for real cards, and tried to pick them up. He then put on his glasses and went to sleep on the sofa. Dave and I joked that he had put on his glasses so that he could see his dreams better.

Game two was preceded by the opening of the Glenmorangie Original, which is 40% ABV, and 10 years old . I’d only tried this once before, and hadn’t been impressed, but there was a possibility the contents of that bottle had been compromised over time, since I was told the cork had atrophied. My bottle was an impulse buy when I saw it at £6 off on a trip to Tesco. I was never going to pay full price, and that discount gave me just enough incentive to give it a go. At first taste it seemed thin and uninteresting, but since the poker night in question was some time ago now, I can inform you that it became an example of another single malt that I came to enjoy more thoroughly by the glass.

It is fruity and sweet, and one that I’d encourage you to pick up if you see it on a £25 offer again. I probably will. It scores a remarkable 94 in Jim Murray’s 2013 Whisky Bible, though I wouldn’t quite rate it that highly.

The nose revealed pleasing orange notes while the palate brought sherbet and sweet, sweet barley. Far from being something to write off as an everyday drink, it came to be a treat that I actually preferred most times to the Talisker 10 (read more about that in the coming weeks), that I picked up the next time Tesco had some offers on. It doesn’t place all that highly on the all time single malt rankings, but for a malt at the very lower end of the price spectrum it punches way above its weight.

Back to the poker night, and finally it was the moment I’d been waiting for: the opening of the Suntory Hakushu 12 (43% ABV). I had toyed with the idea of not bringing this along at all, since my bottle of Maker’s Mark had lasted only two poker nights, proving so popular that people just inhaled it. Nevertheless, what’s the point in buying something a bit special if you keep it to yourself? (and anyway, the faster you drink it, the sooner you can buy something else…)

Suntory is the oldest Japanese distiller, and actually owns three distilleries – Yamazaki, Hibiki and Hakushu – each producing their own highly regarded single malts. I’ve tried the Hibiki once before, but this was my first purchase of an actual bottle of Japanese malt, a decision I took based on reviews and scoring from a number of experts and review sites.

The bottle certainly looks the part, but I was a little disappointed to find that it is sealed by a screwcap – a better class of screwcap, I’ll grant you, than the standard one you get with a blended scotch, but still… this is a single malt -  and I was hoping to hear that sound I love so much – you know the one; the squeak and the pop.

Luckily, the contents make up for that one moment of denial. I know Japanese whisky is renowned for its quality, and here I can see why. It reminds me a little of my favourite malt, Caol Ila – though I don’t think it’s quite as good as that. Even so, it reaches a pretty high standard. There’s a lot going on, with a good deal of complexity and drinkability, so was looking forward to getting to know it a little better over the next few months before I come to decide what I’m going to get next.

If you’re looking for some amateurish tasting notes, I’d say it’s soft and fruity on the palate, with a little bit of peat and a slightly bitter finish – which is where it fails against the Caol Ila.

In the end, Suntory Hakushu 12 did not develop into the favourite dram that my over excitable anticipatory gland hoped it might be. Sure, it was fresh, clean and sweet but that bitter finish continued to let it down. It was however my second favourite out of 5 when it made an appearance at the Manchester Whisky Club’s Japanese Whisky Night. It remains to be seen what that says about Japanese whisky in general. I remain keen to try more and, as ever, look forward to the next poker night.

How do you buy whisky as a gift? Part 2

Mrs Cake and I were discussing Christmas present budgets the other week and, while we’re comfortably off we agreed that we would have to be a little more cautious this year. So an upper limit was set. “Just so you know,” continued Mrs Cake, ”I won’t be buying you any whisky this year.”

Yes, I was slightly disappointed, but I took it quite well. I probably will get some whisky from someone, but even so, I know we’re going to Canada for Christmas and that I’ll be looking to pick some whiskies up there anyway, so in all honesty, I didn’t really need to receive any as a present. I’m thinking one to drink while I’m there, a bourbon and a Canadian whisky to bring back, possibly along with a Canadian pomace brandy to if I can find one.

A couple of days later, Mrs Cake said “I wouldn’t know how to buy you whisky anymore anyway. I used to just go into a shop and ask for a recommendation, but now you’ve tried so many more and there are ones you like and ones you don’t like – I just wouldn’t know what to go for.”

Well, I don’t ever want anyone to be discouraged from buying me whisky, so having already written a beginner’s guide for buying whisky as a gift (see last week), it occurred to me that I had some advice for Mrs Cake, and that you might be able to benefit from it too. So, how do you buy whisky as a gift for someone who is enthusiastic about whisky? Here are some suggestions for things you can do.

1. Determine whether there is a genre of whisky that they are less familiar with, e.g. bourbon, Irish, Indian, grain (many whisky enthusiasts are yet to try a single grain whisky). Yes it requires a bit of research (read: ask them), but you can find a way to do it without giving the game away. Even if you give the game away, it’s just going to make them look forward to getting some whisky for Christmas.
2. Find out if they have an absolute favourite that they would be happy to receive all the time – I, for example, am known to be a fan of the Caol Ila 12, but I never buy it for myself because there is always something else I want to try. It makes sense then, that for me Caol Ila 12 would make a perfect gift [hint, hint].
3. Still not sure? Try this: new whisky expressions are being released all the time, so one thing you can do is get a new expression. Your local whisky specialist should be able to point something out, or there’s Master of Malt, The Whisky Exchange or Single Malts Direct.
4. If that doesn’t help, or it doesn’t narrow down your choices enough, or you’re having trouble choosing between candidates… just get one that is non chill-filtered and/or greater than 40% ABV. If it isn’t chill-filtered, that alone is cause for celebration for a whisky enthusiast, while I just find whiskies bottled at higher strength more intriguing.

Now, some people say there is no such thing as bad whisky. I don’t subscribe to that view, having had one or two bad ones in the past, but the important thing to remember is that different people experience the same whiskies in many different ways, such that no matter how much preparation you do, you can never be absolutely sure you’re going to score a hit with your purchase, hopefully these suggestions prove useful to you in some way. I would be delighted to hear whether they did or if you have anything to add.

There are now just two weeks before we head to Canada for Christmas, so that means just two more posts before 2014. Next week is likely to be a photo feature about a drink-related activity Mrs Cake and I indulged in last Christmas. Come back and join me for that.