Aberfeldy Distillery Visit and Signature Tour

An induction into the cave of Ali Baba and the Forty Connoisseurs or the insight of six different malts postponed?

The tone of my evaluation of Dewar's World of Whisky at the Aberfeldy distillery is far closer to the former than the latter, but the prospects of my immediate future as far as the water of life is concerned have been altered hugely. Last week, like quivering with fear and cold at the top of Schiehallion, I was shown a more complex and expansive whisky landscape than I could ever have realised had I spent my £30 on miniatures alone; getting me only as far as the first false summit.

"Signature" is the name of the tour, and what I received in exchange for my money was a unique and unprecedented glimpse of a brand's true identity. From the beginning and the Dewar's company film, my time at the distillery which I could view, tantalisingly, from our holiday cottage on the other side of the Tay (right), was concerned wholly in the minutiae of whisky-making, -marketing and -appreciating.

No barley is tricked into germination in the Aberfeldy maltings today (this practice vanished in the sixties) but my own inquisitiveness, a grain of barley if you will, experienced a significant conversion of ignorant starch to receptive sugar in the Dewar's exhibition space.

The Victorian era must - if you were the pioneering figureheads themselves, of course - have been a fascinating and stimulating time to be alive when a business could depart from its tentative conception and arrive at oppulent, swaggering dominance in the time of two enterprising generations. Tommy the salesman sounds quite a character, the kind of man with the talent, charm and entrepreneurialism to pluck the fruit of the global market just as it was ripening. In the World of Whisky displays and installations, with the aid of portable audio guides, I learnt as much about this age of opportunity and endeavour as I did whisky and was completely engaged by my history lesson.



In the bar-cum-cafe I met my guide. Bruce joined me at a table master blenders would be familiar with. My reserved table (right) was covered in Glencairn glasses. Bruce guided me deftly through the first five (he would later pour me out a sixth) glass each of which contained something from the Dewar's stable. The Aberfeldy 12 I was already vaguely acquainted with, but the 21, Dewar's 12, 18 and Signature I was not. With the 12 as our reference point, we toured around the various drams. The 21 offered the reassuring depth and smooth muscularity of excellent ageing with rich, rounded and dark honey and spice. The creamy and full palate was distinctive but it didn't, in the end, and despite being closest in age to the wonderful sample I tried in the warehouse, persuade me to part with £85.

The blends, on the nose, did not resemble blends at all. The 12 was flowery, with lightness and freshness but, after comparisons with its older brothers, somewhat quick and "immature". Bruce was quite right, though: you can detect the Aberfeldy honeyed shortbread personality in each of them. The 18 was perhaps my favourite: again the identity of age seduced and intrigued while the addition of water created a time-machine and I once again contemplated the heathland at the foot of Schiehallion.

The Signature was unlike any blend I have ever had, which at £150 a go I should have hoped it wouldn't be. The artful suave richness on the nose and palate of gleaming fruit were sublime. The contrast between this and Bruce's favourite: the White Label, was not offensive and I have been persuaded that, in future, I should look out for this proud dynasty.

Keen that we should preceed the fifteen or so standard tourists milling around us, and with me admitting to sensory overload, we embarked on the tour of the distillery. At each key point within the clean, handsome buildings, due time was taken. I was able to ask questions and make observations, never feeling rushed. I would like to think this was as much because the people involved wish to savour and appreciate their place of employment as my having shelled out for the "premium" experience.

We spent quite a long time in the stillroom, with the wash stills frothing away and the middle cut from the second spirit still thundering through the spirit safe. To combat the heat radiating off the considerable stills (right), all of the windows were open onto the smart grounds, the Tay and the wooded hills beyond.I should have capitalised on the warmth, for there wasn't much to be found in the warehouse.

Striding to what I was sure would be the promised land, I recounted my religious experience in the warehouses of The Glenlivet and my disappointment at being led away from those at Glenkinchie.

"You may be disappointed again," murmured Bruce as we stepped into darkness.

What filled my nostrils was not the honey malt and old wood of the best warehouses, but the pot ale processing. I was a little glum as I contemplated the thousands of casks, in shadow and, crucially, empty. But then I realised that the only ones I needed concern myself with were the trio just on the other side of the steel mesh gating.

Picking up a substantial mallet, Bruce offered me a choice between a 1985 and two 1983s. His recommendation was the 1985 and so I aked him tap that particular barrel (right). He duly did, once on each side of the bung before adopting a Show-of-Strength pose and giving the cask a richochetting crack. The bung "just shot out" and we could draw my sample.

