by Lew Bryson
That’s true of small whiskey makers as well. They do things differently, it’s usually easier to meet them and talk to them about what makes their products different, and you can often walk right into where they make and age their whiskey. You can even shake their hands. That’s great!
It doesn’t necessarily make their whiskey better, though, does it? Think about it; my local craft distiller is a two-man operation, and they occasionally bring in a couple of volunteers to help bottle. They make a tiny amount of whiskey, and it’s good stuff. Then there’s Glenlivet, the second-best-selling single malt Scotch whisky in the world. Its distillers made 10.5 million liters of whisky in 2012. It’s a global brand, but if you go to the distillery (and it’s way out in the country, down narrow roads, where it’s been for almost 200 years), you’ll find that every drop is made by only 10 people. They’re assisted by automation to some degree, but still . . . 10 people. It’s good stuff, too; some of it is amazingly good.
Craft whiskey gets a halo from its association with craft brewing. Craft brewing brought real variety and beers with much greater flavor to the marketplace and competed against a very small number of huge brewers that made very similar beers with very little flavor. That’s not what’s going on in craft whiskey. In this industry the big distillers make great whiskeys, hundreds of them, that are clearly different; think Jameson vs. Knob Creek vs. Macallan 18 vs. Dickel Barrel Select.
The “big” distillers aren’t even all that big; Glenfarclas and Heaven Hill, for instance, are large, but they’re still independent and family owned. Big distillers are quite capable of being innovative, and they’ve often already looked at some of the stuff the craft distillers are trying, like small barrels, forced aging, and different grains. They’ve also got a lot more older whiskey — and usually lower prices, too, exactly because they have a lot more whiskey.
That’s not to say there are not good craft whiskeys on the market; there are. But whether they’re “better” or not is for you to say, not for someone to tell you.
All Years Are Not Equal
Whiskeys also age differently. Bourbons age more quickly in their newly charred barrels in the hot warehouses of Kentucky than Scotch does in used barrels in the cooler, wetter climate of the Hebrides. Canadian whisky can face a wide variety of climate (the temperatures in the Hiram Walker warehouses near Windsor, Ontario, for example, are surprisingly similar to those in Kentucky), with concomitant variable effects on aging, while the tropical-climate whiskies of India and Taiwan age very quickly indeed. A 30-year-old single malt can be amazing; a 30-year-old bourbon would most likely be too nasty to taste, assuming there was even any left in the barrel. Don’t judge different whiskeys by the same standards when it comes to age.
The Best Whiskey
I promised you a guide to picking the best whiskey, and now that we’ve gone through some of the wrong guides, it’s time. You can probably guess by now what it is. You have to try lots of whiskeys and then decide which ones are the best for your tastes. Then you’ll know how to pick the best whiskey, at that particular moment, for you. Even better, you’ll probably know enough by then that you’ll keep trying lots of whiskeys in case something new and different turns out to be just what you were looking for.
I’m not telling you to ignore whiskey reviews and ratings. They can be valuable guides in shopping for what is an increasingly pricey drink. But people who make flat statements like the ones above, that one type or brand of whiskey is the best, or that you simply shouldn’t ever drink another type . . . yeah, them you should ignore; politely, if you can.
Good reviewers will rarely tell you that you simply shouldn’t buy or drink a particular whiskey (and if a regular reviewer does say that, you ought to strongly consider it). What they will say is that the whiskey has a rough finish, or maybe that it isn’t integrated well, with sharp flavors that poke out rather than roll into a smooth whole. They might note some off-flavors, they might say that some influences are overdone (such as a Scotch aged in sherry barrels that picked up too much sherry character). They may also note that the whiskey seems to be priced too high for what it delivers. Take all that into account when you decide whether to take this shortcut.
