Distilgrimage... Part One

Good evening! Yes, I’m finally back from Vietnam. I say ‘finally’, as if I wouldn’t rather be there, but believe me… I would. It was awesome, and I can’t wait to tell you all about it (I hope you enjoyed the tweets), but first… I need to get around to writing about it. Don’t worry though, this week’s post is something else I’ve been looking forward to giving you for a while. It’s part one of a two part account of my trip with the missus to the island of Islay. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you… Distilgrimage (part one).

800+ miles… 2 days travelling, 9 hours each way… 2 days tasting… 6 distilleries… 5 tastings… 3 tours… 19 whiskies… 2 new-make spirits and 1 gin sampled… 3 new bottles… 6 new glasses.

Given those stats, I can only be talking about a weekend on the island of Islay, off the western coast of Scotland. Yes, do you remember me asking in my previous ‘review’ of Ian Buxton’s 101 Whiskies to Try Before You Die, is it worth visiting more than one distillery? How different can they be? Well, I will come to answer those two questions in the course of these next two posts because, for my birthday, Mrs Cake decided to treat me to a weekend away at the home of several of my favourite whiskies – in fact, the birthplace of scotch whisky itself,  in what would come to be known as our Distilgrimage - a name that makes perfect sense since, like a pilgrimage, it was a long fricking way, and it was a spiritual experience – which is both a pun and attempt to ascribe some kind of poetic significance to proceedings. Just go with it.

I had known Mrs Cake was planning something, and I had an inkling that it would be a weekend away – it’s kind of obvious when you are required to book a couple of days off work. I also remembered telling her that maybe one day I’d quite like to visit a distillery, but I had no idea how much effort she would put into it. If it had been me, we’d have gone to Edinburgh, and I would have found the nearest distillery to there. Not Mrs Cake, she knows I’m partial to the peaty goodness of Islay (Caol Ila, Bruichladdich and Laphroaig were already firm favourites), so she pulled out all the stops and on my birthday presented me with a full colour itinerary (I bet her work is pleased about that) detailing what we would be up to come the 21^st of February 2013.

Journey

It’s a long way to Islay (from Manchester). It’s a fairly long way to Scotland, and I never expected I’d have any particular excuse to go there again, but it’s a really long way to Islay. That doesn’t matter though, I like a good road trip, and the missus and I had been needing something like this for a while since our working lives hadn’t been seeming to get along with us, and as a result, us with each other. We always have a great time on holiday though.

I jiggled my hours about at work, and arranged for a 3 o clock finish on the Thursday. We’d packed the night before, so it was straight home, load the car, get going.

I’d requested some bangin’ hip-hop for the journey, but Mrs Cake had sadly missed the mark, picking the worst of Ghostface Killah’s albums, and frankly nothing I’d been hoping for. Nevermind – we at least got right into the People Under the Stairs’ Highlighter album.

We set off not long before 4pm. Mrs Cake had booked us a hotel by Loch Lomond to rest up in in advance of an early ferry the next morning. We arrived at the hotel, starving, at 9.30pm. As we approached the entrance, I could see the chef wearing one of those flame coloured chef caps through the window, drinking a can of Special Brew. It turned out though, that the kitchen was already closed, and all they could offer us was soup and a sandwich. They had a well-stocked bar, but all I fancied was a pint and bed, being exhausted from the journey. I had just enough energy to watch Charlie Brooker’s Weekly Wipe, and despite having brought my bottle of Scapa (coals to Newcastle?) I didn’t even bother getting it out.

The ferry was scheduled to depart from Kennacraig at 9.45 the next morning, but we had to be there by 9.15. It was roughly a two hour drive from the hotel, so that meant we had to leave while it was still dark, and before our hotel started serving breakfast. That was fine with me, as I feel nervous eating breakfast when I have to be somewhere at a certain time.

On the way the satnav decided to send us down a weird side road that we determined couldn’t be right, so we turned back after a bit and just went the way that seemed logical. I joked that maybe we should change the voice on the satnav to a man’s, since he would probably be better at reading maps.