I held my glass under the steel pipette and out dribbled raw whisky. Pure happiness, and cold, overwhelmed me as I smelt, cautiously, the pure glowing gold (right). When I didn't receive a lance of alcohol straight into my hypothalamus, I allowed my nose to quest a little further. I anticipated, and got, Aberfeldy heather honey and apple notes. They were timid, however, the temperature restricting the circulation of aromas, but they had a cleanliness and body I had not hitherto noted, the little flecks of charred wood at the bottom of the glass merely lending an authentic influence instead of an obscuring one. The vanillins of the wood were wondrously original and its affect on the spirit authoritative but not excessive. Bruce kept putting his nose to the hole in the cask and I did the same. I cannot now communicate the perfection of that smell, just that the woody spice and mellow whisky combined instinctively and epically. Bruce suggested I took my sample indoors where it - and I - might warm up.

Back before the array of glasses in the visitors' centre, I sat down with my latest, rarest measure. This is where Bruce relinquished his role as my guide for the day, and I assured him how much I had enjoyed the tour he had given me. I voiced my hope that I would see him again when I pull up and uncleat next year. I won't be taking the Signature tour on that occasion, but memories of this one will abide with me in all of my future first-hand dealings with this magical drink.

Aberfeldy 1985 Bourbon casked. Cask no. 1321.

COLOUR: Gold - soft, bright and smooth. NOSE - WoW - The unfixable big smoothness of age. Gorgeously sweet honey and round, clean vanilla. There is heather there, but also another flower: soft, delicate and pungent. Stewed red apples. The alcohol doesn't obtrude. Despite its 24 years, it is fresh and clean. Soft light gingerbread. Delicious focus and character. Wonderfully firm wood. Single cream. WW - Zesty, woody vanilla. Soft pulpy apple. Richly sweet grainy honey. Faintly herbal, it is a flower meadow in May or June, humming with bees. Light butterscotch. Medium-bodied with all the ripe fragrance of the washback. Lightly charred white oak. Tablet - shortbread and caramel. BODY - Smooth, velvety. Building to clean warmth. PALATE - WoW - Appley, honey, soft biscuits. WW - Unbelieveable smooth with sweetness growing to spicy dark malty richness. FINISH - Honey mist. Vanilla ice cream. Quite nutty. Syrupy wood and fruit. Caramel shortbread. Fades elegantly.

Highland Park 12-year-old 40% Dram #26

Separate, northern-most...

Despite the differences

This is no stranger.

How bizarre that the 25-year-old should have preceded this into my notebook. I first sipped/ was speechless with wonder due to the 12-year-old in a hotel. I had it in a pub next, but I was unable to conduct a proper thorough tasting until I unwrapped a bottle last Christmas.

On the two previous occassions I had nevertheless noticed and liked its semi-rich biscuity maltiness and the peat character which is so entirely different to that found on Islay. From the beginning, I understood that it was no mean dram distilled in this area that stretches the rules governing regional frontiers - and even those of Scotland - to the limits of relevance.

Highland Park is a case study of why I adore the single malt industry. Orkney is a smudge of rock, sand and grass whose northward vista is comprised of a few more similarly improbable scatterings of land and the beginnings of the Arctic Circle, yet it produces a whisky every malt lover spares singular affection for and which is moving in on the most prolific shifters of premium single malt. Logic tumbled out of the St Margaret's Hope ferry and drowned.

ORIGINAL TASTING NOTE, TASTED 11/1/09: COLOUR - Pale gold. NOSE - WoW - Pillowy-soft peat. Full and green. An underlying smouldering sharpness. The sea salt of handmade crisps added to the malt. Thick spongecake sweetness. WW - Peat becomes harder and hotter. Fruit does the same: boiling raspberries and blackcurrants. Beautiful spicy malt. BODY - Medium to almost full. PALATE - Charred wood, white grape tang. Chocolate digestives. Creme brulee topping. FINISH - Sea and seaweed. Long and smoky. Excellent, but just the end of the palate.

The revamped packaging shows off the product particularly well. The flat bottle with the ornate calligraphy (that Celtic/ Viking "h") hints at a very authoritative, no-nonsense spirit, an impression not contradicted by pouring a little into the glass and inspecting the hue: a smooth, beaten gold.

Indeed, there are no shrinking violets or superfluous flavours in the nose, either. The malt and the peat mount a combined attack: the former eager, semi-aggressive and fruity; the latter medium-dry, rich and delicious. That biscuity quality that put me in mind of a certain manufacturer's granola bars which I'm rather fond of I modified to ginger biscuits. There is an extremely fresh sea breeze note, together with some delicate honey. There is the sharp pungency of new wood as well as a "quiff" of dark, supercharged Oloroso. It is a complete and complex canvas marvellously presented.

With water it becomes softer, lighter and develops the sweetness of boiling mash. The peat is transformed and has acquired a liqueur chocolate nature. This supports the round zesty malt. Toast and honey in addition to a vague impression of hard rocks concludes the outstanding aroma.