When I consider the different whiskeys of the world, I’m reminded of something the Scottish distillers say a lot when discussing their various bottlings, from popular-priced blends to loftily rare single malts: “It’s horses for courses.” You don’t race the same horse on a steeplechase course as you do on a dirt racetrack or a turf course; you don’t pour the same whiskey for your “I’m home from work” relaxation as you do to commemorate the birth of your first child — or your first grandchild.
Keep your mind open when you taste whiskey. I’m happy to move freely among the whiskeys of the world, enjoying all of them. I don’t consider myself better than other people because I like more than one kind of whiskey; I count myself lucky. In the next chapter we’ll take a look at how whiskeys get their different character. Keep in mind that “different” means just that: different, not better or worse!
Tasting: Tapping into Your Years of Experience
Remember how I told you about the first time I got through The Wall and tasted fudge? If you were wondering how or why I tasted fudge in whiskey, you’re asking a good question. Read enough tasting notes from whiskey reviewers, and you’ll see them talking about smelling and tasting such things as orange, cinnamon, tarry rope, mint, fig, brine, leafy bonfires, oil, almond, medicine, grass, crushed ants . . . and I can guarantee that none of those things go into whiskey.
Longtime Heaven Hill master distiller Parker Beam doesn’t hold with the idea that you can even taste those things in whiskey. He’s tasted much more than his share over six decades in the business, and he’s pretty emphatic that all you should taste in whiskey is what goes into it. “People say they taste mangos and leather,” he told me. “I don’t put mangos or leather in the whiskey. I put in corn, and I age it in oak barrels, and that’s what I taste: corn and oak!”
I respect Parker deeply, but I have to disagree with him here. As we discussed in the previous chapter, there are many flavor compounds that are in the oak, there are more in the grains (the corn, malt, rye, wheat, and so on), more developed in fermentation and distillation, and even more created by the chemical interaction of the whiskey, the oak, and the air that the semipermeable wood allows to enter the barrel. Perhaps Parker meant just that: he tastes only things that come from the corn and the oak.
So if you want to taste those things — to taste the fudge, the mango, the tarry rope — you’re going to have to think about what you’re tasting, and what it makes you think about or remember. Don’t worry; you’ve been studying this all your life. I call it the Karate Kid Method.
The Karate Kid Method: Finding Scent Memories
The “wax on, wax off” scene from the 1984 film The Karate Kid is an iconic movie moment. Danny LaRusso begs to learn karate from Mr. Miyagi, who agrees to teach him, and then sets him to waxing his cars, sanding a deck, and painting a fence. Danny’s frustration builds until Miyagi reveals that the circular “wax on, wax off” motions he insisted Danny use, over and over, were training the boy’s muscles to reflexive karate moves.
You’re like Danny, but you’ve already waxed the cars. You’re past The Wall, and you have the tools to start tasting whiskey; you’ve been training to be a whiskey taster all your life. You just didn’t realize it. Every day of our lives, we eat, we drink, and we smell the world around us, but most of us never really think about what we’re tasting. We might say it’s “good,” or “spicy,” or “rich.” Yet every one of us could be blindfolded and pick out a banana, a roast chicken, or pine needles by their smell.
Scent memory is powerful, and you can learn to harness it. Sometimes when I slice into a crisp green pepper, an old girlfriend comes to mind, because the perfume she wore — Alliage — had hints of that same fresh scent. Let such associations flow freely when you taste whiskey — make those
wax-on, wax-off moves — and you’ll be the Whiskey Kid.
The colors of wood maturation: a sampling shows whiskey at zero, two, and four years of age, with concomitant deepening of the color from white to copper to mahogany.
Getting Set to Taste
Let’s set your whiskey-tasting stage. Ideally, you’ll want a quiet place with few distractions; the longer you can focus on the whiskey without interruption, the more likely it is that you’ll start to make the sense associations that will frame the whiskey for you. Keep it quiet, or play music if that helps shut out the world for you.
