This could be the shortest guide in whisky: enjoy it how you like. Whisky’s not about white men, or old men, or even just men. Women drink it, and women make it. So do African Americans, Indians, the Taiwanese. It’s as Japanese as it is Scottish, as urban as it is rural. It’s light, it’s heavy, it’s versatile. It’s an aperitif, an evening starter, an after-dinner nightcap. It’s drunk neat. It’s drunk with water. It’s drunk with soda, ginger ale and cola. Green tea’s the rage in Asia, coconut water in Brazil. The late Elmer T Lee took his bourbon with a dash of Sprite. And he was the Master Distiller Emeritus at Buffalo Trace Distillery, Kentucky – and white, and old, and a man.
THE TRUTH, THE WHOLE TRUTH AND NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH, SO HELP ME GOD
Ostensibly, the label on a bottle is a statement of identity. Exactly what it has to tell you about itself will depend on the laws of either its country of origin or those in its countries of export. Generally, it gives the bottle’s contents a name, a type, the producer and the alcoholic strength. It may give an area, cask details, the dates of distillation and bottling, and even, as is true of Japanese products, the owner of the non-independent distillery.
Labels do not by law have to give an age statement, except in the case of an under four-year-old bourbon. If the label does carry an age statement, then the age refers to the youngest whisky in the blend. If it doesn’t, then the minimum age will be guaranteed by its country of origin’s definition of what constitutes whisky – normally three years. Age, of course, is no guarantee of quality, but careful: while a very good NAS whisky demonstrates beautifully the fallacy of mistaking age for maturity, NAS whiskies breed like it’s spring during times when producers are low on middle to old-aged stock. With distilleries opening left, right and centre, and shortage scares the order of the day, now is such a time.
Of course, unless clear as to the history of a particular producer or whisky, or indeed aware of the difference between official and unofficial bottlings, the information on your labels can confuse. Producers label what they have to and advertise what sells. A single barrel or cask strength whisky will certainly advertise itself as such, as will a small-batch, non-filtered, naturally coloured one. If not a sales lifter, if, for example, a non-producing distiller (NPD) selling bought-in whisky under its own name, then it’s an unusually candid company that reveals its whisky source, a particularly thorny American issue, with NPDs making the most of legislation that allows companies to label themselves as producers of product they have only packaged. If no mention of natural colouring or non-chill filtering, then place those bets: it’s probably coloured and chill-filtered. If ‘handcrafted’ or any other hard-to-pin-down descriptors of the moment, then know that you may now be at the copywriter’s desk. It’s a minefield. Do your research. Buy with knowledge.
Whisky, unlike wine, ceases to age once bottled. There is some change, but so little as to be almost imperceptible. The Shackleton whiskies recently unearthed in Antarctica were 100 plus years in the bottle and tasted, by all accounts, very good. Whisky lasts, especially high-strength whisky. However, once opened, the influx of oxygen into more and more headspace will act as a catalyst for chemical change. One or two whisky heads advise that it ought to be polished off within six months to a year – either that or transferred to a smaller bottle. Whisky bottles are generally screw cap, though a producer may use cork, usually as a point of difference.
WHEN TASTING WHISKY
With whisky on the perennial up, tastings these days are held everywhere – bars, pubs, clubs, parties, festivals. Ubiquitous and often a great introduction to new expressions, nobody I know tastes whisky in exactly the same way, though fair to say the process will normally mean looking at it, then nosing, tasting and either spitting or swallowing it. With a few tips and a bit of practice, there’s no reason why any of us can’t do the same.
APPEARANCE
While much is – or has been – made of colour, it’s not true to say that a deep orange looking whisky will taste better than one that looks like a watered down bottle of lemon squash. Wood gives the spirit its colour, and a used cask will colour its contents less than a virgin oak cask. Meanwhile, the level of viscosity – the syrupiness of its ‘legs’ – is evidence of body, and so perhaps of strength, though not of its overall quality. There’s a lot to be read into the appearance of a whisky, but it’s just the cover. Open it. Smell it. Drink it.