Mrs Cake was getting flustered, but I reassured her that we still had plenty of time, and if we missed the ferry, we’d just have to get the next one. We made it to the ferry for 9.05, so it was all good anyway.

satnav does not show the boat

The ferry takes around two hours, and it’s comfortable enough. The scenery’s nice, as you’d expect from Scotland, but the wind was blowing cold so I didn’t stay outside for long. I’d wanted to be on deck to see Islay approaching, since I’d heard you can see Laphroaig from the ferry, but for some reason you can’t get to the front of the boat. It wouldn’t really have mattered, as I learned on the way back that the boat comes out of port, then turns 90 degrees left, so you can see Laphroaig on the left hand side. Coming into port of course, it would be visible on the right. Nevertheless, I got a couple of pictures on the way back. I’m estimating the distillery was about a mile away, but you can see it quite clearly.

All the TVs were on on the ferry, and were showing Homes Under the Hammer for some reason. We’d both left our books in the car, so it was a waiting game. Thankfully, time goes quicker as you get older, so it didn’t seem to take that long. In theory that should mean that the faster time goes, the closer to death you are, so you ought to have some kind of clue as to when you’re actually going to die because right before, time will be going really fast.  I’ve seen old people though, and they don’t seem to be noticing. Perhaps you don’t when you’re in the moment, it’s only afterwards, and if you’re dead there isn’t an afterwards anyway…

Where was I? Ah yes, arrival on Islay. Mrs Cake had made a reservation for us at the Islay Hotel in Port Ellen, which is literally on your left as soon as you get off the ferry. She picked this one for two very good reasons:

1. We wouldn’t have to worry too much about getting to the ferry in time for the trip back
2. The distilleries of Laphroaig, Lagavulin and Ardbeg are within a brisk walking distance (of sorts), so that would mean we could potentially get hammered and not worry about having to drive.

Day One

Mrs Cake hadn’t booked any distillery tours for our first day, but on arrival we decided to head straight out and try the triumvirate of classic distilleries that were just down the road. Not actually being sure whether it was walkable (a map suggested it was a distance of 5km between the three), we decided to drive to the furthest first (Ardbeg), just to see how far the others were, and potentially drive back before walking to them later.

Nearly everyone we passed waved to us as we went by, which was certainly a nice welcome, but since we weren’t expecting it we didn’t always get chance to wave back. Sorry about that, people of Islay.

The three distilleries are all on the same road, and Laphroaig is definitely walkable. Lagavulin should be possible also, but the road narrows and winds somewhat before you reach Ardbeg. There’s no footpath and the grass verge was a little bushy and looked heavy going. We reached Ardbeg in just a couple of minutes and headed inside where their café was doing a roaring trade. We perused the gift shop while we waited for a table, since lunch was well on the cards by this point.

A lady told us that for £5 we could have a table tasting alongside lunch if we wanted, and that seemed like a good idea. They have a good range of tours, which you can read about here (http://www.ardbeg.com/ardbeg/distillery/tours), and I forget why we didn’t join one. I think that with it starting at 3pm, we would be waiting around a while, and we thought we wouldn’t get time to get to Lagavulin and Laphroaig that afternoon if we did.

So we had lunch, planning to have our table tasting afterwards. As we ate though, the café continued to get busier, so we thought they might want to use our table. We were told instead that we could have our tasting in what they call The Chairman’s Study. That’s a small room at the end of the bar that houses a wide range of Ardbeg expressions, ranging from standard to very rare. We would only be tasting four current expressions, Blasda, 10 year old, Uigeadail and Corryvreckan.

You’ll be pleased to hear that they are all damn good. I’d only tried the 10 year old before, but had already heard good things about Uigeadail. That one and the Corryvreckan are both cask strength and, along with the 10 year old, are very peaty. Blasda is actually only lightly peated in comparison. You get to learn all about phenols and parts per million, and it’s interesting to think you can taste something that consists of only 8 parts in a million.

I’d just like to note at this point that I added a drop or two of water to the cask strength whiskies, and again at certain other points during the trip, and if you’ve ever read that when adding water, you should ideally try to get the same kind of spring water as was used to produed the whisky… none of the distilleries bother with that – and they’re probably the only ones who could! In fact, if you raise this point, they’re likely to look at you like you’re an imbecile. So that’s something you can stop worrying about. I’m thinking it’s probably best to use your own tap water, since you’re probably used to the taste of that, and therefore you won’t notice it. That’s one to try next time I get something cask strength.

Incidentally, Laphroaig’s water source dried up fairly recently, so I guess it’s wasteful to bottle it when you could be making special whisky with it.