The medium and firm palate presents a unique architecture: the peat acting as the sconce for the powerful sherried malt. It grows beer-y and almost froths with the skins of nectarines.

I recommend all things cosy and warm with the exemplary finish. It is long and dissipates with epic control. Lime and almost chocolatey maltiness are flavours of note.

There is nothing like Highland Park. It just has everything, but in the proportions you would want. I am deeply keen on getting hold of the 18YO and the 30YO courtesy of miniatures which the Edrington Group are jolly good sports for releasing.

Glenmorangie Lasanta 46% Dram #23

Quote: "warmth and passion";

A tasting note in itself.

I can't disagree.

Would you believe it, but until the Lasanta late last year I had not nosed, beyond a measure in a pub, a Glenmorangie! With Glenfiddich I was even worse, it must be said, waiting until February of this year, 16 months into my whisky journey, to bother tasting the most iconic Scotch whisky brand! It was nothing personal, I might add: other drams kept coming into my life and stealing focus.

ORIGINAL TASTING NOTE, TASTED DECEMBER 2008: COLOUR - Light caramel with gold highlights. NOSE - WoW - Intense. Sherry on oozing over layer. Waxy fruit. A gentle heathery sweetness. WW - Sweeter still. Fine grains of sugary aroma. Hard, metallic malt. Dusty, crumbly peat. Pastries and cakes. BODY - Smooth. Complicated choreography of mouth feel. PALATE - Rich and fruity sweet. A scrumptious malty sponge cake. FINISH - Vanilla, raspberries. Quite long. Quite tart, too. Apricot jam-like.

As the Auchentoshan of my last post underlines, by this time I was beginiing to get my eye in with this tasting business and during the autumn and winter I enjoyed a higher frequency of tastings. Recently, I have marked off at a particular tasting note in my notebook where I felt a transition of my skills and or knowledge occured, and the period of September to March undoubtedly witnessed rapid development and the acquisition of a skill level I found it easy to return to after the exam sabbatical. This Glenmorangie was a component of that period, although only now has it been evaluated by the senses it helped to hone in such a significant way.

Still unsure as to whether I had treated The Original Glenmorangie extremely unfairly, I sat down to revise the Sherry-matured 10-year-old which had received a decent but unexceptional "66" previously. So, how now brown cow?

I am a big fan of the latest packaging range. I believe it contributes to the impression that what you are drinking is more unusual, exclusive and expensive than the actual price point would suggest. Of course, the whisky itself hits above its weight, too, as I discovered.

It looks very attractive in the bottle and equally so in the glass: a pale, softly-textured amber.

On the nose I enjoyed a much more assertive initial introduction than The Original was prepared to give me: sharply and thickly floral and fruity. The distillery is on the Dornoch Firth, but this was the first time I was able to detect any geographical influence in the whisky. There is a light line of quite salty peat that rises from the lowest notes to the highest. There is also a sweet, soft and gentle bonfire smokiness that I seriously liked. The malt is perfumy, but also puts me in mind of a plain sponge that has been kept in the cupboard, in a Tupperware box, for a few days. The Sherry lends walnuts and almonds as well as fruitiness to the aroma, and this in turn provides heat. It is very, very good.

That "warmth and passion" is preserved with a drop of water, while the rest of the nose becomes softer and much sweeter. The salty peat smoke has remained, too. At the very centre is a soft, squishy "ball" of Sherry currants. Pecans replace the almonds and the shells of the walnuts emerge. The malt is quite a separate flavour and caramel-like. There is still an intense floral presence. The whole arrangement is medium to heavy with iced carrot cake and a lovely heathery accent. A quick swirl evokes more of the sweet, light and zesty Sherry.

The body is soft, round, clean and smooth.

Maltiness is very prevalent on the palate and it exhibits a quality noticed last year - that of the malt and Sherry intermingling like the stripes on a barber's pole - never quite meshed together but tied to each other. The Sherry oozes on top while the malt shimmies below. There is also a fantastic smoke note and the whole taste is very cake-like with a gentle richness and perfect (note that) sweetness.

The ethos behind the amlt is maintained right to the finish which is long and warm. Pecan pie is a gorgeous addition as is the vanilla note. Peat and salt book-end it all and a lush grassiness ushers the flavours out.

Having got to the "next phase" I was better able to appreciate this malt and the supreme quality behind it. I also gave it a new score of "67" which makes quite a difference in my eyes. It would now be the final act of cruelty not to look again at The Original.

Talisker 10-year-old 45.8% Dram #44

This dram has foresight,

Shows smoke and rocks and seaweed.

I've seen Skye early.