Turn off any visual distractions, like your television and phone. Naturally you don’t want to be tasting whiskey with any strong aromas around; don’t taste while cooking or eating, and wash your hands with an unscented soap, rinsing well. Pick a comfortable seat, or stand if you prefer.
Set up some kind of vertical white background — something as simple as a plain piece of paper — so you can comfortably hold up a glass in front of it to examine the color. The light should be white and even, not too bright.
Evaluating Color
Evaluating color can be tricky. Bourbon picks up color quickly because of the new charred barrels, so it gets fairly dark quickly, and craft whiskey that is aged in small barrels, with proportionally more of the whiskey in direct contact with the wood, picks up color even more quickly. Scotch whisky can vary a lot in how quickly it picks up color: aging in a first-fill sherry barrel will give a whisky color much more quickly than aging in a second- or third-fill barrel, where the whisky will remain quite pale and delicate in color for years. Scotch, Irish, Canadian, and Japanese distillers are allowed to add color in the form of “spirit caramel,” a caramel coloring made from heating sugars or syrups, so it’s not always easy to tell how much color in their whiskies came from the wood. Some countries (Germany, for one) require labeling when coloring is added, and distillers often choose not to add coloring (and will usually state that on the label). American straight whiskeys are not allowed to add color, by federal regulation.
You’ll want a large glass for water so you can rinse your mouth between sips, especially if you’re tasting multiple whiskeys. Go with spring water, though if you’ve got great tap water, feel free to use that. At home I just put our tap water through a Brita filter, which works fine. You may be adding small amounts of water to the whiskey; you can pour from the water glass or from a smaller cruet; some use an eyedropper or a form of pipette for more exact measuring. If you want something to chew to refresh your palate, stick to a plain bread or plain crackers, like saltines or oyster crackers.
On the topic of refreshing your senses, I did learn one trick from a professional taster, someone who does olfactory analysis of food and drink every day. I was judging beers with him at a competition, and I noticed that every so often he would bend his right arm slightly, place his face in the crook of his elbow, against the sleeve of his shirt, and inhale sharply through his nose.
After the judging round was over, I asked him what he was doing. He said that he was, essentially, smelling himself, the base aroma of his own skin, the familiar smell of his clothing. That familiar set of aromas, always around him as a background, a baseline, served to reset his nose. I’ve tried it, and once you get over being self-conscious, it works well.
Finally, if you’re going to take any notes on your tasting, get set with a notebook and pen, or your phone or your tablet. There are a few apps specifically for taking whiskey-tasting notes, but they’re still evolving at this point and often force you to do notes their way. Instead, I use a more generic note-taking app (with a search function) and put down my thoughts freehand.
You certainly don’t have to take notes, especially if you’re not tasting by yourself. If you’re tasting whiskey to learn more about it, and about what you like, taking notes lets you easily and confidently compare and contrast different whiskeys. You can also go back and look at what you thought of a whiskey months or years ago and think about whether the whiskey’s changed or your own palate has evolved.
In a more general way, I’ve found that taking notes focuses you more on the tasting. There’s more of a tendency to take things seriously, to find that right descriptor. I’ve had several friends (my wife, too) laugh about what hard work it is “tasting whiskey,” only to have them change their tune once they sat in on a serious tasting with a comparison of notes.
Don’t get hung up on it. Have fun with your notes if you’d like; they’re your notes, after all. Whatever value they have is likely to be for you alone. I wrote notes for myself for years before sharing them with anyone else. It’s simply another thing you can use to enhance the experience — or not.
Everything ready? Check the scene. It’s peaceful, free from distractions of sound and smell, and comfortably lit, with your white background in place for color checks. You’ve got clean glassware, and your hands (and moustache, if you have one!) are scent-free. There’s cool water handy for drinking and diluting, with maybe some crackers or bread. If you’re taking notes, the means are at hand. And you have the whiskey you’re tasting.
Now you’re ready. Let’s taste.