That tasting became the first of a number of freebies that the various distilleries threw our merry way over the next few days. On its culmination I asked the young girl who had done the hosting if I just gave her the £5, and she said don’t worry about it. ‘I won’t tell anyone,’ I said, but I just have. Anyway, it seems to be standard practice, so nothing to worry about.

When it came to buying souvenirs, I was considering buying a bottle from Ardbeg (I’ve been wanting one for some time), but decided to wait until I’d been to a few more distilleries before making a choice.

Before getting back in the car, we walked down to the sea to get a picture of the building that has ‘Ardbeg’ written on the side. We also saw quite a few barrels sitting out there, and got some photos of those too. Of course we were tempted to reverse the car up, and try to get one in the back. That would actually be the only time we would see any barrels on the trip (aside from one other – the cask that Bruichladdich lets you fill your own 50cl bottle from for £55). For some reason, none of the distilleries would take us into their storage facilities. Caol Ila would later tell us that it was for Customs and Excise reasons. I know they don’t have many on site at that particular distillery, but other than the still themselves, thousands of barrels of whisky, peacefully aging in a warehouse is what I want to see the most! Could they not have a big glass window or something, that you could look through?

On with the crawl. Mrs Cake isn’t into whisky, so driving duties passed to her. She was able to have a sip of each sample while I finished the rest, so I left with a happy buzz and we headed over to Lagavulin, not bothering with the driving back to the hotel and walking thing after all.

We were greeted at Lagavulin by a lovely lady called Marjorie, who informed us that a tour would be starting in half an hour, if we would care to wait – just in case some more people turned up (no one did). It would be £6, and we would receive a free branded Glencairn glass and a sample of the expression of our choice at the end. Alternatively, we could have a tasting of the three expressions, which would also be £6. Well, there were two of us, which meant we would be able to sample two of the three expressions between us if we took the tour, and Glencairn glasses were £5 in the gift shop (and indeed in the gift shops of all the various distilleries we would eventually visit), so the tour seemed like the best deal – especially since I’d tried the Lagavulin 16 before, so I only needed to taste two. We decided to wait, and had a nice chat with Marjorie while we did.

Marjorie led the tour herself (in fact, all the tours we took were led by women), and it was informative, friendly and conversational. Mrs Cake asked a ton of questions and Marjorie proved her knowledge to be extensive. We saw the old malting fire which isn’t in use anymore as the grain for all the distilleries on Islay is malted at the large Port Ellen plant – where they also used to make whisky, but sadly no more – as well as the mill, the mash tun, wash back (?) and finally, the moment you’ve all been waiting for, as the French would say, the still room.

Marjorie let us taste the wash out of one of the tubs, which is essentially warm beer, and quite tasty, before throwing the remainder back in the tub. We wondered about hygiene, but apparently it literally makes no difference, as all this is going to be boiled at the distilling stage anyway.

Lagavulin and indeed Caol Ila are sister distilleries under the authoritarian father-figure of Diageo – the giant company that also owns Guinness, Smirnoff, Gordon’s, Captain Morgan and a whole slew of whisky producers – and as such are subject to the ‘no photographs on any part of the tour’ rule, which explains why I’ve no pictures for you here. The reason apparently, is that a lot of the other distilleries owned by Diageo get many many times more visitors, and it causes delays to their tours. Quite why they should make this a blanket policy to cover tours that consist of just two people doesn’t really make sense to me, but there you go.

I heard also that in the past, tour guides had been known to allow sneaky photos, but ended up getting in trouble when the same tourists went to another distillery and complained when they weren’t allowed to take photos there, stating that they had been allowed to at Lagavulin. Why anyone would want to get their guide in trouble like that, I couldn’t say – I certainly wouldn’t. Knowing that I was going to tell you about all this, I didn’t even take a sneaky photo, but don’t worry, there will be a photo of a still in part two of this travelogue, thanks to Bruichladdich where they aren’t subject to such strict discipline – yet – and a couple of pictures of the giant stills at Caol Ila… through a window.

Finally then, we were led into a comfortable drawing room and invited to select which of the three expressions we would like to try. We passed over the 16 year old (which is reputed to be the best), instead selecting the cask strength 12 year old and the limited edition that was finished in sherry casks. Mrs Cake liked the sherry finish, but I wasn’t overly fond of either on this occasion. Not that they were bad! No, but let’s just say I hadn’t found one of my purchases yet.