I'm a late-comer to this malt whose reputation preceeds it. For a friend of mine, on the other hand, it was one of the very first he ever had and is an absolute favourite. For my benefit, therefore, he smuggled a drop into a school event.

My hasty nosing and sip of it from a wine glass reminded me, with its wood and seaweed characteristics, of Lagavulin but I hadn't expected it to be so much softer than the Islay giant. "But Michael Jackson said volcanic..."

In Edinburgh, I managed to bag three for (almost) the price of one courtesy of Diageo who, sympathetic to the concerns of penniless malt enthusiasts, club three outstanding malts together in miniature form. At last, I could put Talisker to the test.

From this malt onwards, all of my tasting notes have been improbably garrulous. The nose has everything, and that requires a lot of lines. It begins by introducing a motif for the dram: the relationship between seaweed and smoke. Initially, it is sweet and earthy smoke, parcelled up in savoury seaweed that has roast chicken/ mussels savoury overtones. There is maltiness to marvel at, too: zesty with a Sherry dip. Mossy oakiness reminds me of wooden fishing boats. In fact, the fleet is in the boathouse - dry with the suggestion of a wood-burning stove for the fishermen. There is the coppery heat of the still in evidence. A volcanic personality.

Adding water throws open the doors of the boathouse and I head down the jetty into Loch Harport. The maritime character is much more pronounced while peat smoke flutters in the breeze.

On the palate the whisky starts big and builds in a thrilling surge. It is a little similar to the Laphroaig in this regard, only the latter is more abrupt at making your eyes water. I adore the fierce peat fire impression in the mouth, the smoke shortly adhering to the malt and a caramelised fruitiness emerging. A sweet wood note contributes to a very complex taste.

At the finish we find heavy peated malt with a drying quality, a zing of salt and then a deft delicious interplay between the smoke and the seaweed.

I prize a malt that can grab me and set me down in the landscape from where it originates and even at such a young age this has the properties to achieve this. (I'm sitting at the picnic bench.) There is terroir in tonnes and I could not be more impressed. Almost, almost a "73".

The Dalmore 1263 King Alexander III 40% "One Sip Wonder"

Dusk on the Black Isle
Light enough to spy the dark
It runs with the stag.

Dusk is the perfect time for this mighty malt. However, with memories of how deeply affected I was when I tried it in broad daylight slow to fade, do so only if you aren't too unnerved by your own weeping.

Even before I selected this from behind the bar at the Scotch Whisky Experience, a romanticism for The Dalmore had been snowballing. In September of last year I sampled the 12-year-old, and it remains the highest-scoring Highland whisky in my notebook. Further exposure has had me entirely seduced on looks alone: those shapely bottles; that super-embossed stag of almost mythological charisma; the colour.

The 1263 is a rich dusky orange in the glass, but a belligerent, glowing, precious gem red in the bottle. In the geography of my mind (and the imagination is a powerful thing), sensuous shadows abound in the hills on one side of The Dalmore. It is warm there, still, and breathlessly mysterious. On the nose it is as if a storm front is rumbling in towards the Cromarthy Firth; soundless but thrillingly, physically powerful. The storm clouds themselves are berries: blackberries, strawberries, blueberries as well as blackcurrants, bloated raisins and sultanas and hot black grapes. They are sweet, laden with juice and seem eager to vent a deluge onto the medium-dry, rounded peat and biscuity malt. They never do, though. The joy is in the anticipation. The richness and depth is staggering with a soft, dark, vanilla wood presence. I shouldn't have added water for I experienced a repeat of the 12-year-old's problem, a flattening of the nose and an oppression of that berry complexity. It did allow other fruits to emerge - mango among them - as well as a gingernut maltiness of an intense rich sweetness. Soft petalled, bright flowers remained, but the atmosphere had sadly departed.

On the palate all was well: a sophisticated, mature richness prevailed. The malt was deep and floral while the Sherry wood was more multi-complexioned than anything I'd ever come across.

After it had all gone down, spicy cerealy malt hung around for some time, as did a rich creaminess.

With so much stimulation all about me I may have got slightly carried away with this dram. On the other hand, in the comparative calm of my own home, I did a bit of research into what I had drank and lost my head entirely. All of the fruit and wood flavours that had so floored me were attributable to no fewer than six eclectic sources: Bourbon barrels, Sherry casks, Madeira drums, Port pipes, Marsala barrels and French wine casks. Richard Paterson, I doff my hat to you for combining such personalities so wondrously. Actually, I think I'll just doff £125 to you (is cash alright?). Perhaps not quite just at the moment, but it is not an excessive price to pay for such genius which redefined whisky for me yet again, as well as justified beyond reproach the merits of unlikely wood finishes. I love you, Richard!