Tasting How the Other Half Lives
One of the more useful and fun tasting exercises I’ve taken part in was one I did with the publisher of Whisky Advocate, John Hansell. He and I were in Scotland, in the heart of the Speyside distilling area, the most dense concentration of whisky distilleries anywhere. We were taking a break from touring after a fine lunch at the Mash Tun in Aberlour, a small town right along the River Spey, about a mile and a half upstream from the Macallan distillery.
We walked down to the Spey Larder, a specialty grocer with all kinds of goodies. I got a coffee — I was flagging a bit and needed a reviver — and John started picking up little goodies: Dundee cake, orange marmalade, Scottish fudge, and more, about eight things in all, and a bottle of water. We walked down to the Spey and sat down on a bench; there was a fellow fly-fishing in the river just across from us.
John got out his purchases and started opening things up. As he did, he explained why he’d chosen them. These were all things that Scottish whisky writers and distillery tasters mentioned frequently when describing whiskies, and he thought I should know what they tasted like. It was like a Rosetta Stone for a whisky flavor code.
The Dundee cake was a rich fruitcake topped with almonds. The orange marmalade was intense, with a depth of sweet orange character. The fudge was quite different from what I thought of as fudge — more granular, and much more about sugar and caramel than cream. I savored each different bite and thought of whiskies.
When we were done, we drove down the road to the Highlander Inn in Craigellachie, and I got a chance to attach my new tasting memories to some fine Speyside drams. It was a grand afternoon.
Glassware
What kind of glass should you use for tasting whiskey? There’s a whole industry waiting on your answer! It’s not just money or show, either. The type of glass really does have an effect on how your whiskey will smell and taste. Too wide a bowl, and the whiskey may oxidize more quickly, giving you only a quick shot at the initial aromas. Too wide a neck and opening, and the aromas can escape too quickly. Too thick, and you can’t hand-heat the whiskey; too thin, and a thick-fingered guy like me can get nervous about breaking it.
When I taste whiskey for reviews, I use a Glencairn glass, a glass designed specifically for tasting whiskey. It has a tapered, chimney-like neck to focus and funnel the aroma while still being easy to drink from, unlike a snifter. The onion-like swell of the body allows for examination of the color, and for some hand-warming, if desired (I don’t, generally). The small but solid base allows an easy grip without obscuring the drink, and the glass itself is sturdy without being clunky. It’s a very good glass for whiskey.
Honestly, though, I mainly use the Glencairn glass because I have about a dozen of them from various whiskey events I’ve attended. The important point is that I use the same type of gl
ass every time I do serious whiskey tasting — even for something like maple-flavored whiskey — to avoid the possibility of different glassware influencing my perceptions.
You’ll want to use the same type of glass for all your serious whiskey tasting, and you’ll want several of that type. They don’t have to be expensive; you can pick up boxes of suitable glasses for a reasonable price at kitchenware stores. Get enough to taste several whiskeys at one sitting; then double that, to be able to do it with a friend. It’s more fun with a friend.
Basically, whatever style of glass you decide on, it should be:
Of clear, uncolored glass so you can see the color of the whiskey. (Master blenders sometimes use deeply colored glass to avoid being distracted by the color; their needs are different from ours.)
Of sufficient, but not too generous, width and height. Don’t use a short, narrow glass, such as a shot glass; you’ll want enough room over the surface of the whiskey for the aromas to pool and concentrate, and you’ll want enough height to be able to gently swirl the whiskey to stir up more aromas as you taste. Don’t go too wide, either, or the aromas will quickly dissipate.
Made with a solid base or a stem, so you can hold it without warming the whiskey if you choose. A small white wine glass or a sherry glass works fine; so does a classically solid old-fashioned glass (also known as a “rocks glass”).
Clean and well rinsed to wash away any cleanser residue. I wash mine by hand, rinse them with very hot water, and let them drip dry. The only thing that should be in the glass when you begin your pour is whiskey and air.