Before she left us, Marjorie also gave us our Classic Malts passports which entitle us to free tours at 11 other distilleries – one of them being Caol Ila. Mrs Cake hadn’t actually booked us a tour at Caol Ila in advance, instead opting for the Premium Tasting, so we thought these might prove useful. They did, but much more on that in part 2!

Don’t go anywhere just yet, there’s one more distillery to go before the end of day 1, and while there’s less to tell about this one, I’m sure you’ll want to stay and find out because it’s the legendary Laphroaig.

Laphroaig was probably the first single malt that I ever truly loved, though the early romance has cooled somewhat over the last few years as I came to explore so many other styles and products. Even so, I still hold the distillery in some reverence.

It was about 4.15pm when we arrived, and we’d missed any tours but that didn’t mean we couldn’t pop into the bustling gift shop and see about having a little tasting in the last 15 minutes they were open, which we did, and they allowed us to for free.

I’d tried the 10 year old and Quarter Cask expressions before, and figured they probably wouldn’t want to let me try the 25 and 30 year olds they had there. Mrs Cake asked anyway, and they said they didn’t open them. That left the Triple Wood and 18 year old, that they did let us try, though I barely got a dribble of the 18 year old! I didn’t make any notes, and it is difficult to give a full appraisal from a single taste, but I’d have to say I liked the 18 without being sure whether I’d like to shell out £70 for a bottle, while the Triple Wood had a strong and not particularly pleasant finish that I remembered from my own bottle of Caol Ila 18 year old – an expression we later learned is quite rare now. Check me out.

I thought then, that I probably wouldn’t make a Laphroaig one of my purchases on this occasion either, though I will return at some time in the future. I did make sure to get a branded Glencairn glass though, as well as some cheese that is made with Laphroaig. I don’t recall now, but I thought that cost £2.50, while Mrs Cake says it was £3.50. There was also a pair of spectacles on the counter, black with a large white L on them, that given the breadth of branded products you can get, made us consider that maybe they were official Laphroaig spectacle frames, but no, they belonged to one of the Belgian or Norwegian tourists who were busily getting their expensive purchases in.

I’ve tried the cheese now, and despite the fact that it is made of only 1.6% whisky, you can really taste it. On numerous occasions in the past, Mrs Cake and I have tried a product like this and found traces of the special ingredient nowhere. The bad news though, is that in my opinion, the cheese isn’t particularly nice. I’m sure some people will get a lot of enjoyment out of it, but sadly not I. Nevermind.

Well, that concludes part one of the Islay Distilgrimage Adventure. We had dinner and whatnot that evening, but it wasn’t particularly whisky-related, so not for inclusion here. I may as well give the Islay Hotel its due though, and say its restaurant was pretty good. I’m not a food blogger, so I’m not going to get all specific or glowing on you, but I’d recommend it if you’re staying on Islay one of these days. Come to think of it, the bar was fairly impressively stocked...

Join me next week then, for part two, in which we’ll be visiting the distilleries of Bruichladdich and Caol Ila and making some purchases. It will most likely be a quiet weekend for me – feeling the strain of holiday expenses – but with all the booze I’ve got, that doesn’t mean I can’t have a party. Tonight I’m thinking I’ll compare the bootleg longan wine that I bought in Vietnam for £4 with my £48 bottle of Domenis Blanc e Neri grappa, so that will be fun. Tomorrow will be, you know, similar. I er… forgot that I’d splashed out (£5.99)  on the premium Ballycastle Irish Cream from Aldi before I went away, so I might give that one an airing. Then there’s always other things burning a hole in their bottles…

Other than that, it’s time to get back to normal life after the holiday – shopping, cooking and all that. I’ve promised Mrs Cake I’ll make her a birthday cake, so along with my first round of golf since the first week in January, that’s Saturday taken care of.

There’s still plenty to look forward to and to blog about, so keep coming back and inbetween times, follow me on twitter (@alcothusiast) where I’ll be giving you tasters of what’s to come and generally trying to be funny.

Have a good one, and see you later!

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.

Weekend booze experiments: absinthe and Guinness

It’s been a while since I’ve done a ‘what I did at the weekend’ show and tell, but I figured this one was ripe for it. I went to see my friend Phil with a couple of ideas in mind, and we were able to give them a go. We emerged on Sunday morning wiser and slightly more fragile.