Occasionally you will come across a whisky produced by an independent bottler. The independent bottler rarely owns the distilleries that made the whisky it sells. Nor is it a newly founded distillery buying in stock while waiting for its own to mature. Rather, it buys up casks of surplus or interesting stock, which it sells on, normally at highly competitive prices, either at different bottling ages or having further blended and / or aged the whisky itself. Distilleries sell stock because they have to or because they’ve arranged to.
Though by no means always the case, independent bottlers often specialise in buying up mothballed or dismantled distillery stocks. Many contract individual distilleries to age a portion of the distillate in their own specially chosen barrels. Others age the distillate in their own warehouses, in their own barrels. The independent bottler’s point of difference is difference itself. It is niche. It deals in small and rare runs, runs never to be repeated. Its products are by definition unofficial bottlings. In the vast majority of cases, it reveals the source of its whisky, and will often go beyond simply acknowledging the distillery, detailing cask size, type and number, as well as dates of distillation and bottling.
NOSING
When nosing, you can use any glass you like, but the funnelling effects of those with smaller lip-circumference gives better access to evaporating aromas. If your nose prickles, then that’s the ethanol, which will affect your ability to smell. Lift your head, nose and, once tasted, add some water. Nose it again.
And take your time. The flavours in a given whisky will naturally unlock over a period much longer than it would ordinarily take to drink it. As said, most of us are only capable of identifying a couple of aromas in any one go. And we tire of the same smell. Give the whisky a rest. As it warms and aerates, so its flavour profile evolves, the lightest evaporating flavour compounds making way for heavier ones. Meanwhile, the added water frees cogeners previously locked in clumping molecules of ethanol.
A professional taster’s notes may read as if the whole process has taken about five minutes. Don’t be fooled. Keep coming back, even after other whiskies have been tasted. If you like, make some notes along the way – emotional, metaphorical or literal.
When choosing what to taste, think in terms of groups or ‘flights’ of whisky – between three and five. These can be anything you like, though as you get into it, comparing and contrasting according to category makes for interesting experiments.
To start, then, try comparing different styles – single malt, grain, bourbon or Irish pot still. Further, you might set pot against column, one grain against another, American oak versus European. Equally, you could compare different whiskies matured in the same type of oak. If in search of single variable differences, then the mind boggles: different distilleries, finishes, mashbills, yeasts, strengths, types of warehouse, age. The main thing: enjoy.
Take two sips. The first sets the mouth, the second’s what counts. When it comes to imbibing, you’re on borrowed time. Anything over 25% abv will progressively affect your ability to actually taste the whisky. Plus, your judgement will deteriorate the more you drink. If swallowing, all advice points to you sticking at between three and six whiskies. I find the law of diminishing returns kicks in at about number four. You may be different. You may be an ox.
When tasting, keep the liquid in your mouth long enough for things to settle. Move it about the mouth. Don’t look for separate primary taste areas – it’s much more of a jumble in there than previously thought. Think about flavour physically and aromatically. If you catch and image or name a scent, then great, note it down. Alternatively, think about how the whisky feels. It could feel dry. It may grip, feel bitter or pulse through the mouth. There may be a hint of fire, a warming, hot, even peppery feel – as in mild chilli, ginger or even strong menthol chewing gum. Add water and see what happens. Again, make notes.
FINISH
Swallow and wait. The finish is all about what’s left, the aftertaste – its presence, the flavour, and how long it lasts. Some whiskies last a long time once gone. Some punch out, or disappear in waves. Others the mouth hardly remembers. The finish rounds off the tasting experience.
Apart from the fun of it, you might be interested in giving your observations a slightly more concrete context. If so, and you’ve made notes, then try matching them to whatever flavour guide you have at hand. Some of the words used will be exactly the same as those on the chart, meaning you’ve hit the nail on the scientific head. Others you’ll have to best-fit. Any simile or metaphor you’ll decipher or discard – or keep as is, it seeming to capture perfectly an essential poetic truth.
THE FREEDOM TO MIX
A confession. When I started drinking whisky, I believed the only way was neat. Persuaded of the flavour-enhancing benefits of water, I relented, but only slightly. Just a drop, please – and no thank you to ice, soda or anything sweet, which I thought of as a cop-out, a mask. I was quietly, politely insufferable. I’d like to say I’ve changed – as a person – now that I’ve seen the light. My wife knows differently. Nevertheless, I was led to the trough, and I did drink.