First on the agenda was cracking open that bottle of Fernando Ferrer Cardona absinthe I’d brought back from Ibiza. I mentioned it before in my honeymoonpost, and described some previous experiences with it – where I used the Bohemian Method – so it was high time to try the traditional French method, as described on Wikipedia.

I’ve also got a bit of a treat for you here – two high definition videos of the process. You’ll be able to hear us talking a bit of crap in the background (Phil swearing at the dog, for example), but try your best to ignore that.

The method then, is to pour a shot of absinthe into a glass, then place a sugar cube onto a slotted spoon, and hold it over the absinthe while dripping three to five shots of ice water onto the sugar cube.

A bit of improvisation and a bit more preparation proved necessary here. As you’ll hear me saying on one of the videos, the first problem was getting some sugar cubes. Most cafes these days provide those sugar sachets rather than cubes, and none of the ‘express’ supermarkets that it was most convenient for me to shop in have anything other than standard granulated sugar. It made a trip to the big Tesco in Burnage necessary, but that was fine (though I do refer to it as having been ‘a nightmare’ on one of the videos); they had sugar cubes, and it meant I was able to buy Phil his Best Man present while I was there; a bottle of Highland Park 12 year old – for my money the best value single malt scotch there is.

Sugar cubes procured, it was then a matter of finding something to use as a slotted spoon. I don’t have (nor have ever seen) anything quite like the examples shown on Wikipedia, but one evening while doing the washing up, I found a small sieve that Mrs Cake had been using for baking-related activities. I put that aside to take with me. For our North American readers, ‘washing up’ is what people who don’t have dishwashers do when they need to get their dishes clean.

Knowing that Phil has a propensity for forgetting things, I also made sure he made some ice cubes a good few days in advance.

On starting the experiment, we realised it would be hard to measure three shots of water poured from a jug (only having one jug), so Phil weighed in with a most impressive piece of improv; using a pipette that he normally uses to give his dog painkillers. He assured me that we wouldn’t be getting any painkiller residue with our absinthe, and away we went.

As Wikipedia led us to expect, the bright green absinthe started to turn cloudy as the sugary water brought out the oily elements that aren’t so soluble in water. You can see this in the second of the two films, which shows the process from below  - Phil has a glass table. The first film shows more of the method. I was also surprised to see the efficiency with which the ice water decimated the cube of sugar.

It wasn’t long before we had two glasses of absinthe, prepared in the French method. I’m not really sure whether you’re supposed to neck it or sip it at this stage, but given that I’ve taken to enjoying my spirits slowly and deliberately, I thought it would be good to try the absinthe in the same way.

I liked it at first, but that didn’t last. In future I think I’ll return to the more flamboyant Bohemian Method, which encourages you to just pour it down your throat like a character in an American film.

Despite adulterating the spirit to 17.5%, it was minging but we did feel a nice buzz. We grabbed a road beer, and headed into town to meet Gary for a bit of a pub crawl – but not before Phil insisted I try his Glenmorangie Lasanta, which I think was very nice – luxurious, nice body, pleasingly sour (just how I like my women!) – but it was hard to tell with the absinthe still casting its shadow over my taste buds.

Part two of the weekend experiment came during the pub crawl. While “researching” my Beer Glasses post, I had heard that there are people who can drink a whole pint of Guinness in three swigs. I don’t remember the exact wording, nor were there any specific instructions, but I am going to assume this means you are only allowed to swallow three times. It seemed like a good thing to have a go at.

I didn’t have any idea how easy or difficult this would be, so I entered the challenge with the attitude of a child for whom anything is still possible – you know; before the weight of the world has crushed your hopes and dreams. Well, I don’t really know now how this is done. I took the two biggest swigs I could, and the liquid consumed was frankly pathetic. I just downed the rest of the pint.

Gary used his turn to show us how he could pretty much pour a pint down his throat in under a second. It was mightily impressive, but clearly involved swallowing more than three times. Phil’s turn was more pathetic even than my attempt.

We forged ahead in a manner that only people who have downed a pint, and maybe a glass of absinthe can do – that is with reckless abandon and childlike exuberance. It was a fun weekend, and a good time was had by all.

This weekend is another big one for me, so hopefully there will be lots to tell you about afterwards. Tonight I have a Halloween party to attend, where I’ll be taking 8 cans of lager with me, in a proper old skool style, then tomorrow is the end of season golf tournament extravaganza. The weather won’t be ideal, but what that involves is one or two rounds of golf, followed (or divided) by a poker night (and hopefully some FIFA). It’s a good chance to dip into a couple of bottles of spirits, but I’m sure I’ll be covering that in some future post.

Whatever you’re doing, don’t forget your pumpkins, and have a good time.

Why so many branded beer glasses? Here's why...

Afternoon! We’re just snuggling up to the weekend again, and you know what that means: it’s time for this week’s post. I’m pushing the boundaries of absurdity again this week, as I unveil a post that I’ve been working on for ages. Finally it’s ready, or at least as ready as it’s ever going to be, and it proves that I’ve been thinking far too much about why there are so many branded beer glasses out there these days.

Thanks for stopping by. If you can be bothered to read the post, that would be lovely, though I do hope you’ll take it in the spirit with which it is intended, and that perhaps you’ll come back next week to see what I’m going on about then. Leave me a message if you want, but most importantly, have a great weekend and enjoy yer booze.

Chang

Lees

When you go out for a beer these days, you might be noticing that with increasing frequency each beer is coming in its own ‘unique’ glass – one I had in Belgium came in a wooden tankard – now that was special. Run and tell that, Fosters. I don’t have a picture because that was well before I started this blog and before bottles and glasses became my surrogate family, but if you imagine a tankard made out of wood, you’ll get pretty close to what it looked like.

This trend for branded glasses has progressed to the point where you sometimes receive an apology with your beer if you don’t get it in the right one – as if it’s a status symbol, and you’re supposed to care. Let me tell you now; I don’t.

pretty generic

meh

Don’t look at me like that. I’m not ordering the beer for the glass it comes in. Maybe if the glass was interesting enough I might – like the wooden tankard - but most of these glasses aren’t that distinct, and the ones that are are way too feminine, so any self-respecting heterosexual male would be reluctant to drink out of them. We’re not fighting a battle for metrosexuality here. It’s only beer, and I don’t believe branded glasses have much (if anything) to do with flavour; it’s really all about marketing and brand visibility, though it has to pretend that it’s not.

 “You drink with your eyes first,” says Guinness Brewmaster, Feargal Murray in this article. No-o-o-o… you only drink with your eyes first if you’re an idiot, and someone’s told you you’ll get drunk quicker if you pour vodka directly into your eyeball.

San Miguel

Becks Vier

‘You drink with your eyes first’ is just a platitude, and too often people hear a platitude and think that just because someone’s said it, and it sounds clever, that it’s the truth. Another one that Guinness espouses is, “good things come to those who wait”. What is it with Guinness?

Just to clarify on the first point, you look at the pint with your eyes first. You might then make a subconscious assumption as to how good it’s going to taste, but it’s only going to taste how it tastes, and that assumption is only based on the fact that you already like beer.

So does Leffe need to be served in that ridiculous (and feminine) pseudo-wine glass (pictured below)? The first time I received a Leffe in that, I had to drink it quickly in order to go back and get a pint that came in something more manly – instead of something that made it look like something more manly might come in me…

feminine Leffe glass

I’ve heard that the glass plays a part in making sure the [precious] liquid makes contact with the correct part of your tongue for tasting it – but that is assuming that different tastes (salty, sour, bitter, sweet and umami) map to different areas of the tongue, and according to Wikipedia, fount of all knowledge, they don’t; taste qualities are found on all areas of the tongue with some regions being more sensitive than others. Isn’t that whole idea a little patronising? Why can we not be trusted to shift the liquid to the ‘right’ parts of our tongues of our own volition?

If we need different shaped glasses to ensure we enjoy our beer properly, how come cutlery isn’t even more complicated than it already is? Why don’t we have a fork for making sure the chicken gets to the right part of our tongue? Then another fork for the cabbage, one for the potatoes and a straw for the gravy? Presumably someone realised the washing up would take five times as long.

While I’m on the subject, has anyone invented a fork that penne won’t fall off of? And what about the Chinese? They aren’t even bothered, are they? Their cutlery isn’t even anywhere near as complicated as ours; it’s just two sticks!

Nevertheless the different types of cutlery are devised for practical reasons – to make it easier to consume items, not to make sure you taste them properly.