When mixing whisky, water is your first and last port of call. ‘Water’, says Dave Broom, ‘is your friend’. It can rescue an average whisky, enhance an excellent one and help save your oesophagus. It will rarely ruin a whisky. It’s up to you, but I would advise adding a few drops to anything over 50% abv – as much for the good of your health as for helping release flavour. Exceptions that prove the rule: when drinking not to taste, but rather just for pleasure, you may find watering down below 40% introduces a previously undetected bitterness, knocking the whisky off balance. Occasionally, an old and delicate whisky won’t suffer dilution.
Ice, meanwhile, has the opposite effect to water. Whereas water will open up a whisky, ice closes it down. In the case of a strong whisky, this might be just the ticket. It will reduce nasal and mouth burn. It does, however, slow down rates of evaporation, meaning less on the nose. The pay cheque’s an initial refreshingly cool mouthfeel, followed by an explosion of flavour as the mouth warms the aromatic molecules. Finally, if you happen across a bartender who practises the Japanese bar art of carving the ice into a large ball, dropping it in a tumbler, and pouring the whisky over the top, then try it – at least once.
To end, bubbles and our first official cocktail: a whisky with soda. Apart from sharing all of water’s aforementioned attributes, the bubbles in carbonated water aren’t nearly as benign as they might first appear. They stimulate the tongue – in a similar irritating fashion that chilli or menthol does. They’re slightly acidic. They’re dry and at the same time freshening. Small ones help taxi aromatic molecules up and out towards the nose. If you’re having one, a tip: take advice. Not every whisky works well with soda. Some pairings bring a bitter element to the drink, others were born to meet. If you’ve never tried a whisky highball, then here’s your super crisp start.
BAR, COCKTAILS AND A BITE TO EAT
The bar – and its tender – is whisky’s frontline; its theatre, the place it gets to act out, to mix with its extended family, to compete with its own kind. Any whisky bar worth its salt will have a busy back shelf, the head bartender the librarian responsible for the quality of its collection. Here’s where you go to taste what’s out there, what’s new, different, lost or really and truly ought to be tried. It’s the most wonderful of multisensory classrooms, your bartender both guide and fellow explorer. It should not intimidate, and if it does, then there are plenty of bars in the sea.
Having taken some time to persuade the cocktail world of its versatility, whisky’s very much at the forefront of an industry that as well as playing guardian to the classics has brought a Fat Duck-type experimentalism to the art of mixed drinks making. Certainly, whether technically fantastical or old school simple, the cocktail has introduced new generations to the joys of whisky, not least in 1990s Japan, where the highball singlehandedly brought it back from the brink. Note, contrary to received opinion, it’s not just about the blends and those easier going bourbons. Depending on what you go with, single malts are eminently mixable.
Away from the bar and high stool, whisky is unlikely anytime soon to topple wine as food’s great accompanier, for the simple reason of it being so strong. This said, as the phenomenal successes of both the mizuwari (ice, water, whisky, long glass) and the highball in Japan show, never say never: diluted and drunk long, it may yet have its day. For now, however, where food’s concerned, whisky in the wider world of eating out continues to suffer something of a pufferfish complex: fatal (to food taste buds) unless matched by a world class expert. Not true. Depending on style and strength, whisky goes very well with lots of sweet foods, most things fish, red meat, a whole raft of cheeses and anything you might consider powerful tasting – though not 70% plus cocoa chocolate, more palate cleaner than partner. Whisky and food: do try this at home.
LUDWIG’S LAST WORD
So, whisky: there’s truth and there’s you, the interpreter of that truth. Meaning, I’m having it both ways. Objectively, whisky making’s no perfect science, but science there is, which is why we can agree to talk about good and bad whiskies. However, it’s actually about you and what you like. As the philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein might say, reading this book’s been a ladder climb, but now you’re here, on the roof, there’s no need for it. Kick the ladder away. Enjoy whisky as you like – neat, with water, ice, bubbles, a mixer that suits. Remember also that you are, in the eyes of the whisky producer, both a human and a sales number. No need to be suspicious, or go to war, or start your own distillery, but don’t just rely on the label. Do your research. Trust your palate. In the end, it really is about you. Have enormous fun.