Different shaped glasses can alter the experiencing of a drink to some extent, it can make the act of drinking more or less comfortable, the act of holding a drink more or less awkward, it can make your drink look more or less attractive (subjectively), or you could argue it has a psychological effect on how much you enjoy the drink, but for my money it tastes the same when it’s in your mouth - which is the important thing. Isn’t it? Or are all those things important? Psychology could potentially be quite important, but you could say that about anything. The important factor in a steak is the quality of the meat, and whether it’s cooked to your preference, not what plate it is served on. You could serve it on a naked lady and stick a sparkler in it (the steak, not the lady… unless you prefer it the other way around…), but would that make it taste any better?

There is a restaurant where you dine in complete darkness – the point being that you don’t make any preconceptions about what you are eating, or about the people you are dining with. That sounds like it would be an experience, but it doesn’t make the food at that restaurant any better than the food at any other restaurant. It just means you’ve been stimulated intellectually while you were there, and that you’ve enjoyed the food, free from preconceptions based on what it looks like. Presumably presentation isn’t an important consideration in the kitchen there.

It could all be brown slop, and you wouldn’t know (but what would be wrong with that? Gravy is brown slop and that’s lovely. And chocolate ice cream). If all restaurants served their food in complete darkness though, it wouldn’t be special. Similarly, if every beer has its own glass, that loses its appeal also, and you’re not even intellectually stimulating drinkers by serving their drinks in fancy glasses.

A bit of internet research turned up quite a bit of division and a good deal of unqualified opinion – it is the internet, after all, and everything I write is unqualified opinion anyway – that’s what the internet’s for; writing a bunch of crap, and then thinking that perhaps someone else in the world gives a shit, or is even going to read this far. [Are you still there?]

So I found some sites that said, “the glass makes no difference to the flavour of beer”, and nothing more. Thanks for that. However, here at Drink It How You Like It, I like to point you in the direction of genuinely useful sites (and there are a surprising amount of useful booze related ones), so you might like to pay a visit to this one. It has a lot to say about the benefits of using different types of glasses, and what beers suit each type. It maintains that the shape of the glass is far more than just marketing, and says that beer novices hold that view. I’d hardly call myself a beer novice, but I might seem like one to a beer snob…

To be fair, the defence of variations in glassware smacks a bit of unquestioning enthusiasm for all things beer-related. There’s nothing wrong with enthusiasm, but you should be aware that not all things that are associated with beer need to be celebrated.

Now, a large part of Beer Advocate’s argument is that it makes the beer look nice. It does go on though to argue that scientifically the glass has an effect on head retention and that this is important because the head holds a number of volatiles - which is desirable because there’s all flavours and stuff in there. Nowhere does it imply that the glass ensures the beer comes into contact with the correct part of your tongue for tasting it – I’ve checked.

I’m prepared to accept that stuff about head retention and volatiles, though. For a while I’d been working on an investigation into the way a ‘perfect pint of Guinness’ is achieved by way of the two part pour. While everyone else seems to positively celebrate the two-part pour, I don’t like it because I get annoyed with having to stand at the bar for longer than is strictly necessary to get a pint – the liquid itself tastes the same either way. I’ll admit that a correctly poured pint of Guinness looks nice, but that’s not what I’m thinking when I order it. I’m ordering it for the taste, and then I’m disappointed that I forgot it took 119.53 seconds to pour it, and I wish I’d ordered something else. All beer looks nice anyway.

The thing is, the more research I did into the two part pour, the more I came to understand it. I still don’t like it, but the two part pour is at least a little bit about getting the balance of flavours right, as well as being about looking good. The head tastes different to the body of the pint, so you don’t want too much of one and not enough of the other. Therefore the two part pour helps facilitate the pouring of the pint in the correct proportions. It just happens that in marketing, it is beneficial to turn a negative into a positive.

What is the drawback with Guinness? It takes two minutes to pour a good one. Don’t dwell on that, celebrate it  - change ‘it takes two minutes to pour a good one’ into  something frighteningly specific like ‘it takes 119.53 seconds to pour the perfect pint of Guinness’ - because you can measure the time it takes to pour a pint in hundredths of seconds (have you ever seen a bar tender measure the time he spends pouring your pint? I haven’t. And I’m sure I’ve never had one that took exactly 119.53 seconds). Call it an art form, make it a selling point, celebrate it.

In lager the head is just froth at the top (and for my money, not pleasant to drink, though it is better to have some head than a flat looking pint with none at all), but you can drink the head of a Guinness like you can the rest of it.

The glass is also fairly important in pouring Guinness, since the harp marks where the first pour should end, and the shape (it is said) facilitates the ‘Guinness surge’, which is the rush of bubbles you see running down the glass, though from my research I don’t recall the chemical reaction that causes the surge being important in terms of flavour, it just looks cool. In fact, I had a can of John Smiths Extra Smooth the other night, in a pretty standard pint glass, and there were bubbles surging in that, regardless.

Conceivably, if it does take 119.53 seconds to pour a perfect pint of Guinness, why don’t they install a mechanism in the pumps that does the first pour for a specific amount of time, and then does the second pour for the exact right amount of time also, so that, in combination, it comes to 119.53 seconds?  Then you wouldn’t need a harp on the glass, there would be less scope for human error, and you would always be able to get a pint that was poured in the exact correct amount of time. Why? Presumably because it’s not that important.

Yes, you could say I’m being ridiculous, but no more ridiculous than the suggestion that a pint can be poured in 119.53 seconds.

Apart from your specialist Belgian beers, a lot of the beers you get coming in their own glasses are lagers like Carling and Fosters. Stella Artois comes in all kinds of glasses, and in fact there have been more than one type of Stella Artois branded glass (a selection is pictured here), so I don’t think you can tell me the glass has that much of an effect on that particular beverage, because if it did, there would only be one type of branded glass per drink – unless there are scientists at Stella Artois who keep finding better and better shaped glasses. I don’t think they put quite that much thought into it, do you?

If you’re that into beer that you want it in a specific glass… you probably shouldn’t be drinking Stella. Or Fosters. The breweries want you to think that they are trying to enhance your enjoyment of their product, when all they’re really doing is coming up with marketing gimmicks.

Yeah, I know, I’m being a bit cynical here. It a lot of cases it’s probably just a case of someone getting excited and saying, “hey, wouldn’t it be cool if our beer had its own glass?” It doesn’t mean we have to get all precious about it, though.

One of the points Beer Advocate makes is that in some cases, the glass is designed before the beer. Isn’t that getting things the wrong way round? That’s not even putting the cart before the horse, it’s putting the cart inside the apples. If the shape of the glass is so important, you should be tailoring it to your beer, not designing a cool glass and then trying to make a beer to go in it… Make the best beer, not the best beer that goes in the glass you’ve designed.

If you manufacture a beer though, and you want to mess about with this branded glass stuff, make sure you do something special. This is quite a good example. This (right) is a glass of Jeremiah Weed ginger ale that I bought Brenda a few months ago on a weekend away. And that's me in the background. It’s a jar with a handle. See? I like seeing things like that. Be creative. Make it special. Did that make it taste any better? No, but if you knew it was supposed to come in that glass and it didn’t, you might be disappointed.

Is there a conclusion to be drawn from all of this? Well; yes. If you accept that different types of glass suit different types of beer, then you can conclude that there only needs to be as many types of glass as there are types of beer (so you know, one type for stout, one for premium lager, one for wheat beer, etc…). Anything else is marketing. A pub need only keep the right kind of glasses, not a glass for every beer.

There’s a pub I’ve mentioned before, The New Oxford in Salford, where they do actually give you the right glass for every beer they serve. Now, I do appreciate the attention to detail that that requires. They have a shit-ton of obscure Belgian beers and real ales, and they pluck the right glass off the shelf with a degree of professional pride that is a pleasure to behold. It’s the fact though, that all these individual glasses have been produced that means they have to do it. It makes the experience more authentically Belgian, and it wouldn’t be the same if they just served the beers in generic beer glasses. No one would know though, if the individual glasses didn’t exist, so… when you get right down to it, does it enhance the experience of drinking beer, or does it needlessly complicate it?

I suppose this is where we are now, brought by decades of free market capitalism. We’re stuck with it. To remove all the different glasses would be to move towards a state of communist uniformism. We’d all be driving identical grey cars, wearing identical grey suits, and have more or less identical grey lives before you knew it. And we’d only need one type of beer. Ok, so most of us do have identical grey lives, but at least our cars come in different colours, suits in different fabrics, and there are tons of types of beer. In a world where the economy is founded on perpetual growth, but supported by finite resources, these are the kinds of things that are needed to keep people in work and the wheels of society turning.

So shall we just keep all the different glasses? Yeah, go on then.